Twas the month of December when all through the bar
Gathered an assortment of party-goers from near and afar.
The liquor bottles were placed on the shelf with great care,
In the hopes that the drunkards would all soon be there.
The olives and cherries were all snug in their caddies,
With visions of garnishing sweet cocktails for fatties.
The bartenders shook martinis, with a bravado and grace,
With the hint of a smile on their young, handsome face.
When from up near the entrance, arose mutterings and mumblings,
Murmurs and whisperings, rumors and grumblings.
For through the front door, came the Cougars a-stalking,
Some guests looked away, while others stood gawking.
They looked old but dressed young, a most terrifying sight,
Their boobs hard as coconuts, their faces stretched tight.
They were decorated in leopard-skin, from their toes to their heads,
As they sought out young prey, to lure home to their beds.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But eight raucous Douchebags, lacking manners or fear.
They strutted in loudly, administering fist pounds and “Bros”,
While scanning the dance floor, for bitches and hoes.
“We came to hook up”, they boasted, “We came here to party”,
They came donning their game shirts: Affliction, Ed Hardy.
They swooped in on young ladies, with no etiquette or charm,
Uninvited they laid their hands, on their backs and their arms.
“Hey baby, hey darling, hey sugar,” they said,
“I don’t want to be rude, but you’d look great in my bed.”
From there the night elevated swiftly, like a furious cyclone,
Long Islands flowed freely, as well as Jack and Patron.
Between the strobe light and alcohol, the scene became blinding,
Bodies were bouncing, thrusting and grinding.
They danced ’til last call, which came abrupt as a stab,
When they all staggered out front, and waved down a cab.
Many stumbled home to their rooms, and discarded their clothing,
And had sex with gross strangers, that later caused regret and deep loathing.
With binge drinking comes repercussions, and waves of great sickness,
Many dashed to the bathroom, and upchucked with swift quickness.
And laying their heads aside of the bowl,
They all begged for God’s help, in exchange for their souls.
The next morning their hangovers would be raging and burning,
Their stomachs queazy, from a room spinning and turning.
But for the moment they were at peace, despite a scene that seemed vile,
Content to lay their heads down and sleep, on the urine-soaked tile.
I hope that your holidays will be happy and bright,
From TheRealBarman: a merry drunk Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Cheers,
The RB
