The Drunken Limerick Fasade...

[Bhurin]

"Greetings all!" Called forth Bhurin as he raised a glass into the air, "how is everyone this eve?"

 

The room suddenly became unnaturally quiet, as Bhurin realized that few people actually hung around the old tavern, and those that were there did not seem to be in the answering mood.

 

That would not due at all.

 

"Come on everyone!" Bhurin urged, walking toward the few occupants in the bar, "don't be so quiet! The Gods gave you a voice, so use it!"

 

"For what?" Came a voice from somewere within the crowd, "not a lot to do in here. Most the poetry and such goes in the other rooms."

 

"Alright then..." Bhurin said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "how about a good old fashion Drunken Limerick Fasade? It's a little less formal than regular poetry, so I don't think anyone would mind if we held one in here. Come on! I'll even start!"

 

Bhurin suddenly ran to the bar, and leapt upon the counter. "Now you're supposed to make them up on the spot (as I trust you all will) but I'll start with one I wrote just recently, since I'm not drunk yet. here goes!"

 

T'was a sawer by the name of Sawcy,

Who saw a seesaw on the sea,

When some kids happend by,

they looked out, and they cried,

"Sawcy's sawing the seesaw he saw, see?"

 

"Alright, that one wasn't too good. But like I said I'm not drunk yet."

 

Bhurin suddenly dropped his wallet on the bar, and said, "We'll decide who's the winner later, and I'll even give them a prize! So whose up next?"

[Peredhil]

Peredhil, passing by,

Thrust his head through the window with a cry.

Excellent idea!

However I fear,

I shan't be able to comply.

 

Checking his List, he hurried onward, missing the comraderie of his friends.

[Guest Minta Rose]

A grebe named Tortine, with a waddle,

Was typing, delighting in twaddle.

"it sounds truly bad,

alliteration gone mad,

but good luck! my beak's not yet swaddled.

[Bhurin]

Bhurin, a little woozy now from the required drinking, steps forward...

 

Oh Peredhil and dear Minta Rose,

The first of the last of my Foes?

Who would want to compete,

With the Pen's high elite?

I think that I'll just stick to prose...

 

Hiccup!

 

(Bhurin reaches for a stein of Dwarven Rum)

 

Wait, that rhymed!

[Guest Foe Calibur]

Foe walks up to his boistrous friend, Bhurin and takes a swig from his stein. Being an elf this is MORE than enough to get him a little tipsy, he climbs atop his comrade's massive shoulders and spouts his improvised limeric:

 

Oh vexing the bard she may be,

'twixt line and another doth see,

But 'ere in this land,

Hitherto bides parnassian,

To purplex even one such as she.

 

Collapsing upon Bhurin's mighty head Foe lays half-concious for the remainder (or untill Bhurin moves him) of his stay.

[Peredhil]

Peredhil hastens through on a bicycle and shouts

 

Whether prose or poetry or twittle,

I'd hope we'll see more than a little-

Titles you may see

Serve you and for me

And for them we shouldn't give a fiddle.

 

Dexteriously avoiding the person walking through the door, he shoots out down Jechum's path.

[Jakob]

Early one morn' I was risin...

'ere still dark, the horizon.

Me pants on the floor.

Quick, to the door.

Prior night's drinks were VERY mezmerizon.

 

I'm a simple man. All I want is enough sleep for two normal men, enough whiskey for three, and enough women for four...

Quill-Bearer of The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword

[Guest Foe Calibur]

Upon my perch here atop,

The highest of perches I prop,

My hand on my chin,

I smile... I grin,

To see, I do, from up top.

 

And here I sit, chin in palm,

In awe of the view yet aplomb,

For my regular view,

See much closer I do,

Than from here atop Bhurin's high calm.

[Peredhil]

Peredhil's face is reddish in hue

It's quite obvious he's had a few

But he realizes with chagrin

That no foam's on his chin

For he only drinks Mountain Dew!

 

For such a silly Elf or Man

He's doing the drunk as best he can

It's been years since he was drunk

As he remembers with a thunk

Why he's not an alcohol fan.

 

He'd drunk three Polynesian Paralyzi

In five minutes - and then thought he'd die

Twenty-two hours of dry heaves

As the rum from his body leaves

Kneeling at the commode asking, "Why?"

