reynardo | For the brave people on firewhiskeyfic

It's a monthly "write while drunk" fest, and I missed out again this time, so I've written a little something for the ladies. This version has the correct coding.

The Firewhiskey Fest was on, the bottles in a line,
The players with their writer's caps were looking pretty fine,
Their choice of tipples by their sides, their screens alight and glowing,
And thus this night of "drink and write" would bring out their best showing.
The theme was "New Years Resolutions" - many of them broken,
And though the fingers typed like mad, coherent words weren't spoken,
They drank, they wrote, they sought their muses. Summoned elves and imps,
And when the inspiration hit, canon was for wimps.

literaryspell was drinking beer with all her might,
While crazy River Tempest had Mimosas for the night.

unseen1969 took apples for a ride,
And

kkscatnip should be feared for Rum and Coolaid slides.
Ice and Whiskey drinks kept

phoenix_fancies on her game,
And poor

reynardo, sober, watched - the time zones were to blame.
These brave, intrepid searchers for the truth that wine will bring,
Were giving up their Friday Night, in hope the muse would sing.

It started slowly. All spoke well of plans to write a lot,
But as the night moved slowly on the plans were all forgot.
The words they slurred, the cries became one incoherent noise,
As sacrificed to Whiskeyfic were grammar, grace and poise.
Each kept their noses to the grindstone, caught in their endeavour,
To make a story that made sense - and possibly was clever
They struggled gamely to type well, their spelling they ignored,
And slowly, one by one, the ladies slipped onto the floor.
...-------...
The morning dawned. The bitter light streamed weakly through the blinds,
And showed the damage wrought that night by drunk and warp-ed minds.
Each keyboard, sticky, bore the scars of typing whilst still drunk,
And dabs of white-out on the screens showed where the thoughts were thunk.
The stories, so significant, so meaningful by night,
Did not somehow still look the same when seen by morning's light,
But rules are rules. The battered fics were headed, topped and tailed,
And to the great Miss Moderator each was sadly mailed.