(Written for Chel Owen's Terrible poetry contest- easy rules; basically use the first line of a well known poem and then put your twisted spin on it.) The Rottenest Ever Hangover. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, After many a gin sunken I'm found slumpen 'pon the floor, Dryly heaving, stomach clenching, regretting my night out wenching, 'Twas all quite gut-wrenching but I've known of its ilk before, Muttered I, 'I'll go out and get
pissed- pie-eyed no more,' Murmuringly, for my skull be ever sore. Ah, painfully in a head most tender I remember 'twas quite the bender; E'en as each clang of pain in my brain rings down to its sodden core, Uneasily recalling that I and that barfly signora put away a plethora Of gin, oodles of Boodles* resulted in a night of sin worthy of Gomorrah, Now that fair maid lies sleepily sated, a beauty without flaw, Yet I shudder at her ev'ry snore. Oh, the pain, teeth gritting, hard hitting, never quitting, head splitting, In the mirror, pale and pallid I see the sorriest wretch you ever saw, Aye, red rimmed eyes a' gleaming, the mind silently screaming- I, a drunk with liver past redeeming, 'twill take a miracle to restore, Oooh, but I'll drag myself to that familiar door- One I've slammed behind me a time or two afore- And retake the AA pledge once more. *Boodles, a fine old English gin, one I'm still quick to recommend - but best take it slooowly, in moderation.