A curmudgeonly blotting courtesy
of the blottoed bard of the bar:
The pseudonymous fellow at the tavern
who is always quick to slow things down
in inverse proportion to drinking up his
drink, waxes prosaic, opining upon every
topic that passes afore his potted mind.
Often prefacing his remarks with some
profound pronouncement such as, “One
thing I’ve learned” or “True story” he
launches into some ramble about which
the point is clear– though even this is
debatable– only to himself.
Though annoying, he is harmless, armed
only with a self-regarded wit (about which
he is indeed half right). The point being that
the point he, unawares, strives to drive home
is no point at all, but just a desperate longing
simply to be heard.
of the blottoed bard of the bar:
The pseudonymous fellow at the tavern
who is always quick to slow things down
in inverse proportion to drinking up his
drink, waxes prosaic, opining upon every
topic that passes afore his potted mind.
Often prefacing his remarks with some
profound pronouncement such as, “One
thing I’ve learned” or “True story” he
launches into some ramble about which
the point is clear– though even this is
debatable– only to himself.
Though annoying, he is harmless, armed
only with a self-regarded wit (about which
he is indeed half right). The point being that
the point he, unawares, strives to drive home
is no point at all, but just a desperate longing
simply to be heard.
poetastrophy 