Posted 01-31-2008 at PFFA.
Drinks With Something In Them
with apologies to Ogden Nash
There is something about a Long Island,
A concoction of love from back east.
Its wonders can render one silent
When the flurry of mixing has ceased.
There is something about a Long Island,
This potion, this tonical healer,
So don't get it wrong
(It won't take oolong):
It's the gin, vodka, rum and tequila.
Here's to the worldly Manhattan,
A prize they award once a decade,
An invite from Countess Mountbatten,
Reprieves from the Order of Hecate.
There is something they put in Manhattans
That makes one feel learned and urban.
But the stem of a cherry
Is quite ordinary,
So I'm stymied. Unless it's the bourbon.
There is something they put in a mai tai,
And beachcombers know scuttlebutt,
So I always inquire when I tie
One on at the bar in the hut.
There is something Vic puts in a mai tai,
An ingredient destined to please ya:
An ocean of rum!
And ya know where it's from?
It's from Cali, dude, not Polynesia.
And here's to the frat party kegger!
I'm so drunk I can't see anymore.
She asked if I wanted to peg her,
And I ended up tapping the floor.
Three cheers for the frat party kegger--
Keep pumping until it runs clear!
And it might just be suds
That I puked on your duds,
But I (hic) think perhaps it's the beer.
-----
See comments for Mr. Nash's original poem.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Okay, here's what I'm riffing on. I can't find a decent link to the full poem; most google hits turn up only the first verse:
ReplyDeleteA Drink With Something In It
by Ogden Nash
There is something about a Martini,
A tingle remarkably pleasant;
A yellow, a mellow Martini;
I wish that I had one at present.
There is something about a Martini,
Ere the dining and dancing begin,
And to tell you the truth,
It is not the vermouth --
I think that perhaps it's the Gin.
There is something about an old-fashioned
That kindles a cardiac glow;
It is soothing and soft and impassioned
As a lyric by Swinburne or Poe.
There is something about an old-fashioned
When the dusk has enveloped the sky,
And it may be the ice,
Or the pineapple slice,
But I strongly suspect it's the Rye.
There is something about a mint julep.
It is nectar imbibed in a dream,
As fresh as the bud of the tulip,
As cool as the bed of the stream.
There is something about a mint julep,
A fragrance beloved by the lucky.
And perhaps it's the tint
Of the frost and the mint,
But I think it was born in Kentucky.
There is something they put in a highball
That awakens the torpidest brain,
That kindles a spark in the eyeball,
Gliding singing through vein after vein.
There is something they put in a highball
Which you'll notice one day if you watch;
And it may be the soda,
But judged by the odor,
I rather believe it's the Scotch.
Then here's to the heartening wassail,
Wherever good fellows are found;
Be its master instead of its vassal,
And order the glasses around.
For there's something they put in the wassail
That prevents it from tasting like wicker;
Since it's not tapioca,
Or mustard, or mocha,
I'm forced to conclude it's the liquor.