Notes From a Dive Bar XVI

No customers, a dark Tuesday, I'm lit on cognac making up nursery rhymes that can be sung at an alcoholic's picnic.

Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water, Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill said -- get up you drunk bastard.

Meanwhile, Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard, to get her poor dog a bone, but when she got there, the cupboard was bare -- except for a bottle of vodka -- and so the poor dog got drunk instead.

Then, there was Humpty Dumpty -- sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty, had a great fall -- but he couldn't go the doctor as he had no health insurance, so he went to his local dive bar and got smashed, now with a crack in his self-confidence.

Then, as one's mind is wont to do when composing, I veer to the rustic muse, and sing:

Old MacDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O
And on that farm he had Jack Daniels, E-I-E-I-O
With a chug, chug here, and a chug, chug there,
Here a chug, there a chug, everywhere a chug, chug
Old MacDonald had a farm -- that was foreclosed.

Better stop this rhyming madness and put on the jukebox before I get depressed. Select Kool and the Gang, Celebrate Good Times, Come On! and I dance around on my own, until I fall over, helplessly waiting for Jill to arrive, but she never came --

So, up I got, and home I trot, as fast as I could caper, I went to bed, and bandaged my head.

And woke up with a brutal f*cking hangover.