The Storyteller

Well it's Friday in my world and for most of you I guess that might mean guilt free beers tonight. Unfortunately that means that you won't have the pleasure of fronting up to work tomorrow. In running with this bittersweet feeling that Friday can invoke in a person, I give you this-

The Storyteller

He's old and geriatric,

Can hardly see six feet,

Silhouetted by the fire,

He makes the scene complete.

Waldorf or Statler,

It doesn't really matter.

He's either one or both,

And mad as a hatter.

As the years pass,

his feats get more outrageous.

His infectious enthusiasm,

Grows ever more contagious.

We know it's mostly bullshit

And we've heard 'em all before,

No-one ever calls him out

His word is the 'lore.

It's always entertaining,

A night with him by the fire.

Every fabricated escape,

Runs right down to the wire.

He kidnapped Harold Holt,

And did away with Elvis,

Says he could never stand

The sight of his gyrating pelvis

One time he and Albert,

Spent all night getting beery.

When the dawn-time came,

'Bertie had a brand new theory.

He was linked to Audrey, Greta,

Marilyn and even Mae.

Yes he was quite the pantsman,

In his younger days.

Sent behind the Iron Curtain

Single-handed won the Cold War.

Breezed through checkpoint Charlie,

And pulled down half the wall.

Was he really in Korea?

Was he really in 'Nam?

We know he probably wasn't,

But we don't give a damn.

We just give him his Scotch,

Watch as his eyes begin to glisten.

Find ourselves a comfy seat,

Settle on down to listen.

He's never happier than this,

With a sparkle in his eye.

It's our last cherished moments together,

Before the last goodbye.

Enjoy your weekend, catch you next week.