In Which Our Author Writes Twelve Rhyming Couplets

Twelve rhyming couplets? Okay!

Today I sit here and I blog with friends
And you may rightly wonder to what ends.
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Last night I went to see an improv show.
Some friends of mine performed and asked I go.
They played a game called Whiskey Scenes, I think.
And Peepaw Preston had too much to drink.
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I cling with desperation to the past
I cannot change the heading of my mast.
For if I do, what terror shall I find?
I sit transfixed by my unyielding mind.
At last, with pain I grab the jib and pull
I thrill with fear, but now my sails are full.
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I'm almost out of time here on this post.
From out of it I've tried to wring the most.
Iambic pentameter's been my foe
Five minutes left, and I am still named Joe.
Four couplets left to write in minutes four.
I took a nap; I hope I did not snore.
Three couplets now to write and oh so fast.
In lines above I wrote about a mast.
And still I cling to this outdated style.
There are a lot of feet within a mile.
One more to write and just a minute left.
And still of hope I am not yet bereft!

Done, with seconds to spare.