Bar Hopping

Come on—let’s go bar hopping,

drink-drink-drinking, no stopping

as we careen bar to bar

in my leaden-footed car.

Shots of bourbon, vodka, rum,

drinking until kingdom come,

drunk amphibian delight

swimming till first morning light,

bleary-eyed as a bullfrog

fattened on flies, brain agog

with the sloshing swamp’s flood-tide

and the moonlit moonshine ride,

shotglasses like lily pads,

stepping stones for the mad lads

who burp karaoke songs

and stuff bills in stripper thongs.

Beer and whiskey—booze, booze, booze!

Drink as if there’s nought to lose,

webbed-hands clutching empty cans,

head dizzy as ceiling fans,

draining to dregs each bottle

and driving on, full throttle;

bloated, clammy, puking up

into your red solo cup.

Cluster ‘round a gorgeous gal,

compete with your dearest pal

for the lady long of leg

who, smiling sly, wants to peg

while you pass out on her couch

as she aims her dildo—ouch!

What now? Don’t go reneging

just ‘cuz of some frog-gigging.

When it’s raining firewater

you must be a globe trotter

and drink the weekend away,

hopping down-road, come what may.

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