PoemDay010308

THIS PARTY SUCKS

This party sucks.
I know everyone here, know them too well.
Know every word they'll say.
Know every word they'll EVER say
I know these people better than I know myself,
which, granted, isn't too well,
but well enough to know I don't like them.
This party sucks.

This party bites.
The food was gone hours before I got here
the beer…
the beer, well, who the hell drinks beer?
It's for the common people, the plebians,
the losers.
Beer is for chumps.
What I want is a margarita
a pink frosted margarita
with a taste of salt on the edges
and a slim sharp red cherry on top
one waiting to be suctioned up
and popped in my mouth.
No margaritas here.
This party bites.

This party blows.
There is not one single girl here I have any interest in
not one coupled girl I haven't hit on.
There is no evidence whatsoever that there is anything here I have any desire to experience
that I have not experienced a thousand times before
in a thousand different ways.
I look for something new
and am surrounded by the mundane,
the derivative
the repetitive.
If only I could sail away from all this that I've seen tonight.
This party blows.

This party's lame.
I've been here for a full twenty minutes
and seen this event hobble on,
on its last legs
for twice that long.
The people here don't like each other
they just pretend to
or if they do feel something genuine
then they're far too stupid to be considered in the first place.
Insincerity or idiocy,
those are the choices.
Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right…
I wish I could steal some wheels
and jet away from here
with you
or someone else less suitable
but here I am,
stuck in the middle of this get-together
this… thing
this sad, pathetic event… this… this…
This party's lame.