The Good Intent

Jimbo anticipated record takings
from the Himey Hydrogen Bomb Heller
vs Tyrone Cyclone Capone rematch,
live on Gladiator Sports,
at The Good Intent.
Harry the Hooligan Henley,
brought proceedings to an untimely end.
His trouser leg became a sewage outlet
as diabolical as Vaucluse’s cliff face discharges.
‘Why’s everyone leaving’ he uttered,
as he skated across his pool of feces to the counter.
“Is the sports bar an ice skating rink now?”
he asked, as he ordered his twentieth whiskey on the rocks.

Jimbo expected record takings
during the Olympic freestyle finals.
During his youth, Harry the Hooligan Henley,
had been quite the pool shark.
This century drinking was his number one sport.
He was thirty six bourbon and cokes not out,
when he attempted the highland fling,
tripped over a pool cue mid flight
and triggered a brawl that spread
to the bistro and on to the street.

Harry regained consciousness in an empty bar.
“They’ve vanished!
Has Gandalf been drinking at The Good Intent again?”
he muttered to a statue of Don Bradman.
A cordon of police officers barred entry.
“Have they found out about the FJ Holden I stole,
from Sergeant Mcdonald in 68″, Harry wondered.”

The delayed telecast,
of the first human journey to Mars,
was Saturday’s main attraction.
Harry took the scenic route,
via an under 25’s dance party.
“Yep, they’re vitamins, all of them” Guru Goran,
the snake charmer, from Charlatanvale, promised.
Harry washed them down with a pint of vodka.
“They’re not televisions and that aint Mars,
they’re inter universal portals
to the realm of the Ice Breathing Lobster Fairies.
Their saute dragon breathe is flooding into the Milky Way
and slowly killing us all” Harry bellowed at the barmaid.
He peppered the televisions with shot glasses
until every screen was shattered.

Harry the Hooligan Henley died a month later,
while performing Swan Lake
on the pinnacle of a pint glass pyramid.
As Jimbo sent a champagne cork into the stratosphere,
the hearse carrying Harry’s corpse
crashed into The Good Intent with such force
the heritage building had to be demolished.

Jimbo was contemplating slitting his wrists,
until he realised he featured more prominently in Harry’s will
than The Petronis Towers in Kuala Lumpur’s skyline.
He transformed Harry’s palatial homestead
into a bed and breakfast inn.
Jimbo’s newfound success
funded a trip to the remnants of the Great Barrier Reef,
with his voluptuous lingerie model fiancée,
‘Woohoo, my first holiday in twenty years Pearl’
Jimbo raised his glass
of apple and cinnamon laced lager in triumph.
His lithe lady hinted at the course their evening would take,
with a series of provocative yoga poses.
A newsflash
about a country motel disappearing into a sinkhole,
interrupted Jimbo’s erotic reverie.

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