It’s a buffet to the buffet now the party’s in full swing
the DJ made the call and the crowd went rushing in
elbows digging sidewards in a rush towards the ribs
a bun fight by the sandwich tray in an effort to call dibs
granny’s off her rocker but no one’s got the time to care
the groom jumps in wrestler style complete with fold up chair
the flushing bride makes her stand atop the wedding cake
her tossed bouquet a weapon in the claim that she must stake
the photographer snaps left and right in a battle for the tea
he’s battered by a tempura prawn the scene lost to posterity
next morning nursing bruises the party goers take heart
at the sight of breakfast menus and thank God for a la carte.
I’m experimenting with humour again in this week’s Sunday rhyme time (even though I scheduled the post to publish on a Saturday, oops) inspired by an upcoming opportunity to see the legendary John Cooper Clarke live. I’m no Johnny Clarke, but I do like a laugh, usually at myself.
What tickles your funny bone?
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