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August 05, 2005

Friday Ode To Beer Contest

Well, it's Friday and I find my thoughts already drifting to Happy Hour and the prospect of hoisting a cold brew. So what better way to while away the hours betwixt thence and now than by composing ditties in honor of our favorite pastime?

To get you started (and because I'm too busy to make anything new up right now) here are some oldies but goodies from the regulars:

Is this a glass I see before me
the handle toward my hand
come let me chug thee
I have thee not
and yet I see thee still

Shakespearian Glass

-- Pile On

Do not go stumbling into those headlights,
Old age should rant and rave at close of day;
Pile, Pile On against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at week's end know foam is nigh,
And since their weary souls no more BS can suffer, dry...
Do not go beer-less into that good night.

Dylan Thomas Glass (Mug)

-- Cassandra

Is this a glass?
No, it is a not-glass, filled with not-water.
I reject the statement that the glass exists, it is incomprehensible.
Therefore, the glass does not exist, even though I see it in front of me.
Uh-oh, my not-date just threw my not-glass filled with not-water in my face for spouting such useless philosophical drivel.

-- The Penguin glass

-- a former european

To Lucasta, on Going Down to the Pub with my Mates to Tip a Glass.

Tell me not sweet I am unkind
that from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
down to the pub I fly,

True, a new mistress now I embrace,
The first glass on the rack,
And with a stein of beer do chase
a double shot of Jack

I only seem to have the sight
when Iíve been drinking more
Just when it seems I've got it right
I wake up on the floor.

The Were-Penguins of Seville

Stein rests on table
Head of foam overflowing
Shall I drink this beer?

--beer haiku

-- MathMom

Beer is a thing with bubbles
That clingeth to the mug
And effervesceth merrily
As though daring me to chug.

And sweetest, in the tap, is heard
Oh! sore must be the churl
That could forgo the tasty draught
That causeth one to hurl.

I've heard it in the chilliest mug
And in the tallest glass
And, if I quaff enough of it
'Twill knock me on my ass.

- Emily Dickenson Glass

-- Cassandra

I await your autistic efforts with great relish.

Posted by Cassandra at August 5, 2005 10:58 AM

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Tracked on August 5, 2005 01:14 PM


Relish with Beer? Ewwww. :-)

Does anyone know what happened to the WPoS?

Posted by: Masked Menace© at August 5, 2005 11:26 AM

The beer mug is half full - Optimist Glass
The beer mug is half empty - Pesimist Glass
The beer mug is twice as big as needed - Engineer Glass
Who the (*^&^% drank half my %*#*#%#(_@*@ Beer? - Irish Glass

Posted by: Masked Menace© at August 5, 2005 12:04 PM

MM, if anything proves I've got Irish blood in me, this does! Guess I'll just have to get a bigger mug, next time!

Posted by: JannyMae at August 5, 2005 12:11 PM

"Beer is living proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy." - Benjamin Franklin

"A cold beer at the end of the day is like meeting an old friend" - Tim Sullivan, friend of Irish descent

Beer, it's what's for dinner.

Posted by: David at August 5, 2005 12:42 PM

Ya, Friday beer... rub it in Cassandra rub it in!!!

Posted by: Frodo at August 5, 2005 01:55 PM

I stepped out of the steaming rain into a smokey little dive on Third Avenue. Mo's was the kind of joint that attracted a laundry list of edge- dwellers: wiseguys and their molls, hustlers and sharks, shakedown artists and small time grifters. It was crowded for a Thursday night and I shouldered my way through the seedy crowd drawing stares. I stared back, I caught a glimspe of an open space at the rail and made my way over. That's when I saw her.

She was a real prize, alright. Tall, cool and blonde, with a sassy head and a set of handles that could make a strong man weak in the knees. Oh yeah, I knew the type. She'd flash you the twinkle and the next thing you know you'got to have more of her. All of her. And you'd keep coming back until she spent of of your dough and then she'd leave you drunk in the gutter and lying to your wife about where the rent money went. Yeah. She was intoxicating all right.

Some poor slob was trying to make time with her. he was probably telling her about how his wife didn't understand him, his boss didn't understand him, and even his dog didn't understand him. I was tempted to reach over,tap him on the forehead, and tell him she wasn't listening. But I figured he'd find that out eventually. Instead I signalled to Mo.
"What'll be Mike. The ususal?" Mo said as he wiped the bar with a grimy towel. I was thinking about how far my life had sunk when every bartender in every snakepit on the Southside of town knew me by name. And I thought about how it might have worked out differently had I not chased Vivian away. Then I snapped to. PThe past is the past. Let it go.
"I'll have a whiskey, Mo." I said, the trails of Vivians perfume vanishing into the recesses of my mind. "A whiskey" said, and jerked my thumb towards the poor slob still blabbing away, "and whatever he's drinking."

