An Ode to Odious Drinking.

Having fun with a rhyme for rum. Less and less glum. If only whisky would have told me, vodka is the only thing that can hold me. Sipping, drinking, chugging, heaving, burping, downing, gulping, pouring, puking, restarting. A cheer for more beer - hooray! That burning liquid hits your stomach with a splash. Squish squish, the start of a rash. It nestles up next to that half-eaten kebab. Pulling it close, pretty soon it'll come out your nose. Hugging the sides of your innards. Making room for wine. Don't worry about the double vision, you'll be fine. Stumbling about town, every stranger with a frown. Get out of my way lady! I'm looking for a clown. Good ideas when drunk, thunk with a handful of skunk. He's bound to be around here somewhere. Get out here, you son of a bitch! Hey, what's that itch? A billy club opening up a stitch. A crack, a rattle and a sound. Here comes the ground. Why is it called The Tank? It's not even partially filled with liquid.

Type my pretties, type!

Give an infinite amount of monkeys typewriters and let them randomly press the keys and they will eventually produce the works of Shakespeare. At least according to the well known theorem. But what can a couple of million bloggers with some sort of purpose behind the frantic bashing on millions of keyboards create? Perhaps a novella by Hemingway? Hell, I'd settle for a decent Tom Clancy. After all, most bloggers are smarter than monkeys. Most...