Drinks Heron Me (a stout rendition of Captain Oh Captain) Mine eyes espy the glory per ending of another work day doth beckon Bailys Irish Creme with Absolut certainty that Fireball named Brandy the Patron Crown Royal abets dream quest proof positive to expunge stressful Boss distilling cooked Grey Goose gleam with nary blue clue how ceaseless toiling efforts play within lager corporation scheme assigning exemplary skills and talents within appears trumped up losing team. No exit out this grueling twenty first century rat trap where by Scotch chief en gin air except to drawn displeasure and wallow in sorrows downing Booze, or house brand beer despite drunken state erodes axons and synapses snap like chattering false teeth of broken gear quickly cause tenuous grasp on queasy reality, sanity, and tenacity rent asunder and tear Now that work day done at long last, not a moment to tally date with Jack Daniels to delay this linkedin conga line wants to wash away sounds of barked orders Rum bling – may king me insides writh with anger as if type cast in diabolical formidable, horrible play whereby each active scene increases assistance for Johnny Walker to glide and sashay. Argh, how those last remaining minutes to escape hubbub ticks away at pace of a snail to these myopic eyes, which suspect manager surreptitiously turns back clock hands male lush hiss lee deliberately toys with sanity, thus seek counsel from Jimmy Beam without fail when super tramping head honcho will cease cheap trick renouncing cruel act ale ling me without sh malt s, Hops, skips and jumps inebriation welcomes me rendering taps receding thoughts being bound, cramped, and emulsified in dark cubicle Schnapps as if invisible taut cord tears into virtual tatters and life of Wry lee loosed flaps from shredded material trailing a tail that rivals tales of Aesop's. That ambler liquid of gods soothes palate and tongue helps tubby dee sensitized comfortably numb feeling settles within thine body electric dulling the senses with heavy eye lids plum met to close shut tight riding wave of ecstasy, reflecting about dad and late mum, though come morrow, a hang over with ascension sensation akin to Günter Grass loud banging his tin drum. Upon rising sober with total amnesia sans pandering buffoon realizing fallacious gimcrackery, while ensconced fermented cocoon booze hound tippled top dog quickly reminded yours truly how I goon off the rails, perhaps, cuz of living within a trackless caboose sized wife named June.