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daxike Mar 2013
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raven simone Jan 2013
jamie taught us salt,
nigella, the art of the beef stew
cake boss, the art of chocolate fondant,
the mafia
so rich and chewy
mafia,
the true american dream
richness and trophies and abraham
the mob engulfs the flames of life.
Nigel asleep in his room
sound, it wakes him
Nigel, he says
remember the naked chef
remember him
forever
Nigel goes downstairs
pours a glass of milk
grabs a cupcake
one boxed
he cries a tear of shame
as he remembers
Jamie Oliver
his queen
his Kingsley
his Oakley
his larry
his life
was a box of chocolate
he grabbed the caramel
but was greedy and seized the brie also
it was a sad day
as Nigel fell
off the cliff of life
into a hovel of doom...
the mob,
Nigel,
all attached
no way out
**Brie
Ceryn May 2013
Every good thing shall happen...

like Friday nights and party rush
surprise calls from a long-time crush
auburn leaves and a cup of tea
cozy couch and a good movie
a sweet embrace, granted wishes
locked up hands, friendly kisses
perfect music, fireworks galore
passionate poetry, books in store
skinny-dipping, pineapple juice
mountaineering, romantic cruise
stick-it notes and scented letters
white rose petals and silver glitters
dusty slip-on and faded pantaloons
sweetened berries and tasty prunes
smooth raps and slow rock hits
magnetic charm and awesome wits
11:11 verses and chicken bones
starry night skies, pebbles and stones
a perfect score, crispy pizza crust
locks and highlights, passionate lust
skirts and pumps, pictures of us
Halloween treats and wedding fuss
hot cappuccino, jam and jelly
first paycheck, winning the lottery
chocolate mousse, ice cold drinks
ocean waves, seductive winks
silk and laces, laughs after cries
cool car drifting and belly butterflies
left hand scribbles, messy hair buns
Oakley goggles and water guns
funny jokes, late night talks
rainy days, twilight walks
flickering lights, vintage cars
logs in swamps and monkey bars
a hopeful daybreak, latte aroma
fogged up glasses, squeaky veranda
carnation in bloom, warm summer breeze
slow love-making, trimmed cypress trees
naughty kiddie play, blindfolds and tricks
mistletoe and acorns, fresh and fancy kicks
baked salmons and grilled corn
ending fights and a newborn
free-verse poetry, an orchestral song
a stranger's smile, a dancing throng
finishing a novel, Luna's glow
binding friendships, December snow

but the best thing for me, I'd like you to know
is to tell you finally that I Love You So.
Robin Carretti Jun 2018
She rose the lifted gypsy smile
Little women Big-spender
Gimic
Desperate housewives selling
their soulful tears epidemic
This wasn't 666 Satan heart broke
Got to Lee Remick when she spoke
Going to Denmark Gypsy booth

You could feel the white satin
Saturday in the park dictator
with Stalin, her lips moistened
with her watermelon
But why so manic
Zero tears to panic

City frantic the Rose sensual ******

Over a tear-drop dangling
Love waiting anticipating
How she smiles her earring
drops down waves
fight her fear
The big whale
don't flip my tear

Holiday she's the jingle cash
register Knighting meets Gale
nothing didn't register
Let me entertain you, shy tease
Natalie, Clue lounge tears Grunge

So strange they stripped away
scarecrow harvest October
Remember the Nile love
November
The nightmare gypsy
unfortunate events
No comments

The holiday wasn't
exactly a  Supercalifragilistic
*$ ++ monarch
But she wears herself whip cream
lick
Going for the blue crying her eyes
out "Blue-Terry Cloth"  was sick
eye velvet' the men of the cloth

So religiously afraid of the
Goth  Rosy Lee path
Left her aroma mark
The world is a blackout
Her shoutbox rosy boot
So creepy like a fox-trot
So much to upkeep
Memory lane yellow
brick road

Brown-coffee-accident spilled
she yelled demons allowed
  The buyer made me
Accountant clicking tears