Mickey Spilling

Posted by: spd rdr at August 5, 2005 02:15 PM

You are mad :)

I love it.

Posted by: Cassandra at August 5, 2005 02:43 PM

Judging from the typos, I think I've already had a few.

Posted by: spd rdr at August 5, 2005 03:00 PM

Oh, I imagine I'll fix them... I always do eventually if I have time.

You creative types can't be bothered with petty details.

Posted by: Cassandra at August 5, 2005 03:14 PM

Most peaceful revolution;
Makes my palate glad.
(MMM...I love a haiku)

Posted by: camojack at August 5, 2005 03:54 PM

Just for Cass:

Bias at the Times™
Who said we would be neutral...
Man, I need a drink.

Posted by: Masked Menace© at August 5, 2005 04:14 PM

The trails of Vivian's perfume vanishing....

Vivian? Vivian?? What happened to Velda? Left her at the office again, huh? No big surprise; Hammer's nothing more than a two-timing gin-smelling stubble-faced hard-boiled pulp dick like the rest of them.

Good noir stuff spd. Mickey would tip his hat to you, typos and all.

Posted by: portia at August 5, 2005 04:23 PM

I'll repost the one I wrote yesterday, in honor of the "better thinking through moderate drinking" report:

Twenty-eight drinks a week
That can make you really think!
Putting those four beers away
Makes for better word play!
Better poems, better thought,
Better health is thereby bought!
A merry life to you and me!
A drink right now, and then three!

Posted by: Grim at August 5, 2005 04:37 PM

Her name wasa Velda???
No wonder she dumped me.

Posted by: spd rdr at August 5, 2005 04:45 PM

John Donne Glass

Beer, be not cowed, though some accuse thee
Of making them nauseous, for thou art not so!
For those whom thou mak’st up to throw,
They die not, poor Beer! Nor dost thou kill them.
They rest… and sleep (though like the dead it seemeth)
After much pleasure; and from thee how much more dost flow?
And soon'st our best men with thee do go,
Laughing of their bones, and th' soul's delivery.
Thou makest slaves to fate, chance, kings, desperate men,
And dost no more with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
No poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
Once quaff’d, one short sleep past, we puke,
And then rise to drink to better days to come.

Posted by: Cassandra at August 5, 2005 04:52 PM

There are queer things done 'neath the midnight sun by those that quaff their brew.
But the queeriest thing the brew did bring was the guy named Betty Lou.

The Robert Service Glass

Posted by: joated at August 5, 2005 05:02 PM

Perhaps after a beer or three I can make an autistic effort.

Posted by: Pile On at August 5, 2005 05:28 PM

I gather from the recurring theme in Cassandra's poetry that beer has a stronger effect on her than is usual.

Posted by: Grim at August 5, 2005 05:31 PM

Well it doesn't take very much, Grim.

I used to have a pretty good head for alcohol, but nowadays I'm so tired most of the time that after one or two I get pretty loopy, so I don't drink much, quantity-wise :)

I'm lucky. I don't get hangovers though. I joke a lot, but I'm actually a fairly moderate drinker. Anyone who gets as many migraines as I do is not looking for more reasons to wake up with a headache!

Posted by: Cassandra at August 5, 2005 05:36 PM

"I don't get hangovers, though..." and she always wins in Las Vegas!

Posted by: spd rdr at August 5, 2005 05:58 PM

You guys are nuts! I love it. Mickey Spilling!

Did you say, "microbrewery," Camojack!? Man after my own mug!

Posted by: JannyMae at August 5, 2005 06:00 PM

Actually I don't really gamble myself unless it's for really small stakes. I keep thinking of everything I could be buying with the money.

I don't know why I'm that way.

But if I *am* going to gamble, then I like to take chances and if I get a good feeling I will bet just about everything, and I usually do win, then. But I rarely do that.

I play bridge that way too. I'll play conservatively the whole game and then all of a sudden go for a grand slam. But my husband likes me to sit next to him - he says he always wins as long as I'm sitting there. Pretty boring for me, though.

