[re-posted because original was deleted due to profanity! ] <br /> <br />(written partly in Scots, as it only seemed appropriate) <br /> <br />I gaup at me whisky bottle in despair: <br /> <br />Whit’s wrang wi ye pa’? <br />Ye’re the Laphroaig of Islay, <br />ye should staund prood, <br />yet yer seelence is so freckin’ lood! <br /> <br />C’mon! Dae somethin’ funny, <br />ye can hae aw me money, <br />me poetry, me books, me life, <br />I’ll even share with ye... me wife. <br /> <br />Why the hell don’t ye speak? <br />Aye, ye’re so curvy, so weet, so sleek! <br />But I lost the plat in the loo, come find me anither one <br />or I swear I’ll shoot ye wi me imaginary sex-gun. <br /> <br />OK, ok, I offer ye a truce, <br />juist gimme, gimme, gimme yer bluidy juice, <br />yer spirit, yer warld, yer power. <br />Please, please, just for anither wee hour. <br /> <br />Ye see, I’m lanely like yer malt <br />and I knaw, I knaw it’s not yer fault, <br />but bring me peace of mind <br />wi yer gust that’s so refined. <br /> <br />Ye are me only freend, <br />tae the very bitter end, <br />please let me be yer best freend too <br />an yer name on me arms I’ll tattoo. <br /> <br />And then the whisky said: <br /> <br />Gae shug a blend ya mad dafty!<br /><br />Niko Tiliopoulos<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/friday-nicht-haly-molly-nicht-2/
