Parked Up, Off Street.
Call me one crazy cat
Or crazy as a shit-house rat,
Or a footloose lush and loser.
I’m a surly solitary soul,
An unsociable drunk, on the whole,
Happy alone, I don’t think.
Back outside here I’m sat,
Back in my natural habitat,
Tipplin’ back ‘nother Vodka Cruiser.*
Life keeps taking a spiritual toll
So I keep filling the empty hole
With every drop I can drink.
*Cheap and nasty Kiwi alcopop.
©Obbverse
As a behind-the-times old geezer,
I deny ever hearing of “alcopop”….
But now that I look in the freezer,
Could it be that hidden can of frozen slop?
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I’m sort of taking the piss with this one. Sadly, a local icon has taken to living back in the bushes at our park. There is no help, he will do what he will.
Anyway;
It comes in many jolly flavours,
In cute bottles bright and garish,
To sup some does one no favours
It leaves you with a hangover so nightmarish…
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True story: I actually perused this earlier today, but I did not comment, uncertain concerning exactly what you might be saying (and briefly wondering if you were talking about moi) and deciding to return later before making a commitment to the discussionary thread. I’m glad I did, as mistermuse managed to prompt a clarification. I can now stop fabricating an alibi for the nights in question and go see if I have anything colorful in the deep freeze that might be considered garish…
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Ah, yes I was seeing it through the perspective of one addled by their addiction. This perspective is really a rather sad one, but it’s their life.
Don’t worry, you have to be very desperate to try a Vodka Cruiser, they are favoured by the the just-starting-to-learn- how- to-get- wasted teenage girl sub-set. The ones I’ve sometimes seen on a friday night, dressed up to the nines for a night on the town… head down beside a gutter grate looking (w)rethced rather than inelegantly wasted.
Plus, gin, especially sloe gin, is not classed as an alcoholic beverage, it’s an old home and revered medicine, or so my dear old mother slurred to me. So you’re safe!
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