Two sheets to the wind,
and not on a clothesline!
This is where you were
when your tells hit my mind.

"Come hav a *hic* driiinkf,"
you slurred in my head,
beckoning me to Hashan,
where I was sure to end up dead.

As tempting as it was,
to take you up on the offer,
and sneak in passed the guards,
our friendship to foster,

I entreated you to stumble
outside the southern gates,
so I could fly us someplace quieter
with fewer guards and less hate.

That red-headed tart,
who oft works the bar
greeted you like a sister,
long lost from afar.

She embraced you so quickly,
and tugged on your gi belt.
It soon became apparent
she knew you quite well.

"A roundd forf my freends,"
you chimed in her ear,
giving her a nuzzle,
and tilting back your last beer.

She brought me a Flaming Berol,
and I did the shot quick,
because what she brought you
very nearly made me sick.

It wasn't on the menu,
I know that for certain.
It had so many colours!
It looked like a chaotic curtain

spilled into a glass
and rimmed with sea salt.
I think I saw a tail in it,
but that didn't make you halt.

And the smell was so bad,
I'd swear it contained
the stomach of a humgii
and whatever remained

of Hashan's lunar rock,
the one that fell from the sky
and nearly flattened Harmonia
and took out Saltaern's good eye.

Despite the ill scent
and flesh floating within,
you tipped back your head
and poured it all in!

The evening was a blur
of you slapping Cherry's butt,
tilting back humgii drinks
and puking up your guts.

At one point you stood on a table
and removed your midnight black panties.
I took them away from you
before you traded them for candies

wrapped up in paper
with an odd yellow glow.
The satyr who was selling them
tried to drag you below.

He had you by your hair,
and you were kissing his horns.
That's when I'd had enough
and out the door stormed.

The next morning my doll of you
was still relaying speech.
I heard you in a panic,
that goat neighing in his sleep.

You know I don't approve
of Kortoxian's sideline practice,
but since you weren't careful enough
to use prophylactics,

let's get over to his place,
and that pregnancy quell.
We can't let it go through,
you're already starting to swell!

No, my dear peach,
round as the moon is high,
if you don't go quite soon,
a KID will be slapping your thigh,

and calling you mommy
and asking for his dad.
I've seen this before.
It always ends quite bad!

He could come live with me,
but Kaie might not approve,
of me taking in the product
of your one night stand groove.

So quick to the doctor,
let's go on the morrow.
It will save you the trouble,
the heartache and sorrow

of reliving your rock bottom,
the place where you fell
off the wagon, near the Highway,
for that Brass Lantern gazelle.

Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Phaestian, in the year 607 AF.