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.

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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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