Bowling Banquet

Had my bowling banquet tonight. I won about 250 bucks, which isn't too bad. I also wrote a poem for the occassion. No one will get it, but I'm going to post it any way. Just a little background though. Our bowling team consists of Matt, Donnie, Paul, me (Kenny) and Kirby. Kirby is a middle-aged man, we are all 20 somethings. So it pretty much goes without saying that Kirby is the team drunk. He isn't really a drunk, but compared to the rest of us he is. Let's just say he enjoys a few beers here and there. This poem is a modification of the story of Goldie Locks and the Three Bears. The title is Kirby Locks and the Three Beers. Notice the two different spellings. Bears and Beers. Here is the poem:

Kirby Locks and the Three Beers
Also Known As the Epic of Kirby
Also Known as the Little Kirby that Could

Once upon a time, there was a drunkard named Kirby
As you might have guessed, he drank till he was topsy-turvy
On one fine day, he wandered through the woods
He came upon a brewery, and said, this is good
I’ll go in, he said
And pump the place full of lead
I’ll kill them all, he exclaimed
And then I’ll drink until it rains

But as he approached the door
He fell flat on his face to the floor
Kirby, as you can plainly see, was already drunk as could be
And although he didn’t flee, I think he might have broke a knee
No matter to Kirby though
He got up using both elbows
He stood up and reordered himself
And then he laughed like a little elf

After that, he tried to walk into the place
But he forget to turn the knob and hit his face
He laughed again, you know the laugh
He must have split his gut in half
He kicked the door with all his might
And there was a sound like dynamite
No bother though, it was only gas
It was coming out of Kirby’s ass

Kirby finally entered the complex
Looking like a drunken T-Rex
Kirby went strolling through the halls
Proudly playing with both his balls
However, Kirby found no one inside
He wondered where they were, did they hide
He was elated though, he took a pill
Now he didn’t have to kill

Kirby searched and searched for alcohol
Playing now with just one ball
He finally found some in the back
And then he did a line of crack
How he did that, I do not know
He moved around to-and-fro (like a giant Eskimo)
He took a sip of the first beer, too sweet
It also smelled just like his feet

Kirby shouted, is this all you’ve got
He grew tired and fell asleep on a cot
On his own vomit, he didn’t choke
What a miracle, he awoke
He gathered enough courage to go looking for more
But then he met a dreadful disgusting dirty whore
He had his way with her and he asked her not to stray
She said, no way, you’re a terrible lay, have a nice day

Heartbroken, Kirby ran far far away
But in the brewery he did stay
He looked and looked for some beer
He pranced around like a giant queer
He finally found more, he cracked it open
From the bong, he was tokin’
He took a swig of the second beer, too sour
He must have cried for about an hour

Woe is me, woe is me, he lamented
He looked at his penis, he had bent it
That dirty whore, he then said
He looked around for a great big bed
He found one and went to lie down
But under the covers, there was a mound
Another whore, he jumped for joy
He got in to play with his new toy

Poor old Kirby, the same reaction
Although, he did get some action
The whore got up and ran away
Much to halfhearted Kirby’s dismay
Kirby had to press on though, he came too far
He didn’t want to spend the night at a bar
He continued his quest with no luck
He was just about to say oh fuck…

He finally found the third beer and drank it, just right
Not like those two-bit whores, they weren’t tight
After the case of beer was through
Kirby decided to sniff some glue
After that, he had himself some fun
He found another whore with sticky buns
He took her to a hammock, what a blunder
And gave her his three inches of thunder

And so they lived happily ever after
Oh what joy, oh what rapture
The two of them, they had four kids
And it’s really a shame that they did
One is named Paul, one is named Matt
Both of them are clueless ass hats
The other two, as you can clearly see
Have the names of Kenny and Donnie

And that’s the epic of a man named Kirby
He’ll be on the next episode of Maury
Discussing all the venereal disease he got
On the hammock, on the bed, on the cot
And as for his kids, if you can’t tell
All four of them are doing well
Except for Paul, he’s quite dumb
That retarded asshole cut off his thumb

And that's it. I also forget to mention that I wrote this poem to inspire our team to change its name to Kirby's Kids. We are currently Kirby's Heroes, because we all wear Superhero shirts. Those bastards didn't want to change the name, so I pretty much wrote the poem for nothing. Anyways the hilarity of the poem is probably lost on all of you because you don't know Kirby. If you did know him, you'd be laughing you ass off right about now. That's the reaction I got out of everyone who read it and knows him. Well, that's all I got tonight. You stay classy, San Diego.