Gypsy  tug of war
Doll Raggetty Annie Oakley
Crystal Expensive tear
doesn't come cheap money
50 winks who wants to sleep
Rose Pomedeur widow weeps
What a square Mr bigfoot
Get off of my cloud boot
Moved her rolling stone


Her tear was in the plate he didn't
even have the heart to pick it up
French danish pastry so prim and
proper  
Another naked spy bad romance
Her cry needed to be homemade
like her rose candles
The roaring twenty- she's 13 going
on thirty
Gypsy of forty your getting old
but flirty
  (Shes so Harvard) Sugar daddies
forever young
Help me Rhonda teardrop tipsy
Graduation Cap the eye owl gypsy
Jeremy the beamer drummer
Gypsy Rose hummer
A thousand tears her death card
People have no regard

Living on a crystal tear end
He's her bookend so beat in
her beatnik house
All staged Cher the Gypsy outfits
Cry babes girl product
What conduct Rose -Lee spanked
on her knee tears popped the waterbed
He never showed one tear
Cry me a river crystalline diary
All preliminaries
We missed her lonely sober tear

Mona Lisa Mona Lisa how the men
have met you how death becomes
you
I'm not buying your cry I was deeply
hurt it set such an impact
The -new- Boy George culture of tears
Over-erase she highly medicated
More I see you having affairs
happy, sad, overjoyed,
you have been had

Carribean Depp Pirate rotten teeth
Statue of liberty is crying at birth

I am not going to lower my
standards just skip
Cinderella so sinister to sweep
Wizard at her boutique
Mysteriously eyes unique
Best tear to enhance is always
the antique now start crying
Gypsy take on let me entertain you but this is the tear  like a New Year of all
the envy
Jack Piatt Jul 2013
The “in” soon to meet the “evitable”
A conclusion infallible
Because
Tis true, tis true
It’s front page news
In the “Obvious Times”
Your failure to realize
Doesn’t minimize
The obvious
So let’s stretch that word
To
Oblivious
Cause that makes more sense
At least it’s a defense
Weak kneed as it may be
It certainly falls under
The Ex
Cuses
Category
So humor me
Do you see
Now
Do you see
Not yet
Okie Dokie
Annie Oakley
Let’s take another shot
How bout
A Story
Why not?
There once was a town
Where a man came around
Selling all kinds of
Potions and lotions
Devotions and notions
Despite his seemingly
Lack of emotion
They made him Mayor
Not long after the layers
Of Lies and greed began to grow
And wouldn’t you know
Though it rarely showed
The town grew tired
And wanted him fired
Longing for days of old
A stronger mold
Simpler times
Merrier rhymes
(less parking fines)
Smog free days
Guiltless lays
And poison free food
Put them all
In a better mood
Boy oh boy
Were those the days
Back before the smoggy haze
So we’re back to the beginning
Of this story I’m spinning
The “in” meeting
The
You know

“evitable”

Well
That is what happened
To that Colonial Captain
Who brought mischief
And what if’s
To that poor little town
He lost his crown
Among other jewels
He suffered fools
Then suffered
At their hands
So this story
Is a caution
to all distant lands
(and close ones)
The conclusion
Is always
Inevitable
When toying
With the table
Of Universal design
So don’t mess with nature
And all
Will be fine
(c) 2013
Robin Carretti Jun 2018
Let me
rephrase this
Letting go ask
my (Big Sis)
Tis the Season
All his letting go
I am confusing myself
My shelf still but stubborn
Born to know the
death Urn
Its been a long time
Thinking how the
world turns

I am not the one to be
letting go
Letting go of
your maid
Letting go of
your
Guilt-free Gardner
But how can
people ever leave
their Mother

I cannot get you
out of my mind
Pineapple upside down
Bent out of shape upside cake
And you know my downside
Always laying on
my left side
Like the right fashion flash
H & M
Of him Hmm_?
I believe
in miracles
The learning process- Go principles
Like the Pinnacle
What a disciple

