Post by Just Fred on Sept 21, 2010 15:56:55 GMT
the dining room (come dance hall) is packed out tonight
and chad (with good intentions) is blinding us all
with disco lights (less bright than his acne) borrowed from the 70's
the chairs are set (in an inward facing circle) and those who can stand don't
and the 'captain' is placed (awkwardly) in the middle of the floor
and a volunteer (community service) dj is playing songs none of us know
and dear old ethel (whose birthday do it is) sits dribbling inanely
no one quite knows (including ethel) just how old she really is
but judging by her wrinkles (and edwardian dress) i think she's quite old
a birthday cake (that none can chew) is waltzed into the room
by little julie (the pretty one) whose face melts in the heat
of all the candles (or the disco lights) that declare ethel 95
she asks ethel to make a wish (please let me die) and then blows the fire
and ethel spits (more on julie than the cake) then promptly wets herself
and mad frankie (with compassion) points a finger out and laughs
declaring to all (who can hear him) that the birthday girl
has pissed herself (again) and i thank god for small mercies
that my bladder (and my mind) are mostly owned by me
and i look forward (to our next do) with approaching halloween
when we can come (dressed as we are) and look the part
and pass convincingly (with scary style) as the living dead
is it any wonder (with the frights we face) that this place stinks of faeces (or poo-poos)?
and chad (with good intentions) is blinding us all
with disco lights (less bright than his acne) borrowed from the 70's
the chairs are set (in an inward facing circle) and those who can stand don't
and the 'captain' is placed (awkwardly) in the middle of the floor
and a volunteer (community service) dj is playing songs none of us know
and dear old ethel (whose birthday do it is) sits dribbling inanely
no one quite knows (including ethel) just how old she really is
but judging by her wrinkles (and edwardian dress) i think she's quite old
a birthday cake (that none can chew) is waltzed into the room
by little julie (the pretty one) whose face melts in the heat
of all the candles (or the disco lights) that declare ethel 95
she asks ethel to make a wish (please let me die) and then blows the fire
and ethel spits (more on julie than the cake) then promptly wets herself
and mad frankie (with compassion) points a finger out and laughs
declaring to all (who can hear him) that the birthday girl
has pissed herself (again) and i thank god for small mercies
that my bladder (and my mind) are mostly owned by me
and i look forward (to our next do) with approaching halloween
when we can come (dressed as we are) and look the part
and pass convincingly (with scary style) as the living dead
is it any wonder (with the frights we face) that this place stinks of faeces (or poo-poos)?