Vintage Words from the Back Room
This little slurry was dredged from the fiery and rum-soaked memoirs of an ombudsman with an ample expense account on the medical convention tour sometime around the turn of the century.
I sat outside all night in the Special Dark writing by a Bacardi Light. I hadn’t realized how long I’d been sitting in the Rocking Chair just like the one that belonged to my Old Grand Dad until I noticed the Blue Ribbon of the horizon under a new Tequila Sunrise.
I’d been up Jager than I had intended working like a Mad Dog. Pabst I should turn in Between The Sheets for a few hours, I thought. Budweiser notions entered my Mind Eraser so I Port myself a cup of Irish Coffee and decided to Hangover for an early start on a Brandy new day.
The sun would soon be a Highball of Prairie Fire in a Blue Blazer of a Skyy. Even here by the Bombay, the Sea Breeze wasn’t enough to quench the Temptation of kicking off my shoes and loosening Mai-Tai. The water was so still and calm that you could almost hear a Lemon Drop.
Gin I noticed a young couple enjoying the High Life with a little morning Sex On The Beach by the Sloe Gin Fizz of the rising tide. Through the Morning Glory a female voice Sangria tune that I used to know. Then it faded on a Whiskey Sour note…
“Why won’t you ask me to Bloody Mary you?” I heard the young girl ask.
He gave her the Third Degree and an Orange Smile. With a Kiss In The Dark he said, “You’re such a Sour Mash Thistle when it comes to this Twister. Why do you always pull the pin on this little Grenadine when we’re having fun? I’m so Chambord with it!”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt if you were a little more Old Fashioned. Heineken hardly wait for you much Lager. You Vodka Straighten up your Wallbangin’ ways and stop being such a Screwdriver, Jack.”
“Hey, you’re no Shirley Temple,” he laughed.
“I’m only looking for Martini bit of respect from you, that’s all. You don’t have to be such a Champagne in the ass all the time!”
“Oh, Schlitz, you’re such a Little Princess. Your Crown Royal family’s just so Hot Toddy. They never liked me because of my Eggnog-stic ways and you know I’ll never be that Cosmopolitan. My Guiness, I haven’t the first Yuengling when it comes to talking to your Swiss Family. Hell, your Pop would just as soon send me back to Kentucky Straight on a Singapore Sling.”
“You could be a bit more Cordial to him!” she Harped.
“You’re afraid to tell him about me because he Scotch you on a tight little leash. So what’s it going to be, Tellemore Dew nothing about it and keep on pretending that it’s all Fine And Dandy?” he asked. “Personally I’m sick of the whole Shillelagh!”
“You’re such a Snake Bite!” she Rebel Yelled.
“I’m sorry. That’s not exactly what I Mint Julep.” he apologized. “Creme de Menthe to say was that you’re so Manhattan and I’m just a little Old Milwaukee. I could never do better than a sub-Bourbon shack. Rye, you deserve better, Sherry, a Crystal Palace and a Country Club. I don’t mean to be such a Blue Devil but I can’t see you being happy as the wife of an old Beefeater and Boilermaker like me. You know if I ever married, it would Bijou.”
Then he grabbed his Blonde Parisian Cocktail around the shoulders and Schnapped her close in a Stout embrace as if to Malt Liquor. “You know, I’ve been thinking, Anisette all of this straight, or I wanted to before we go White Russian into anything so Absolut but… would you be my wife?”
He handed her a White Rose and slipped a Blue Diamond on her Lady Finger. With an Angel’s Kiss she pulled him down in a Passion Daiquiri and they did the Wild Turkey on the Rolling Rocks once more. They had a Hot Buttered Paradise with a Blowjob and an Orgasm in the sand.
She stood up with a smile and Rum Milk Punch on her Black Velvet dress. “Come on, let’s get the Ale out of here and take a nice Johnny Walker on The Rocks.”
They Leap Frogged the Stone Fence hand in hand and strolled through the Ocean Mist until they were Absinthe from my view.
Now I had to finish my work and Claret with my editor. But he was a Shaker, a Straight Shooter, a real Russian Bear. And he didn’t like working with a Twisted Rickey like me. After having Red Bull like this, he’ll either order a Suicide or lock me away forever in an Alabama Slammer.