But I am not your
Raggedy Annie
Oakley
Like your ready
to choke me
I remember you lived in a slum
I'm' the better "Bazooka Chewing"
Gum hum yum
All Graffiti
*******  painter the
whole lump
sum

The Egyptian
Queen Nefertiti
The Sattelite Taurus
Bull Ram
The Mad-men but
the ladies big slam
The first plan
didn't work

Always Plan B
So Brutal darling
Please believe me
When I tell you
I love you
Website Prim and proper
portal
Knowing your place and
All the trademarks
Central Park or
Rockefeller
The Center of attention
The Goodfella detention
Over ice the Skaker
Her beauty marks
The true kiss comeback
bump-**** note
The camelback vote
Presidential Trump
One-day- creation
Two day-letting go
exhaustion

Such maturity
to realize my mission
I didn't have to
overwork
my mind
How General
things can be
Managerial so cordial
Or the materialistic me?
If I sang out all your affairs
Like the Pedigree
Shop until I drop you
Like Gum-drop
HBO I'm the Boho
Mr. Spencer shop
Mess
College drop-out
What am I chop liver
Letting go I don't really no?
What is on the next agenda
to Deliver not Pizza
The letting go it's not easy Suzie homemaker
he's the heartbreaker the letting go teaches you to what you really need to know and boy She knows let's not go we have work to do I think by now you know
Cheyenne Yacono May 2017
Down where the river flows
   This is where the old souls go
Where water dances in lustrous blues & bright yellows
   Some died old & others were young fellows
They play jazz & R&B tunes
   Drowning out their gray moods
Each one shows up sad
   Then leave with a smile worth a grand
But none are here for money, no
   They're here to forget the ones they let go
Heartbreak hurts indeed
   But having a broken soul, nothing competes
Down by the swaying willow tree
   Old souls become free
Dressed in the hues of their stories
   Sneaky eyes have tried to read
Careful! Don't be seen
Humans shouldn't intervene
For there is a soul from the past
   A boy who's last breath was a laugh
Still young & naive
   He craved a new world to see
The sight of a girl led him to the town
  And his laugh became an alarming sound
All souls searched and seeked
  Braylen Otto Oakley
Whizzing past familiar places
   And seeing grieving faces
They shouted his name
   Wanting the pain to go away
Rummaged through their past
   Hoping these feelings wouldn't last
"What is it you look for?"
   BOO
Where did he go?
   Nobody knew
Till then they scream out Boo
Ever wonder why ghosts say boo?
Terry Jordan Feb 2016
Shoot Straight, Sister
The Burly Man yelled loudly
Shoot Straight, can’t you?
Pointing my new gun proudly

Shooting Practice
My brand-new Smith & Wesson
I’m having my
Very first shooting lesson

Shooting’s easy
I hit the target’s bullseye
Brilliant shooting
Like Annie Oakley was I

Shoot great, Baby!
Where’d ya learn to shoot like that?
I’m scouting for
A new Wild West Circus Act!

Shoot straight, Mister
Only if I’m Top Billing
An Airstream, too
And for that I’d be willing
Silly, really; inspired by a commercial I heard on the radio, selling guns-I think the gun store was called SHOOT STRAIGHT
Mote Nov 2014
This mesa, torn from error.

Somebody knocks and I am busy reading from the newspaper hoard.

Somebody knocks and says they've found a joke. They're now irresistible.

I know its true.

I have company and a shrimp grey sweater, so I send them my boyfriends business card.

One man appreciates my ratio, finds triangles everywhere.

Or prisms or/ whatever happens you're still my sundial, right?

In the kitchen debunking my ghost problem, I forget how to braise backstraps; soak medallions in vinegar.

She is shiny in my living room, posing, asks if she looks like a princess.

I say yes, you look just like annie oakley.
Jonny Angel Feb 2014
I wear designer jeans
ripped at the knees,
sport inked sleeves,
brightly colored stories,
personal statements of
my own pain & happiness.