Posted by: Cassandra at August 5, 2005 06:19 PM

"When I read about the evils of drinking, I gave up reading." -- Henny Youngman

Posted by: Rodney Dill at August 5, 2005 06:20 PM

Wow! That was quite a trip down memory lane, Cass. I remember arguing with the Penguin over his denial of God, which generated my Penguin Glass post. I think that argument lasted for several dozen posts and bled over into half a dozen threads. Too bad he just disappeared. It was a fun argument, even though his position was pure sophistry.

I will hoist a cerveza fria to his memory.

Posted by: a former european at August 5, 2005 06:49 PM

Ah distinctly did I taste it.
Hops and malt and none were wasted
Every bubble, down I chased it
chased it with another dram.

Suddenly there came a rumble,
as of some dread roll and tumble
rumbling up from down below.

What foul visitor I worried,
dares to break this happy flurry
of fine microbrews I hurried,
hurried to imbibe just so?

Just a belch and nothing more

Edgar Allen Prosit

Posted by: Beerme [TypeKey Profile Page] at August 5, 2005 06:56 PM

I know the beer party was about over but I couldn't resist: )

Posted by: Beerme [TypeKey Profile Page] at August 5, 2005 06:58 PM

When all night long a chap imbibes
His brew, to chase monotony
He exercises of his brains,
That is, assuming that he's got any.
Though never nurtured in the AEI,
yet I admonish you,
I am an intellectual chap,
And think of things that would astonish you.
I often think it's comical
How Nature always does contrive
That every boy and every gal
That's born into the world alive
Is either a little Liberal
Or else a little Conservative!

When in Congress they divide,
If they've a brain and cerebellum, too,
They've got to leave that brain outside,
And vote just as their leaders tell 'em to.
But then the prospect of a lot Of Congresscritters
in close proximity,
All thinking for themselves,
is what No man can face with equanimity.
Then let's hoist a pint to toast the fact,
That Nature always does contrive--
That every boy and every gal
That's born into the world alive
Is either a little Liberal
Or else a little Conservative!

Fal lal la!

Posted by: Old Testament Liberal at August 5, 2005 07:39 PM

Very nice!

I'm hoisting one in your general direction my friend :)

To comity across the aisles - may it ever be so.

Posted by: Cassandra at August 5, 2005 07:43 PM

Wasn't that a great thread afe?

We used to have some great talks. I miss it sometimes. The Penguin and BTS. And several others I could name.

Posted by: Cassandra at August 5, 2005 07:45 PM

What I wouldn't give for a Guiness draft right now!

Posted by: JannyMae at August 5, 2005 07:49 PM

I believe it was Dorothy Parker, but I never verified it. A favorite of mine.

I enjoy a drink when I'm able
Or maybe two at the most
After three I'm under the table
After four I'm under the host

Posted by: SweetOld Bob at August 5, 2005 08:41 PM

After five, I'm above the radar
After six, I'm under the gun
After seven, I'm taking on heaven
After eight, I know that I'm done
After nine, I'm spoutin' bad wisdom
After ten, I'm fightin' the world
After l'even I'm kissin' my sister
Afffer twelff I'm noddin' and curled

But come thirteen and I'll come active,
The wind rising 'neath my sails
And I'll be primed to doth deliver
In your pans and buckets and pails.

Posted by: spd rdr at August 5, 2005 09:32 PM

Disclaimer: The Devil made me do it.

Posted by: spd rdr at August 5, 2005 09:50 PM

You can't fool me, spd.

You are the devil :)

Posted by: Cassandra at August 5, 2005 10:11 PM

"The devil made me do it the first time...second time I done it on my own" --Billy Joe Shaver

Posted by: portia at August 6, 2005 08:37 AM

Chuckling and grinning evilly. :)

Posted by: Cricket at August 6, 2005 09:27 AM

Did you say, "microbrewery," Camojack!? Man after my own mug!
Posted by: JannyMae at August 5, 2005 06:00 PM

Aye, lassie...thot [sic] I did. :-)

Posted by: camojack at August 6, 2005 04:53 PM

Stopping by woods to drink some beer.

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me drinking beer,

While his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer,

That I am drinking one more beer,

Between the woods and frozen lake,

Imbibe the fluid we hold so dear.

He gives his harness bells a shake.

Since he too has a thirst to slake.

The only other sound's the sweep,

Of easy wind and downey flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And lots to drink before I sleep!

And lots to drink before I sleep!

Robert Frosty Glass

Posted by: RichardSharpe at August 8, 2005 01:14 AM

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