Whan that Aprill, with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Lysteryne eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne,
And littel byrdyes maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open eye -
(So priketh hem Nature in hir corages);
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages
And Blodgers for to seken straunge strondes
To ferne hoteles, known in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires ende
Of America, to Texas then they wende,
The hooly blisful drynkage for to seke
That hem hath holpen, lyke open sewer to reke.
Bifil that in that seson, on a day,
In Austyn, downe by Towne Lake as I lay
Juste after wenden on my pilgrymage
To Austyn, Texas with ful devout corage,
At nyght was come into that hostelrye
Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye
Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle
In felaweshipe, and Blodgers were they alle,
That toward the sixth floore terrace wolden ryde.
The chambres and garages weren wyde,
And wel we weren esed atte beste;
And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste,
They congregated by the drainèd poole
To drynke, and smawke, and act wythal the foole.
But nathelees, whil I have tyme and space,
Er that I ferther in this tale pace,
Me thynketh it acordaunt to resoun
To telle yow al the condicioun
Of ech of hem, so as it semed me,
And whiche they weren, and of what degree,
And eek in what array that they were inne;
And at a knyght than wol I first bigynne.
An ACIDMAN ther was, a worthy man,
That fro the tyme that he first bigan
To bloggen on his blogge, he wrote of crappe,
And al the strange equipmente in his lappe;
(For whan he wanteth Roscoe for to stande,
He had a pump-lyke thingye in his hande.)
He brought his gytar, for upon to playe,
And singen songs that bryghtened up oor daye.
A STRAIGHT WHITE GUYE was ther wythout hys knyfe,
The which he useth to protect his wyfe
From varlets who displaye thyr nastye tricks
By tellyng jokes and vyle limericks.
A silver tongue had he, this ex-Marine,
And four kyndes of haire: head, bearde, armpitte, and ween.
This Guye, he lyketh for to drink Macallen,
In one week-ende, he went through near a gallon.
He also liketh for to quote Bob Service:
Poetic qualityes wasted on thyse pervus.
Ther was also a Ladye, SHOE by name,
Whose presence made us verye gladde we came,
Whose smylynge face and gentil liltynge laugh
Did charme the Blodgers and the hotel staffe.
The Frenssh of Parys was to hir unknewe,
She spoke the Frenssh from downe in the bayou.
CHRISTINA came, and also brought her Momme,
A lovely ladye whose Won-Tons were da bomme.
Withal that we were with her smyle blest,
She liveth down where there’s Oktoberfest.
A DASH ther was, a hale gentleman
Who writeth on his Blogge, whene’er he can.
A Shirte hadde he, with pictures of stronge drynke.
I like the way this hearty yeoman thinke.
Miss LESLIE came, who driveth Omnibus.
’Tis strange she liketh such derelictes as us.
So sweet and pleasaunt, and a most comely maide;
And on her hedde she weareth a Lampshade.
A GROUCHYE CRYPLLE came ther, yclept Denny,
Full well he knew some tunes; yea, he knew many,
Hys “grouchye” moniker is out of place;
Whan that a smyle was alwayes on hys face.
A ZONKER ther was, flown in fromme Atlanta,
Handynge out the drynkes like he was frickynge Santa.
At fyrste we did not recognyze hys face,
Which, mulletless, looked somewhat out of place.
The Z-man lykes to close the Blogge-Meate downe –
For whan he goeth to sleepe, no-one’s around.
From PARKWAY REST STOPPE came the famous Jim,
Not manye peeps can but keep uppe with hym.
He drynketh Vodka, playeth the gytar
Providing amusement for blodgers at the bar.
Along with Parkway came his lovely Daughter,
Yclept TWISTY, a beauty of fyrst water.
Raising her sweete voice in song with her Dadde,
It was, forsooth, a sounde to mayke one gladde.
EL CAPITAN was there, but myssed the foode –
His chariot caught fire ’neath the hoode.
He maketh it seem goode to be a Pyrate,
Enough so that I thinke I may wel try it.
Ther was THAT 1 GUY, founte of Drunken Wisdom,
He’d drynke up manye beers, then out he’d pysse them.
From Illinois he came, that lande of Lincoln,
To hange with Blodgers, and for gettynge stynken.
The REDNECKE came, wyth al hys Gimme Caps,
He’d staye awake and drynke, whyle Zonker naps.
The ’Neck, he hath a passion for his fyshyng,
And drynkyng Bud (so he was always pyshyng).
Ther was a man yclept CONFABULATOR,
For telling tayles ther are not manye greater.
He bloggeth from his home right here in Texas,
That state where liveth steeres, queeres, and rednexas.
WALRILLA came, to bust his Blogge-Meate Cherry –
With all us Blown-Star Blodgers he made merry.
He hath a bearde: of all I’ve seen, the beste,
Sufficient for the byrdes to builde a neste.
Another blodger joining us was MARCUS,
A hearty drynkyng man in lyghte or darkus.
Iffe you seeke Marcus, you need not looke too far,
Just finde the face that’s stuck to a Cigar.
The beauteous KELLEY was a pure delighte,
’Tis she who bloggeth at Suburban Blight.
At thyss Blogge-Meate, she didde not act too wild,
As needs befit a Lady Greate with Childe.
BOUDICCA came, and if I hadde a choice,
I’d very gladly listen to her “Voice.”
She breakfasteth on Bananas and Pan-Cakes,
And laugheth at the jokes that Eric makes.
A most engaging Ladye was there: TAMMI
Whose Worlde is based well north of hotte Miami.
She drynketh Rumme, or anything that’s neare,
Including Schnapps or Sterno – or even Lager Beere.
ODDYBOBO came as well, forsooth:
A sweet young lady in the prime of youth,
Journeying from the West of Pennsylvania-Shire,
She arriveth in Austyn, there to be admired.
The NORTHWOODS WOMAN, she of golden haire,
From faraway Wisconsin – she was there.
With a larger-than-lyfe personality,
She hath brightened us all with her energy.
And finally, KNINE didde joine our bande,
Entertaininge Blodgers throughout the lande
With tales of screaming hordes of Chipmunkes Vile,
It was notte possible to avoid a smyle.
From Georgia and from Texas these Blodgers came.
And other Places, but ’twas all the same,
Good friends, well mette: they came from Neare and Far
To raise a toast – a toast to the Blown-Star.
Now all the Blodgers ryden forth their weye,
This bullshitte’s all that I have gotte to saye.
[Apologies to Geoffrey Chaucer, who, fortunately for his sake, has been dead for 600 years.]