Some Drink Recipes

I'm putting these on the internet because I believe I am the first to name the following cocktails.

Whiskey Walrus

 • Vanilla ice cream

 • Root beer (your choice of brand; what am I, your mother?)

 • American Whiskey (I like Seagram's here but again, it's no skin off my nose)

In a tall glass, place 2 scoops of ice cream. Pour two ounces of whiskey into the glass. Fill the glass with however much root beer that takes. Drink/eat, as you would an ice cream float.

Tipsy Walrus 

 • Vanilla ice cream

 • Not Your Father's alcoholic root beer

In a tall glass, pour alcoholic root beer over two scoops of ice cream.

Other Derivatives

Brandy Walrus: substitute brandy for whiskey

Mountie Walrus: substitute Canadian whiskey

Kentucky Walrus: substitute bourbon

Groovy Walrus: substitute rainbow sherbet for ice cream, 7-Up for root beer, vodka for whiskey, a muddy field at a music festival for clothing

 

I am Reading Dayn Perry

"I am reading Dayn Perry."

One says this loosely, with non-chalance. Syllables cost nothing.

Yet something packs itself into the back of your brain, like the sodden lump of chaw that is fusing with your rear molars. It becomes a part of you so gradually you don't even notice – until the surgeon is administering ether and reminding the nurse which section of your jaw will have to go.

This prose, this eddy of words, seems not so much written by the man as emanating from him. Does the flickering streetlight in the back alley "compose" photons?

Let us, together you and I, picture the man who gives us these words. Does he speak slowly, resting his sun-battered face on a grizzled paw, dispensing bad advice through refills of cheap rye? Is he on too-good terms with an ill-intentioned barkeep?

No, there is a gleam in his words. This is no dingy public house. It is the room at the horse track closest to the betting window. His relentless gob unloads one barrel at a time, a scattershot of speech to anyone within his firing radius, and some without. His tight fists are clutching thesauruses and losing tickets, but this does not prevent gesticulation. His phrases are peppered with "haberdashers" and "indigents" and he has consorted with both, comfortably. His vocabulary is that of a mid-century tobacco advertisement. He knows "catarrh" from first-hand experience.

There's a wink in the direction of his empty highball glass, and without speech you know he's offering you better odds. The vig is an Old Fashioned. What was that bookie thinking with 7/2 on Captain's Favorite, anyway?

I am reading Dayn Perry. I will die one day, but today I am reading Dayn Perry.