 

Tis far better to drink his pop

And act drunk 'till all others drop

Avoiding the physical abuse

Not needing the alcohol excuse

To be crazy and 'over the top'.

[Bhurin]

Now stepped forward the man who begun

This fasade, inflating his lungs.

With his mind nursed in drink,

And straining to think,

It was time to pull out the big guns!

 

"I have n'er in my long life before,

Seen a gather'in of bards so hard core!

So many big words,

And devices I've heard,

T'are the greatest word weavers of lore!

 

I can hardly keep up now I fear...

(Hey bartender, could you please top my beer?)

Now where was I? Oh yes,

Forgive my mind, tis a mess,

But I can't b'lieve the words that I hear.

 

E'er since this contest began,

I learn more and more stuff as it ran.

I'd have never have thunk,

Even though I am drunk

That Perd' was a 'Dew drinking man.

 

The muses' own I see 'fore my eyes,

Some witty, some noble, some wise.

Word smiths ye all be,

(And prob'ly tired o' me)

But contests like this n'er have ties.

 

But over it ain't just quite yet,

So those still to post needn't fret.

I'll call an end to this craze,

In just seven days,

So all of ye please heed my threat!

 

Now some questions that're bugging my mind,

About limericks, and I don't mean to whine,

But as far as I know,

Cause I've never been told,

They shouldn't exceed more then five lines.

 

Now finally a question I dread

To ask, but it needs to be said.

Can anyone see,

And say honestly:

Do I have an elf on my head?

[Justin Silverblade]

Always with eye open for gold,

Justin stepped forth, tall and bold,

And like a buffoon,

Sang, without tune

His words to the crowd: "Behold!

 

A game of such calibur and kind,

Is one playing, I wouldn't mind.

So pour me an ale,

I must tell a tale

And I'm already 12 drinks behind!

 

There once was a lady named Sue

Who shouldn't drink a glass over two

She tried this fasade,

And looked rather odd

When she jumped on the bar like a kangaroo!

 

And of course there was Bob the Great,

He could never quite get things straight.

His house was built,

On a hill with a tilt,

And he could only count to eight.

 

Though these tales might be tame,

And the jokes... slightly lame,

But I can safely say,

There is no way,

That I could pass up this great game!

 

Another ale please, I've finished mine,

Make it stronger, I still feel fine...

I could be wrong,

I'm not that strong,

And I think this room's on a slight incline."

[Bhurin]

Tick tock tick tock,

Slowly ticks the contest clock.

What poet will win?

For time now wears thing...

Whose poem, in other words, rocks?

 

Three days remaining...

[Justin Silverblade]

With but three days of limerick time,

I find myself without a dime,

I musn't quit,

Without a hit,

Or at least one great rhyme.

 

It's difficult to do, right on the spot,

I'm no quick wit, nor poetry hot-shot

If I can't I fear,

I'm out on my rear

If Bhurin's gold I have not!

 

Unless my services, I volenteer,

To wash the dishes clean & clear

For my food it would pay,

In the keep, a night's stay,

And I could help myself to free beer!

[Guest Foe Calibur]

I find little in tongue or in hand,

To take up, with con, such a stand,

As to yield my right,

To spawn and to write,

A literary affair quite so grand.

 

I seek these attractions for naught,

In time, hence forever, in thought,

I stand here this day,

But with little to say,

I shan't sire another, or wrought.

[Bhurin]

Bhurin stepped forward, knowing that he was somewhat late, and his red face reflected his knowledge of this.

 

"Hello everyone, sorry I'm late, but I just flew in and boy are my wings tired..."

 

Somewhere from the back a roll of drums and a crash symbol rang in the background. No one laughed

 

"Right!" Bhurin said, clapping his hands together, "Well, I guess it's time to call an end to this fasade! The first within the Pen's walls, but hopefully not the last. As I promised, I have a winner. And he or she shall receive a prize. I have the ballot right here... Now, can I get a drumroll please..."

 

No drumroll ensued.

 

"COME ON!" Bhurin cried, "I JUST HEARD SOMEONE PLAYING, LIKE, TWO SECONDS AGO!"

 

Finally a drumroll came, accompanied by stiffled chuckles, sounding vaguely like a few elders...

 

"And the winner is..." Bhurin said, ripping open the envelope and removing the piece of paper within...

