Thread: Story Chain C

A story in poetry? Why not. We're talkin rhymes here, you lazy bums.

I woke up one morning to find,
That i was essentially blind.
This wasn't a problem as soon,
I located the walls of my room
And teetering toterring out
Gave a hell of a big ass shout
"Who the fuck stole my glasses." I cried
To which someone replied..

"It's not your glasses that I've taken,
you're just drunk and that's why shaken,
wash your eyes with water and soap,
then again you may finally cope."
My mom was right 'twasn't hard to see,
luckily I felt better after a cup of tee,
my head was still banging like a cattle against a pot,
"Damn" I shouted, "My brain may rot!"
Normally I wouldn't have been panicing so,
but my driving licence test was in ten minutes, doh!

Try as I might,
I could not find my sight.
Imagine if you will,
that there is such a pill,
who would allow me to test
driving without the best
of my eyes
Not to mention my thighs.
The trouble as I see it,
Is the things I could hit
If I get behind the wheel,
You can imagine the deal.

Haha! Good so far!

And so it was, I was hungover
As I bid goodbye to my dog, Rover
And took the chair in my car
And drove straight to the bar.
I hadn't passed my test, that much I knew
But I wasn't going to, not without a double vodka and a chicken vindaloo.
As I arrived, to my horror I saw..

My driving instructor sprawled on the floor.
A plan formed in my head and I began to smile—
I could pass my test without driving a mile.
Bribery, my friends, is the tool of the smart man,
Incriminating photos would gain a permanent ban.
I needed a camera, anything would do,
Polaroid, Kodak, or even something new.
Reaching for my wallet I rushed to the door,
Please stay inebriated just a few minutes more.

(I don't usually do poems )

Nice.

I tried rhyming something with 'Camera',
But could only think of 'pyjama',
Which doesn't even rhyme.

The pavement passed quickly under my feet,
As I made for the camera shop just up the street.
Focused I didn’t watch where I was going,
The seeds of pain and hurt was I sowing.
The bus came at me with thunderous might,
My frail body couldn’t put up a fight.

(I had more but I have a lesson to go to and a weekend in Wales after that. So, until next time...)

Lucky for me and my life,
The bus had about as much effect as a rubber knife,
Fortunately you see, it was made entirely of pancake mix
So I continued after my camera fix
And though I had become a little moist,
Into the shop, myself I did hoist
And pulling out my handy gun
Gave the owner some fun.

What owner would shriek
at the sight of a geek
all slathered with batter
waving a gun like a mad-hatter

He rose a quick finger
Did his best Debra Winger
Yelled with a hoot
Then gave me the boot

Me with pancake mix in my hair
hitting the street with nary a stare
Gun now at my side
mortified I ran to hide

I hid in the tumult of the human crowd
why, I asked myself, am I such a coward
If I daren't act mylife as a pantomime
How would I bribe, drive, and rhyme?

Live as you act, that's what they say
And act as you never acted before--nay
I am in the middle of a driving test!
And this guy next to me is my worst guset

He looked over my shoulder and stared
As if he was drunk, or blind as I was. Weird.
"Stop!" he said, and my car hesitated
And halted after five seconds, agitated

"Not here!" he shrieked, "not in the middle
of a crossing! are you showing your mettle?"
I stared back, his lips twisted, and eyes blank
reflecting a garbage truck looming like a tank

Certain authors of this fair poem,
Appear rather obsessed
With ending my life, I confess
First a bus, and now yet more
Oncoming traffic is such a bore.

Me in a car, I didn't get far
Lucky for me, my instructor was red of nose
Red of eye, and seemed intent on getting to a bar
"Turn right," he said, looking ahead
"Patty's All-Day All-Night Erotic Parlour?" I asked, quizically
And we smiled.

So I stepped in for a rub
Maybe a tug on the nub
Who knows, I thought
I might get what I bought
Which is not really a wife
for that would end my life
I wouldn't want that
For I'm not really a cat
Nine lives would be nice
But I'll settle for rice
If served on the belly
of an exotic Nelly
For that's what I'm here for
At a quarter to four
Nobody steps into an erotic parlour
for a chance at amore
No I just want to escape
have hands work my nape
OOh yeah that feels good
Now on to my hood.

Suddenly it came to me,
What of my wife and family?
Whilst it was true that I lived at home,
With my mother and father and dog and bone,
My charming, twelve year old italian bride
Stayed forever in my room, always by my side.
True, she enjoyed mostly playing Scrabble and often lied
Claiming "I need 3000$ for dental surgery."
When it was clear she had no teeth.

My life just gets weirder and weirder
My actions absurder and absurder
And why have they come to me in such a rush
Like God does all the trouble in one go flush
As if I have money to burn, time to kill
Wife to strangle, and a car-tank to fill
Now I just a need to find a gas station
To serve as a temporary termination

Termination would be nice,
Oh the bliss of being on ice
In a cold dank mortuary bag
my facial muscles begin to sag
But knowing I'm there
Would be too much to bear
Maybe instead
To be in a bed
With my lovely little bride
No teeth! What a ride!