Coxgar the Magnanimous

Okay, I know I only said I'd share the one poem, but this one is funny. And vulgar. And was a Christmas present to my friend Cox, the most glorious bartender this side of the galaxy. My first attempt at a mock-epic.

 

Come Hither and gather, and listen ye all,

To a tale to fill you with pride and with awe

Coxgar the Magnanimous, the wise and the true

A story of glory, and an attempt at a coup.

 

From darkest doldrums did he rescue pitiful men

Drowned their misery and renewed them again

From cruel sobriety’s clutches, hundreds were saved

His ale would prevail—Bless Coxgar the Brave!

 

A-crying they’d come, mourning love unrequited—

At a chance to do good, Coxgar became quite excited.

He passes them glasses, a gleam in his eye

“Drink up, man!” He says; “Drink up or die!”

 

Through tears and bears and very fine whiskey

He’d eventually get them feeling right frisky.

And after he pours them “just one more glass,”

Coxgar would set about finding them a nice piece of a*s.

 

The women he’d tempt with delicacies fine

A martini cocktail, or perhaps just some wine.

He’d schmooze them and booze them and be a great fella

Then pour a gallon of rum and just add an umbrella.

 

And after he’d served them six or eight rounds

The power he’d have over them simply astounds!

“Go f**k him,” or “Suck him,” Coxgar would say

And the gin-addled strumpets were pleased to obey.

And in this fashion Coxgar gained quite a following:

If he kept on pouring, they’d keep on swallowing.

But alas! Alack! Oh my and oh no!

A letch and a wretch came to steal the show.

 

Nine hundred pounds and with a face like a horse

Just coming off of her seventh divorce

‘Twas fate that late she craved the power

that Coxgar had in his happy hour.

 

From nowhere came this upstart punk

And proceded to try to get everyone drunk.

She served without care, she served without grace

But the season of treason had taken o’er the place.

 

For to this scoundrel wench did they flock

They drank what she gave them—which was watered-down schlock!

They’d lap at the tap while she peddled her swill

And Coxgar’s rage was enough to make him feel ill.

 

He knew then for duty and not just survival

He’d have to do away with this bartending rival.

He got a beer from the mongering w***e

“What’s this? What piss!” and threw his glass to the floor.

 

He thought that with friends he was surrounded

But in the beer hall, only silence resounded.

So slick and so quick a smile oozed ‘cross her mug

“Tastes fine to them,” she said with a shrug.

And then as if answering some unheard call

His ex-friends all let out a great guffaw.

“Beer snob!” they cried out loud with derision

They’d shocked him and mocked him—they’d made their decision.

 

So fickle were they, those who once were his allies

Now piss-swilling d*****s one can’t help but despise.

With hopes that the dopes won’t again scoff

Coxgar challenged the b***h to a great Drink-Off.

 

“But none of your water!” he said with a groan

“If it’s drink we’ll be havin’, I’ll bring my own.”

Now this bore—this w***e!—found this not agree’ble

For she was quite aware that her own drinks were feeble.

 

But she accepted the challenge in her greed and her pride.

Who the drunkards would love, this game would decide!

Unused to real liquor, the game was in the bag

For Coxgar was certain he’d defeat this old hag.

 

Nine vodkas, two whiskeys, and a few shots of gin

The beer-gods were smiling—Coxgar would win!

But the gods are quite odd, and after some rounds

The wench, it seemed, lost eight hundred pounds!

 

The pow’r of the mead, the mind it boggles

For Coxgar had gained some serious beer goggles.

Her face, it did lose its equine appearance

The change was so strange—it’s beyond coherence!

 

Her voice became musical, her breath was so sweet

But Coxgar shook it off—there could be no defeat!

Resisting temptation, he poured dark German stout

And the c**t, with a grunt, passed the f**k out.

 

If you’ve been listening and if you’ve imbibed

You’ll know my tale went just as described

You’ll know then, also, what became of this beerier

Whose drinks me thinks were quite simply inferior.

With her piss and her rotgut, she was run out of town

And Coxgar was returned to his throne and his crown

As King of The Bar, his status restored

With comrades quite loyal, he was adored.

And as they events of the evening passed he

Got laid quite a lot—by chicks who weren’t nasty!

 

So if you respect—and expect!—some good decent ale

Remember, good friend, the great Coxgar’s tale!

Reviews

[Dj Golden]

I loved it the mess up and the vulgarity, you should have tried to make it slowly get more vulgar as the story progresses, and perhaps some more tense (though I think grammatical slurring would be better) errors. This will help simulate drunken addle, but that would just be to add more fun to it. Love it as is. Best poem I've read in awhile.