A Drinking Club with a Running Problem
There once was an Ithacan Chili Fest
With competitions to see whose was best
Though people did sample
And offerings were ample
A select few, with beer, were most blessed.
On the way to the Chanti went Baster
Of chili, it’s said, he’s the taster
On greeting McFeelMe
He chatted, though briefly
Then left being not a time-waster.
Showing up to the Chanticleer bar
With Lager and Kara so far
They purchased a draft
(make it two–don’t be daft)
And agreed it was quite above par.
Sitting there for a wee little while
They agreed it was cramping their style
So trail was soon made
And chalk was thus laid
And they set off with aplomb and sly guile.
On-on through the loud surging throng
The pack stopped to enjoy a song
Though karaoke is grand
The singing was panned
So they instead talked of Floss’ red thong.
To Korova the hare did point chalk
And the hounds yelled on-on and did talk
So soon they were seated
Drinking beer, not defeated
Swearing not to end limericks with ‘caulk.’
On-weekend,
~Master Baster