I love smoking twisties,
dreadlocks hang down
way past my shoulders,
the noise ring complements
my blue bandana
& tie-dyed Marley-T.

I see well through
these mirrored Oakley's,
the faces of those passing
me by with judgement
written on their faces.

And I want to scream,
"I'm more than
just a fashion statement,
I'm living flesh and bone
& I'm keeping it real!"
Terry Collett Dec 2014
Ann has long
brown hair
and a wide spam
of forehead
and deep eyes.

She's Jimi's sister;
he's my best friend,
she has a temper
like a wild horse
and I avoid her
when she's moody.

She opens the door
to her parent's flat.

Yes?

Is Jimi home?

He's out,
gone with Dad
for a while.

When will he
be back?
I ask.

When he arrives.

I look pass her shoulder;
look for her mother.

Can I come in?
Or do you
want to come out
and go to
the bomb site
or park?

What for?
She looks at me;
hands on her hips.

Something to do,
something to pass
the time.

She looks at my clothes
and says:
do you have only
the one pair of jeans?

No, but I like
theses best.

What’s to do
on the bomb site?

Light a fire;
pick small stones
for my catapult;
play cowboys
and bad guys?

Have you got
a spare gun?
I'm not just being
a silly saloon girl;
I want a gun
to blast
the baddies away.

I pull out one
of my 6-shooters
from my S belt;
here have this one;
I hand her a gun.

She holds it
in her hands
and spins it
round her
plumpish finger.

Ok, but I’m
Annie Oakley.

Sure, you be her,
and I’ll be
Wyatt Earp.

So I wait until
she's got her
shoes on
and her cardigan
with flowers on.

We go through
the Square
and down the *****.

She rides her
brown horse
(so she says)
I ride my black horse
across Rockingham Street,
gun at the ready
for the baddies
we might meet.
A BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1950S
Lets take it back
To the streets
Of Oakley
In the early 2000's

In those days
Of our early
Childhood
When we were young

Back then
When life
Was fun and exciting

Love
Was simple
And easy
We used to enjoy
Each others
Company
Doing all
The naughty
Things together
You were
My partner
In crime

Love
Was young and kind
We used
To appreciate
Each other
Regardless
Of background
You used
To appreciate me
You used
To appreciate
All the little things
In life
And
All the small things
I did for you
For us

Then you cared less
Of material stuff
I was ten
You were nine

I still remember
The promise ring
I gave you
At the age of thirteen
You gave me
A black watch
That day
Black was
My favorite colour
Then we knew
Nothing
Of relationship difficulties
We had no idea
Of love problems
And heartaches

You were so sweet
And innocent
Not even yourself
Thought you'd Turn
Into the person
You are today
I think...........

I knew not
That lovers could
Turn into strangers
I don't know
What happened
To us......
You started being
All moody
Giving an attitude
We stopped talking

Today
We are strangers
With history
We pass
Each other
In the streets
Like nothing ever
Happened
Between the two
Of us
But
I blame you not
I blame age
Itself

It is it
That introduced you
To this materialistic world
As we grew older
Controlled
By your desires
They  took you
Away from me...........

©
Chuck Kean Oct 2022
Chrystal Shard’s

     When I was young, mother told me
My heart was fragile like Crystals
Beware of Cupids Arrows and
Annie Oakley’s shiny silver pistols

Each would prove to be deadly
If I was to cross in their path
She said to always treat women
With tender love to avoid their wrath

But don’t fall in love
Because Love is destined to fail
When that day arrives
You’ll feel the fires from Hell

As time slipped away momma’s voice
Became just an echo from the past
I heard so many stories about love
And forever it was supposed to last

So I had to learn the hard way with no
Caution to the wind or regards
My love I gave to you and now my heart
Is shattered into Crystal Shard’s

Written By: Charles Kean
Copyright © 10/27/2022
All rights reserved
Ken Pepiton Feb 2022
LORD said, These have no master:
let them return every man to his house in peace.

