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The Rum Mis-Taken

A little-known poem that Robert Frost wrote in college

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Two girls drank beer around a keg,

And sorry I could not hit on each,

I stared at one chick's well-tanned leg,

and thought, "She's yours, you've made it, Greg!"

And felt a hook-up in my reach.

The other one was just as hot,

And easier, for I could see

She was long past her seventh shot,

Though plentiful supply of pot

Had ebbed their judgments equally.

My mental state was in decline,

But as we finished off my rum,

Their blurry eyes stared into mine;

I knew I neared the finish line

And slid a hand over one's bum.

When asked for details, I'll reply

(As my poor head begins to pound):

"Two girls threw up on me, and I,

I panicked and began to cry,

And passed out wasted on the ground."

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