That sweet supple nectar ravaging my catacomb brain. Loftily dripping tender trumpeting temptations down the addled addict center. Forthwith I am betaken, bumblestumped to resist the lusty wafts of our own ambrosia. Those dotted and dewed bottles of unequivocal livations.
I place my heels upon the unforgiving ground but alas the pull is mighty and the poignant draft calls me nightly. But a copper left and all of it must be spent on that Allahforsaken draught. Honeyed whisperings in a beggars ear, the fool is me at my usual chair. The wood it harkens for me to come about. No laying in the depressed bed, tis time for replenishing stout.
Pockets empty, I’ve gone and drunk it all. A pittance biweekly and all for drunken Tom; the master of mine mischief, the seeker of retched retching and follower of inebriation. Wining, dining, all good fun within the hours. Pub crawl and away with thee, I slur my merry way home.
And what may happen next day when tempers thin, when dizzy highs come falling in? I assure you all is accounted for, no regrets nor devastation wrought. I played the part of amiable drunk, no bitters except for what’s in my mug. No fights or fouls do I foresee but only cheers and toasts for me. A proper man handles spirits well, and if not, a gentleman will never tell.