From <https://biblehub.com/kjvs/1_kings/22.htm>

There came a time,
when none found peace,
on any channel there is war, and old tropes
from when aldous
huxley was running suggestions past ivy lee and freud's
nephew, new-thinking, yes, resonant, isn't it
eddy bernays, yes, the sizzle sell. And,
get to the yeses, all the promises
are yeses

lovely, lovely, lovely,
how easily we seem to live on TV, if it gets too gritty,
-oh fool me, once, hahaha
it has, it has gotten too, many grinding high friction,
on backsides warmed with old time religion,
-woodshed discussions were never discussed
nor was curiosity praised,
for asking if the grown ups knew what Miss Kitty's
girls did, down at the Long Branch, in Dodge City,
when it was wet,
and streets were muddy,
and had wooden side walks…. on the radio
Gunsmoke
Spurs into the saloon,
why sure, some fool's would.
But once.
You know, wanting to make the sound
of Marshall Dillon, coming through

old cobwebbed swing doors, as accurate as any
on black & white TV, the sound
of his spurs
on the boards,
made my grandma laugh.

We came exploring under the oath
of eternal hostility

and if need be, opposing force, prepositioned
in every way, upto 150,

and upto as well, if upto is not a valid preposition,
it is a position, I can conserve.
I take it all the time,
breathing upto and no more, no matter,
I can't explode, inhalation ceases
and I can't explode in rage,
by ceasing to exhale or ****.
-so
As to the power of oath it is seeming universal,
in the era of 5G unlimited plans, and shared
subscriptions,
publishers clearing house, trained sales force,
the biggest ever, at its height,
I was in that class, bright futures,
1962 Eighth graders in rural America sold more
magazine subscriptions than you may imagine,
as preparation for a future,
when sales is the only gig in town, and
nobody
is making any thing worth the pitch to patch the leaks,
it’s the same old story,
slowing down, settling for less, and saying that's enough,

but fully expecting too much on the backswing,
as we follow through, the amatuer guile, eh, act innocent

be one of miss kitty's girls, like on tv, but at Disneyland,
did they play the role, or
never know the whole, link to now from when,

the west was wild, big white men with guns,
came to tame it,
open many long branches… before Prohibition

Fifty more years, every body forget but AI, remembers,
Black Elk danced.

Backtalk to my professorial betters, ah
behave myself,
don't act like
ol' Johnny Apache, mockin' Annie Oakley wannabe
in Purple Santa Fe fringed leather jacket,
accented by rare Wuhan Pangolin
boots, belt, and saddle bag purse,
and a Caspel Twid straw hat, like Cher wore in People.

heh, hey Annie,
getcher gun, shoot me, I ain't good, I ain't dead,
or some such he said,
and he passed me his jug of Mogen David,
I took a pull,
just as no ****, a sheriffs deputy who had not
been shot, when he shoulda been,
in that Jamaica guy's song,
- Johnny's brother Jonah,  joined us in jail
- he was pretty bad shape, that night
- pukin' blood, and retchin'
the deputy at night was also oughta be dead, kinda man,
Johnny let me know later, that night in jail in 1970,
Cottonwood Arizona, I know,
I have told this story, too many times to make sense,

I also know Fred Douglas wrote his whole story
and published it, five times, as it rolled out….
over the years…
-thing reconnect, you gotta know the knots

so if I have the time and inclination,
and I happen to find a common sense, a mean measure,
- so much and no more,
- full of all thought about that and I agree

where all the rain that ever fell on me, at that time
once fell on someone you love, too, at the same time,
same rain,
some time, one time, I thought of that and thought of you,
because you read this line. And you thought so, too,
you said to yourself, life makes no sense,

if you feel you need to row your boat, or tote your weight,
this is an hour at the end of a happy life,

where cares were cast to mull over, wondering,
how did we get from then to now,
without being
normalized?
Mentally backtalking Victor Davis Hansen, as an old first earth day hippy, one year after Vietnam.
the next course.



