Blame the Entertainer

It was the entertainer’s fault really,
He shouldn’t have mentioned a thing,
But he asked, quite succinctly and clearly,
If anyone wanted to sing.

The laughing-eyed blonde who’d been seated,
Arose and minced up to the mike,
And the entertainer repeated,
“You can sing any song that you like.”

But before she had started her singing,
She asked, could she make a small speech?
In my ears, the alarm bells were ringing,
And my sick-bag was not within reach.

“I dedicate this to my lover,
My husband of nearly ten years.
He’s constantly helped me discover
My passion and laughter and tears.”

And before we could dash to the doorway,
She launched into “Stand By Your Man,”
And we sat there, bemused at her foreplay,
As only a true voyeur can.

The song was intensely beguiling,
As though she were taking the piss,
And she stood there singing and smiling,
And then blew her hubby a kiss.

At that, the whole bar-room erupted,
And a great swell of vomit was spewed,
The bar service was interrupted,
And the band called a short interlude.

The manager clearly was blaming
The staff for not having the nous,
And every drinker was claiming
A free pint of beer on the house.

To clean up the place took an hour,
An hour I’ll never forget,
Which showed the incredible power
Of a badly sung Tammy Wynette.