Poetry about boozing.

Below is a poem I wrote a little while ago to commemorate an epic (and fairly stupid) drinking session undertaken with some friends. Not very relevant or interesting unless you know those involved, but there it is.

The Centurion

‘Twas evening in Hojo,
And the darkness drew near,
As warriors arrived,
To do battle with beer.

Seven brave, fearless souls,
Set to take on the beast.
They would lay down their lives,
Or their livers at least.

A hundred shots, the goal,
One a minute, the pace,
Each was fully prepared,
To get right off his face.

Their leader was Derry,
Of the Kelleher clan,
Well seasoned in battle,
And a hard drinking man.

At his side there stood Al,
Often prefixed with ‘Big’.
He had come to Japan
To booze, guzzle, and swig.

Tom and Gillen came next,
Recently not much tested,
Though none doubted their fight,
They were simply well rested.

A brave knight known as Grant,
With his presence did grace.
‘Twas all the more noble,
For beer’s not to his taste.

Hojo Steve played the host,
Laid out welcoming mat.
By all pledges were made
Not to wreck his nice flat.

At last, your narrator,
Though determined to try,
Feared much for his prospects
And was not keen to die.

Lots of beer was stockpiled,
Pizza crispy, and golden,
And the ‘Rocky’ theme played,
To their spirits, embolden.

“Onwards men!”, Derry cried,
As the first shot was downed.
Little chance to draw breath,
Along came the next round.

The pace was relentless,
And all soon were agreed,
That the drinking of beer’s
Not congruent with speed.

Brave Grant succumbed first,
“Boys, I can’t take the pain!”
The rest vowed that his loss,
It would not be in vain.

Next to fall, your narrator,
At the sixtieth jar,
Frankly very surprised,
That he’d made it that far.

The rest kept on going,
Though the drink took its toll.
Soon Gillen could be found,
Arms round toilet bowl.

At last the end drew near,
And while many felt queasy,
They took comfort from that,
So the beer went down easy.

Drink one hundred consumed!
They had shown they weren’t flops.
The occasion they marked
By removing their tops.

Still the party continued,
Now approaching a riot.
Neighbours sent down a note:
“Please a little be quiet!”

So Matsuyama the scene
To where our heroes did dash,
Hojo Steve got more wrecked,
Lost his phone, keys and cash.

The next morning was tough,
Sore and bruised from the fight,
And yet all said the same,
“ ‘Twas a bloody good night!”