may be to meet the writer at the plas.

it is a big house, remember we walked

there this summer from the oakley.



up the drive, then back down again

later.



things change, i hope to change with

them.



this autumn.



sbm.
Sukanya Basu Nov 2018
Son, your mom is dead son,
Son, it's time I shot you too
Son, love isn't okay
But what am i supposed to do?
Son, I tried to fix my tie
Son, Sonny boy look the sky is grey
Son, Bid your gold fish goodbye
Son, Tell Maurice you cannot stay
Son, Tell Oakley that games aren't bad
His parents lie to each other in their marriage
Son, I have to leave your mother,
I'll be leaving with blood on my palms in a carriage
Son, life isn't easy,
And in this dusky town,
I'm gonna let your fragile body slide under the dirt,
By the time the sun sets down.
You're just beginning your summer
I am coming to the end of my winter
Time is so far apart. You're my object
of desire. Time has cracked in two and
we stare across a chasm. One drunk night
at a drive in movie we're 17 and naked.
Classy J Jun 2020
Sometimes I feel so low,
Other times I feel so high,
Bi-polar emotions causing varied reactions,
The chemistry inside of me sure can get taxing,
Wishing I could sit back and start relaxing,
But when anxiety strikes,
When depression strikes,
It’s like I’m on a roller coaster,
Been burnt so much might as well call me a toaster,
People say I need a wake up call but I ain’t got me no rooster,
I got so much to offer yet I can’t help but feel like a loser,
Growing up in sewers...
Man should’ve known I’d be treated like a monster.
I can’t even go out shopping without hearing freeze buster,
We got you surrounded with blasters and helicopters.
****, man I was just trying to buy me some milk and cereal,
Racial profiling in 2020, is this for real?
Just because my skins coloured doesn’t mean imma steal,
Just because my skins coloured doesn’t mean I’m out to ****.
I’m just trying to make a living in flawed system,
That could showcase all my slaughtered ancestors fossils in a museum,
Tell me again how my ethnicity is deemed the problem?
No wonder I feel so low,
Wanting to get real high,
To cope with how I’m seen as a crow,
A vermin that needs to get shot down from the sky.
Sometimes I just want to cry,
Other times I want to die,
Which makes me ask...
Why are yawl surprised that minorities mental health issues are on the rise?
Instead of being hanged by rope we are hanged by ties.
With jail houses becoming the new slave trade franchise.
Becoming objectified in thee eyes,
Till the humanity is drained out,
In order to become “civilized”.
Such is the divide that separates the haves and have nots.
Putting them in asylums and using therapies that literally shock.
Throwing stones and slander, saying we are a cancer.
And that we need to get over it, expecting us to say Oakley Dokley like we ******* Ned Flanders.
Can humanity get more low,
And can racial tensions get any more high?
How long will we remain ignorant,
Believing corporations lies?
How many more have to die?
Tell me how many have to die!
Some people come and go in our lives without incident, while others leave an indelible mark. H was one without compromise - and quite often without humility, displaying flaws so apparent on a single meeting that he may as well have had them printed on a t-shirt or pamphleted around the area wherever he went to avoid anyone having to discover just what a heinous ******* he really was.

Conversely, he was also the most unfailingly generous person I’ve ever known when it came to noticing the actual or potential for good in others. A complete dichotomy of one seemingly split down the middle, irreconcilable in so many ways.

H also made me laugh like no-one else and some of the stupid things he did continue to. One evening, he decided he wanted a chicken club sandwich from the Oakley Court Hotel (famous as the exterior for the Frank N. Furter castle from ‘The Rocky Horror Picture Show’). It soon became apparent that absolutely NOTHING but this particular sandwich would do.

The hotel wasn’t far from H’s house, but neither of us could drive owing to having been revoltingly drunk since lunchtime, so we called a taxi and took a Tupperware box with us.

