Welcome to Beastly Tales. Each has a message, a moral. All are meant to have an element of humour. Naturally, any names included do not depict real folk but are included as part of the joke.

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(As with Beastly Banter Beastly Tales is written and illustrated by Richard Hersel.)

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Richard Hersel

THE CRUISE

A pleasure cruise, considered a social event,
Time to let the hair down, for lady and gent.
Assuming, of course, that the gent has some hair,
If not, perhaps the lady wishes he wasn’t there!
The first day out, a trifle mal-de-mer.
The stewards asks, “Can I help you sir?”
But when sea legs are obtained,
Every plate, bowl and cup are drained.
Yes, the variety of food is over whelming.
The quantities enormous, and here’s the thing,
One can frequent more than one restaurant a night.
Is that gross, or what? Just plain out of sight.

However, it is good to store blubber for phase two.
That is when gastro enteritis may be due.
Because of the sheer number of folk on board,
Banisters, flat surfaces, railings can hoard,
Bacteria and germs of an astounding variety,
All ready and wriggling to join society.
Yes, phase two, is the deceptive lull,
When so many are vomiting in the toilet bowl.

Cruise ships are, nowadays, so very immense,
That internal navigation can be most intense.
The cruise ship, “M.V. City Block,”
Could barely fit against the dock.
Despite superior propulsion gear,
It required four tugs, the dock to clear.
One passenger, with a loony snort,
Said, “To go from bow to stern, you need a passport.”
The ship being so big, as it leaves,
The Captain had SIX rings on each of his sleeves.

A passenger wondering at the huge size,
Thought, “If you weren’t at sea, you’d not believe your eyes.”
“It’s hardly like being on a ship at all.”
“Thousands of passengers, with staff on call.”
It has happened before, and it could happen again,
That a great passenger ship can go down the drain,
Yes, down the drain, to Davey Jones’ locker,
A most startling moment, a real shocker!

However, the “M.V. City Block,” is just leaving,
On it’s way out to sea, it’s massive bows cleaving,
The harbour waters as it picks up motion,
On it’s way, out onto the ocean.

Otto Klipzinger, you may remember, him,
Was on this cruise, so proper and prim.
He’d promised himself this cruise for being so good,
At, on the doctors orders, refusing much food.
He thought for three weeks, he’d let his hair down,
Or would, if he had any, now he did frown.
The ship, or should we say City Block,
Had ten restaurants to pleasantly shock,
Discerning diners for three meals a day,
And would do so multiple times if Otto had his way.
“No Gastrointestinal handicaps for me!”
Otto rubbed his hands together with glee.
“There’s over sixty meals to be had.”
“Two restaurants for each isn’t bad.”
“So I should be able to visit each,”
“To amply fill the tummy breach,”
“At least twelve times, during the cruise,”
“Naturally, leaving enough space for booze.”

So whilst many passengers succumbed to phase two.
Otto was one passenger who didn’t vomit and spew!
No, his gastrointestinal system remained alert,
Ready for rich new delights that never did hurt,
He chomped his way around the ship many times,
Aware that the cost was “gratis,”
Getting his money’s worth, plate after “platis”.