Beer Club Founder’s Day 18, 2022

In the fabled land of Ibetchacan, where the beer makes men courageous,
There’s ill gotten wealth, and theft by stealth, the corruption is outrageous.

Once each year by rule of fear, the Founders hold their session,
To preach opinions to their minions, and teach them all a lesson.

You bow and plead on knees that bleed, paying tribute to the Founders,
Ponzi fools, begging at the stools, of your rulers like you’re flounders.

Oh, Sip by sip and drip by drip, your meager rations are controlled,
While ridicule, is the constant fuel, as subjects you’re cajoled.

Squeezing like a python, silently they syphon, all profits from the top.
As kegs run dry, another fool must buy, because the Ponzi cannot stop.

So as you parch, it’s another March, welcome back my Ponzi fools.
To the controversy of our anniversary, where still, there are no rules.

They have you lassoed, to a cathode, by your precious family jewels,
And you can’t fight because of fright, because you think you have no tools.

Each Founder was a fool, back in grammar school, I knew them early on.
Bones was a skeleton, with knobby knees of gelatin, not your burley brawn.

Bleaching white in broad daylight, one could see where his bones began.
His reflection hurt, when he had no shirt, he was a man who could not tan.

Morton was too short, to play on the court, while his teammates were so tall
Also aggressive, greedy and obsessive, when he got his hands on the ball.

His social skills, were double dribble drills, just when the buzzer would ring.
An he’s never had a passion, for high fashion, in fact wrinkles are his thing.

The teams of Coronado, were not known for bravado, so many years ago.
Too much do - si - do, not enough toe to toe, made for a bad loss ratio.

It lead to a revolution, that required a solution, regaining pride in our school.                                             
Today’s reproaches, the fault of their coaches, driving them to be so cruel.

Coach Sunday Durlin, was known to cause hurl’n.  He lost an eye in Korea.
Another was Stanek, who drove kids to panic, recruited by thugs in Crimea.

The Croatian, John Kovac, the dreaded Slovak, was a cold war prodigy.
Devoted to Rasputin, run wind sprints till yer puke’n, warmth was an oddity.

Cold shower drills and steroid pills, “Break me some bones, you pussies!”
The Rigdon treatment, taught what excrete meant, no room left for wussies.

Young boys in their teens turned into machines, able to go out to fight wars. Any DI could tell, they trained in hell, by seeing the stains on their drawers.

You know now, the why and the how, your founders became so ferocious.
As tough minded men, who never say when, qualities thought so atrocious.

Your Founders aren’t sinners, they’re the winners. The Ponzi will never fall.
If you’ll drink to that, belly up to the vat, the shit’s getting deep in the stall.