On arriving at the hotel, making it very clear the taxi driver should wait for us, we stumbled into the bar, ordered a round and requested chicken club sandwiches to go. The barman stared at us as though we were from another planet.

‘You are guests at the hotel’? he enquired, through narrowed eyes.

‘No,’ said H, ‘We have recently arrived from Uranus and would like to sample your earth food’.

That attitude, I asserted, wasn’t going to get us club sandwiches on any day of the week.

‘I apologise for my butler,’ I said, ‘He’s just got out of prison and his manners have lapsed. Please could we have two rounds of your delicious chicken club sandwiches’? Proffering the Tupperware to prove we didn’t intend to stay after slamming back the ***** tonics we’d just ordered, I added: ‘We’ve brought our own box’.

The barman wasn’t having any of it. ‘We do not bring food to the bar after nine pm’, he intoned. H checked his watch, which he never remembered to wind. ‘It’s only just gone nine’, he argued, then gestured, foolishly to the clock on the wall behind the bar that showed half past ten.

‘Sir, I’m sorry,’ replied the barman, clearly being nothing of the sort and having recognised our insobriety the moment we’d entered the bar. ‘No food served in the bar after nine pm’.

‘But we don’t want it served in the bar’, said H. ‘We just want it placed into our lunchbox here’. Snatching the Tupperware from my hands, he looked around, presumably for the door to the kitchen. ‘Would it help if I just popped along to the kitchen myself and asked them’?

The barman shrieked with a sort of strangled cry ‘Uh, sir, NO’. He regained composure, attempting, no doubt to tamp down the fear of whatever mayhem might ensue when this ****** idiot got punched by the chef for appearing in his kitchen demanding takeaway sandwiches.

Unperturbed, H pressed on. ‘If we were residents, would that make a difference’?

The barman pushed our drinks, reluctantly, towards us. ‘You would call room service, Sir’.

H shot me a look. ‘No’. I said, firmly, ‘We’re not getting a room just to order chicken club sandwiches, that’s ridiculous’.

‘Is it’? asked H, seeking definitive clarification.

‘Yes’, I said, ‘That would make a chicken club sandwich, like, three hundred pounds’.

H considered this for moment. ‘Be a ******* good sandwich for three hundred quid though, right’?

Querously, H negotiated for a full ten minutes with the seemingly immoveable stance of the barman, and had now begun addressing him by the name on his badge. ‘Kurt, what’s the reasoning for not serving food in the bar after nine o’clock? Give me something I can work with’.

Pondering for a moment, Kurt had the good grace to fully consider the question. ‘Because lots of non-residents use the bar after nine pm’, he gestured to the empty room behind us, ‘The kitchen does not have full staff at this time and could not handle all the orders from the bar as well as room service. Bar patrons would see the sandwiches and want them too’.

H made the face that meant Kurt’s perfectly reasonable logic was about to be ****** sky-high.

‘Kurt’, he began, ‘How many patrons are in the bar this evening’?

Kurt blinked, like a mouse asked where the cat is. He even looked around as though there may have been patrons hiding behind curtains or under tables. ‘Just… the two of you, Sir’.

H leaned over the bar, looking left to right in a conspiratorial fashion. ‘Just the two of us’, he said, ‘And we’re not going to tell anyone if you ask the kitchen to make us chicken club sandwiches. Scouts honour’, he finished, attempting a salute and smacking himself in the eye.

Kurt looked defeated. He was already reaching for the phone to call the kitchen.

‘On one condition’, he said, ‘You must sit around the corner where no-one can see you’.

‘Kurt, my man,’ said H, ‘I’ll sit on a ******* spike if necessary’.

Two hours and two bottles of sauvignon blanc later, we realised the taxi was still waiting on the drive outside.

As it turns out chicken club sandwiches do cost nearly three hundred pounds after all.
It occurred to me today to write up this silly little story as I recall an old, now-departed friend who always went to the daftest lengths to get what he wanted.

— The End —