The Truth about . . . gah, no real Truth here, just poetry 12/20/97

There are three poems (ick! Poetry!) that I want to include first. Trust me -- if they weren't funny I wouldn't bother with them. The first two were e-mailed to me the last is of my own creation. Okay strictly speaking one of them is more of a parody than a poem . . .

Just read them!

Our lager

Which art in barrels

Hallowed be thy drink.
Thy will be drunk
(I will be drunk)

At home as it is in the pub.
Give us this day our foamy head

And forgive us our spillage's

As we forgive those who spillest against us.
And lead us not to incarceration

But deliver us from hangovers.
For thine is the beer
The bitter
The lager.
BARMEN.

Sung to the tune of "A Winter Wonderland"

Sleighbells ring
are ya listin'
In my glass
the ice is tinklin'
With vodka in sight
I'm happy tonight
Walkin' in a stupor
drink in hand

Gone away
are worldly tences
Booze is great
it numbs the senses
My vision is blurred
my speech is absurd
Walkin' in a stupor
drink in hand

SECOND VERSE

Across the room's the bar I stumble toward her
Surprised I haven't fallen to my knees
They ask, "You want another"
I say "Sure sir"....
"And make this one a double
if you please"

Later on
I'm in a coma
On the floor
or on the sofa

Dead to the world
my heads in a swirl
Walkin' in a stupor
drink in hand ...

'Dear Santa ' by IagoSteele

Dear Santa:

I know that now I'm far too old
To write you with these wishes bold.
You've brats to tend and toys to make
And requests from me you needn't take
But all the same I've things to ask
A simple, and yet, complex task.
Don't think that this is all a jest
This final Christmas gift-request.
And if 'That boy's too old,' you say
Then I'll retort 'I say thee Nay!'
If anything I'm overdue
And one last thing I need from you.
These gifts aren't even for myself
So call upon your wisest elf
To make my Christmas dreams come true
The last I'll ever ask of you.

For Jean who was as cold as ice
I think some ringworm would suffice.
Marie was never all that bad
A dash of scurvy just a tad.
Babs, on the other, hand was mean
For her, arrange some nice gangrene.
For Laura I and Laura II
Perhaps a trace of stomach flu.
Cassandra was a total bitch
A touch of rash? Just make her itch.
The way that Tina treated me
A facial tick I'd like to see.
To Rose who always liked to tease
A burning feeling when she pees.
And God forbid I leave out Mary
For her a squirt of dysentary.
For Jill who brought me to my knees
A touch of herpes if you please.
For Pat who made my teeth to grind
A bout of crabs if you don't mind.
Theresa really gave me hell
Some syphillis would be just swell.
Kim just laughed when she said 'See ya!'
Hit her up with gonorrhea.

Santa if you can grant me these
I'll ask no more of you, but please
If this exceeds your wisest elf
Just let me know, I'll shop myself.

Are those great or what? And -- to answer the question before it's answered No I'm not bitter. I was spoofing bitterness. Besides I wrote that sucker years ago. And none of the names listed mean anything -- I specifically avoided the names of the people I was really bitter against when I wrote it. Not that I'm bitter.

There are three Truths for today, and each of them has to be found within the poems. So there.

If I can think of a 'Truth about Christmas ' I'll write it in the next five days.