FINIrick

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It’s as if I’ve had an attack
Of cravings for a junk food-y snack
So, despite those who say
“Oh, please stay away!”
I can’t help it - FINIrick is back!

If for FiNirick's absence you agonise,
Your verbiage you needs must then supersize!
Throw abstinence away!
To FiNiku say "Nay"!
And then on your verse you can gourmandise!

The sunset tonight was sublime
This should be a spiritual time
But doggerel runs riot
When the evening is quiet
Rose’ pairs so well with cheap rhyme

If ever there was a time
for one of my verses to rhyme,
it must be in this thread,
or perhaps when I am dead...
Slime.

I'm on a full bore lo-carb diet
And I've found how to make it a riot!
For the driest of Cham-
Pagne, a glass is one gram!
So I'm swigging away! You should try it!!!!

Bone-dry Champagne? That sounds nice!
One generous glass should suffice
Or maybe I’ll pour
Just a little bit more
Good wine is my favorite vice

An hour and three-quarters to go
Before I can start my own show
But of lass, there's a lack
So I'll have to change tack
And stick with the solo banjo....

champagne we should pour more than four
as we listen to parascreeching doors
for if you're in a band
and your band is tremend
oussers groussers and vouchers encores

To guzzle champagne isn't wrong,
When guzzling delivers a song.
And at one gram per glass
I can't let it pass,
As it keeps my muse coming on strong!

I once knew an amp named Sim,
who would gladly (and on a whim)
fire his tubes
and fondle my boobs,
but only if I let 'im!

The strange thing with champers down here
It's actually cheaper than beer
A pint in the pub
Costs more--that's the rub!--
Than a bottle of bubbly good cheer.

While reading Tim's post inter alia,
I've hit on a great point of failure
No brute would drink Foster's
On seeing the cost is
Much more than for Brut in Australia!

The brut drinker starts with brutality,
Then softens to thoughts of carnality
But as bubbles rise
Desire meets its demise
And he's left, bereft, pond'ring mortality

For me, the thought comes as a shocker -
I ask 'has he come off his rocker?'
To suggest they might sell it
To whet the shrewd palate
Of the stereotypical ocker?

There's nearly two stone that I've lost
But there's no worries counting the cost.
I stay off the beer
But there's better good cheer
In the daily champagne that I toss!

It’s an odd thing - when dreams finally come
There isn’t much hum or much drum
Floods of champagne
Splash all ‘round my brain -
Now, where did that notion come from?

Back to that champ who's in pain
For pain is through neurons explained
Who flew the plane
And aired the complaint
No wonder there's more where we came

The travel's a bit of a slog
But he'll head for the hills at a jog
And guzzle sham pagnum
Whilst stuck in the sphagnum
(Where the snow cover's thin, it's all bog!)

Once working at library things
I saw a lady with an article in print
Called The fecal microcosm
It startled me because
It's a title that will haunt people's dreams

He's back, and his knees are complaining
His fitness he wasn't maintaining.
But downhill he'd go
In the deep and soft snow
(He's so old there's no brains remaining)

Once there was a man who chopped wood
All the neighborhood said he was really good
He got stuck in the wood
Just like Robin Hood
And some bears were playing some flutes