Dearest Gentlemen and Gentlewomen alike,
I know you have all been anticipating these minutes in response to last weeks classy night extravaganza. I do apologize for the tardiness of my post but I have been distraught with what I should write. I can hardly imagine following in the footsteps of such colossal men and women as yourselves.
For those of you who weren't there (the two Jon's and Lis), we painted the town orange with the juice of mangoes. All my classy fellows decided to throw me a surprise birthday shindig that ended in the death of many mangoes, but we honor their sacrifice on the battlefield for us, because their juices have given new life to our tired souls as we wait for the all to imminent summer vacation.
A few words must be said in regards to the graciousness and indulgent individuals I call my friends.
To David our Host:
When evening draws close,
and the subtle breeze blows;
I think of those nights in Puerto Rico.
with you in one arm, in the other, the brother of Niko.
How I miss those hot tubbing days
When life seemed to go by in a blaze,
and as the last of the dazzling sun's rays
descended into the luminescent haze
we decided to name our first child:
Rutherford B. Hayes!
To our Dearest Matt: Man of the Heart,
Ever since last wednesday night,
as my heart seemed to take flight,
when you burst out in song,
so sweet it could have put to bed even the mighty King Kong.
Pray Tell:
Where didst thou get cords of the vocals such as these?
You're voice swept over me as a communicable disease.
It rattles my bones like the sunsets in Belize.
Matt Hartman please!
If you started a band,
and got really tanned,
maybe had someone who played the baby grand,
I would be your number one fan!
To the Johnny the Great:
If I could merely have but a pinch
of your mad poet skills
I would cease to work all together
and move to the posh Beverly Hills.
But I would quickly move back
To Talge hall,
What a shack!
Where people do crack,
and get tazed for talking smack.
But in room twelve ten,
I'll be home once again.
With nobody else
but Johnny, my main man!
To Jessica the Fierce:
I have but a request when you marry
a fine man with the last name of Beans.
And have your first child,
as crazy as that seems.
Look in the eyes of the one that you love,
and say with the passion of Machiavelli,
"I have a name that we can be proud of,
His name will be none other than Jelly!"
To Tiffany the Timorous:
Since you like birds so much I have a poem for you:
Birdy Birdy,
In the sky,
What are you doing in my eye,
It tastes kinda salty
It feels like soup,
Oh my sweet heavens,
It's birdy poop!
To Careening Caressa:
Sweet Mango covered in cocoa,
let me eat you,
just a little,
un poco.
To Bethusela:
With a shirt such as this,
flaunting something icy, something hot.
You are no doubt the talk on the block.
I'm surprised you haven't been asked,
or possibly even harassed,
for your hand in marital affairs.
For with a shirt such as this,
no one can resist;
not even the pious ovarian cyst!
To Megan the Megalosaurus:
Although you might not always,
dress in the classiest of clothes.
You do turn heads in school hallways,
Why? Nobody knows.
Maybe you have this aura about you,
or maybe its just your shampoo.
But one thing is assured oh Megan of Megalopolis,
Your classiness stands true just like the Acropolis.
To Karo the Czar,
What is it like,
In your hometown afar?
Do people bow to you,
when they find out your a czar?
Do they give up their seat,
In the crowded old bus?
Or do they frown with conceit,
and whisper and cuss.
Don't fret little Karo,
for you always have a seat
In my luxurious Porsche,
as long as you make me some Borsch.
To Princess Deanna:
This is a more serious poem about our time spent together in Nam:
Do you remember the date, it was March seven,
when five of our friends were blown clear up to heaven;
old Henry, our friend, and a fine little chap,
was killed from the blast of a dirty booby trap?
Do you remember the screams of our friends who were dying
while bombs were going off, and napalm a'flying.
I remember it clear, you lost five fingers and a toe,
And all I could do was recite Edgar Allan Poe.
To Anisha: Queen of Anise,
India has the Dalai Lama.
We have Barak Obama.
Wisconsin has cheese,
and a town called Waukesha.
We are at ease,
for we have the one and only Anisha.
So lets get together,
lets round up the posse!
Whatever the weather,
lets drink a cold lassi!
To My Love Krystin:
If someone asked me in years to come
When I'm old and my hair is grey:
"David. Who is your sugar pie plum?"
What do you think I would say.
You see, the answer is very crystal clear
My Krystin, my lover, my sweet little dear.
I would say that I loved her so much
I would never her leave.
This is a truth that she better believe.
But that is tomorrow,
and this is today.
I will grab her and hold her,
and never give her away!
Thank you all for a meaningful Birthday.
You stay classy Collegedale!
Yours in classiness
-David
