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Picture Credits: http://absolut.com
I imagine my point is quite moot,
since I’m dying in so many ways;
I seek solace in chilled Absolut.
Just can’t wait for that first ev’ning toot,
to expunge all the fears of my days -
dissolut in that divine solut.
Sure, I’d rather be toking on jut,
so illegal (but what a great haze!),
hence cold vodka’s become my pursuit.
Other drunkards may my choice refut,
choosing wine, beer or whisky forays,
but this fine Swedish booze I salut.
Now I don’t become boorish or brut,
though I do get a little sideways,
and my thinking becomes convolut.
Temporarily troubles commut,
As I indulge in liquid parlays.
In the fog, I believe I transmut,
disillusioned that I am astut.
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