Monday, November 14, 2005

A Call To Barron


A Call to Barron
by: The Happy Presbyterians of 405 Brown Road


In the darkness I cry thy name,
David, David, exit thy lair and come play thee game.
O restless soul, who endless toils,
without the joy of God's blessed soil.

From what true Southerner dost obstain
And choose instead that citrus vain.
David, David, where are thou?
with wide-set feet and scarred-up brow.

5 comments:

Bendowsky said...

Very good poem. I think that you got all the things in there that we make fun of Barron for. If you ever wrote a poem about me, it would be too long.

Bobe said...

I have a feeling that this poem came into being in close proximity with the activities depicted in the picture.

Also, I would like to point out that if DB did drink, the rest of us would have spent a lot more of our lives stuck at bars than we already have...

Asiatic Wild Ass said...

Uhhhhh, uhhhhhh, uhhhhhhhh...

PRAGMATIC ARGUMENT BOB! Yeah! practicality will only get you so far in life. Principle, sir, principle. Yeah! That's it!

Asiatic Wild Ass said...

Even in his designated-teetotalering, may I remind you that DB was not free of harassment. So, as I am, will continue in my beleaguering until he answers my call of distress...

OH DAVID BARRON!! HIDE THEE NOMORE. COME THEE, COME THEE WHEREVER YOU ARE. REMOVE THYSELF FROM THY CLEFT!

Asiatic Wild Ass said...

And yes, going for the teet (thanks James for using proper science lingo)