 

 

Drumroll

 

 

 

 

Drumroll

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Drumroll

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Drumroll

 

 

 

 

 

 

Drumroll

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Drumroll

 

 

 

 

 

"ME!" Bhurin cried, waving the envelope in the air and yelling with excitment.

 

A sudden, almost disgusted hush came over the crowd, as Bhurin reached behind the bar and removed a golden crown, only to place it on his head. Bhurin began to wave his arms in the air excitedly.

 

Suddenly, a choras of boos erupted from the crowd, obviously unimpressed by Bhurin's show of self glorifacation.

 

Bhurin, affronted by the boos, looks to the crowd with eyes filled with offence, saying only, "Well, I just thought that, since mine were the best, that I should..."

 

The boos insued, light hearted of course, with only a few people actually throwing things. Bhurin, dodging a few of the sharper objects, quickly put up his hands and said, "Whoa! Whoa!! I'm just kidding guys. Come on! Give me a break! Yeesh..."

 

Bhurin quickly reached behind the counter again, pausing only a moment to remove the crown reluctantly and shed a quiet teer, before removing another ballot and saying, "Alright everyone, for real this time. Before I announce the winner, know that it was a hard choice. Everyone who participated surprised me, so basically everyone is a winner in my heart..."

 

"But", Bhurin quickly added, his eyes widening with excitment, "as I said there must be a winner, and to them go the spoils. So, without further ado, the winner of the Pen's first ever Druken Limerick fasade is..."

 

"Wait for it..."

 

"Foe Calibur!"

 

A round of applause erupted from the crowd, as the limber elf (who had just recently become sober once more) stepped up to the bar and was crowned. Bhurin quickly picked up a mug and said, "Before anyone says or does anything, I just wanted to say that while Foe is my good friend, my choice of him did not lightly come about. I wish I had second or third place prizes, or could award ties, but a Drunken Limerick Fasade is an ancient tradition, and only one may emerge victorious."

 

Foe received another round of applause, the bar filling with every voice, calling out in congratulation.

 

Bhurin then reached behind the bar again, and this time withdrew a small box. He stood next to Foe, as the elf waved and accepted congratulations. When the calls were done, Bhurin said quite prominently, "Foe Calibur, it is my honor to present you with this..."

 

At that, Bhurin grabbed the small bow with both hands and opened it. Reaching inside, he withdrew a golden drinking stein, polished and lavished, and sparkling in the torch light.

 

"Foe, I present you with the Golden Mug award! A prize awarded only to those who emerge victorious from a Drunken Limerick Fasade! Take it, and may you never know the horrors of sober limerick composing."

 

Foe took the mug, and nodded appreciately. "Thank you my friend," he said, his eyes smiling as widely as his mouth, "I shall bear this burden... I mean award, proudly. Never will my lips know another mug..."

 

Finally, Bhurin grabbed a normal drinking mug and, raising it into the air, toasted, "To Limericks! Never mastered, never fumbled, and never appreciated by a clear mind!"

 

At that, the bar raised their mugs, and toasted. Then they all partied well into the night.

 

_________________________________________________

 

Thanks everyone, for participating. I hope we can do this again sometime. Until then, may the muse smile upon our doings, and visit us when we're in spirits...

[Peredhil]

Great job Foe Caliber - and nicely announced Bhurin.

 

Thank you for doing this, it was great fun.

 

Scurries away to play with Foe Caliber's title for a few moments...

 

-Peredhil

[Guest Foe Calibur]

Smiling broadly Foe brandishes the mug proudly as he steps forwads on the stage, "Heh... In honor of the first Drunken Limerick Fasade, it's founder Bhurin, all of it's participants... and it's esteemed victor," the croud errupted in a corus of light hearted boo's and laughter, "Drinks on me!!!"

 

Foe held the golden mug up to the ceiling as the croud cheered. Turning his head to Bhurin Foe whispers, "You think I have enough credit?" Foe's face turned concerned for a moment then he smiled, turned back the the Tavern and proclaimed, "Open the taps Bartender! There's drinking to be done!"

[Peredhil]

Still burrowing through the back rooms, Peredhil comes out blowing dust off a book. Opening it, phantasmal forces whirl above the pages and the aged thread unspools it's fun.

 

We should do things like this more often.

 

And to think, Bhuren was only an Initiate when he did this...