I’m sorry, dear reader, but the bar is temporarily closed for this week’s Happy Hour.
Now I’d like to say (given the subject of last week’s post) that we’re closed for major repairs and renovation. You know… like sandblasting the walls, repainting the ceiling, and switching to plastic flowers to go in the entryway, but that just wouldn’t be true so I dare not say it. That incident occurred a few months back and we’ve long since been up and running in redolent splendor.
And I’m also tempted to say here (in way of finding an excuse) that age-old favorite, “The dog done ate my homework,” but that would also be false and a baldfaced lie. For the only “dog” I have this week is the Browns who are getting ten points against the Ravens. No four-legged kind.
And last but not least (to assuage my guilt) a part of me still wants to throw out this little gem, “I forgot.” But given the fact that my beautiful memory is always as sharp as a…
… aw, man… what’s the word I’m looking for? Hang on a sec…
… oh, right… tack! Yes, tack! So given the fact that my beautiful memory is always as sharp as a tack, how could I honestly say that I forgot? I couldn’t. So I have to fess up.
See, it’s like this, dear reader… I had a semi-week from hell, my creative juices had turned to vapor and now I sit here with blanks and a bright red face. That’s it… period! No mysteries. So in way of a little payback, not to mention a lame explanation of how I got here, instead of our usual romp through Bar-land let me at least leave these words which I’ve placed in a poem. Okay? I mean that way I haven’t sent you away empty handed. So make yourself a cocktail (obviously I can’t) and here we go…
Yes, your friendly bartender sits here / Quite fearing he’ll get no more “hits” here / As he hasn’t a tale / With which he can bail / His sorry ass out of the pits here.
So why, you may ask, is he late then / Having nothing to unseal his fate then / Was he out on the town / Downing drinks like a clown / And therefore not feeling so great then?
Well part of that theory is true / He did have a cocktail or two / After ending his shift / He let himself drift / To a bar for some late derring-do.
But it wasn’t to get himself wasted / Or as some like to say “to get pasted” / Just freely unwind / From toil and grind / To feel that sweet ease and to taste it.
But besides all this easing and drinking / He also was hell bent on thinking / To spring forth a thought / To end this blog drought / To keep him from critically sinking.
For often when sipping and musing / He’s found that it’s more than just boozing / It’s a trip through his mind / Where he’s likely to find / A story that’s ripe for his choosing.
Yes many a post has he written / metrically chewed off and bitten / After thoughts in a bar / Did carry so far / As to purr the next day like a kitten.
So last night was not an exception / As he sat there awaiting conception / Of a tale he could tell / With bluster from hell / To amuse in the art of deception.
But conceive he did not, sad to say / He laments on this grey blog-less day / That thought he could choose / To rightly amuse / So it’s better luck next week, okay?
Thanks for stopping by.
Over and out from Bar-land… I promise the taps will be running full bore next Saturday.