Practical Research (a 250-word story)

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Ralph took out his notebook. Time to put theory into practice.  This endeavor had cost him three months of his life.  Time to see how well he had done.  He just wondered which one to try out first.  Ralph closed his eyes, spun his finger in the air and plopped it down on the page. 

Nope, that missed every single one!

He closed his eyes and did it again.  This time, when he opened his eyes, he found his finger pointing at number 22.  That one should be a good one.  The butterflies in his stomach started to tango.  He read it over five times and then silently mumbled it until it felt natural.

Ralph turned to the person sitting on the barstool beside him.  She wore a black dress that left everything up to the imagination.  Her hair was tied back.  She stared at her drink like it held the secret of life. 

She was perfect!

He took a deep breath and said, “I’m no physicist, but even in zero-g I would fall for you.”

She looked at him, and he had hope.  “But honey, I am a physicist.”  She picked up her glass.  “And everything creates gravity.”  She proceeded to pour the contents of her drink into his lap.  “Just it’s a bit stronger here.”  She slowly got up and sauntered away.

He took out his pencil and crossed out 22.  Only one 199 more to try.  He just wished he had brought a spare pair of pants.

Bluff (an acrostic poem)

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Bashful with a dash of humility was his favorite drink
Leaving him sated every time he partook of that sweet nectar
Under the moonless sky, he would go out for a pint or two
Fortune smiled when he found a sweet young insecure thing looking for tall, pale, and handsome
Finding a dark spot to sip her vitality, he never saw the wooden stake till it was too late

Norm (an acrostic poem)

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Nothing was the usual in that bar
Ordering a drink never meant that was what you got
Rarely did it matter since everyone was there for the ambiance
Magical unicorns walking around seemed to be enough

Cocktails (an acrostic poem)

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Can’t figure out which flavor of Daquiri she wanted

Of course there was the Classic Martini, or one of a hundred permutations

Can’t forget the Old Fashioned, but she thought she wanted something newer

Kicking back a Whiskey Sour might put a nice pucker on her lips

Though maybe some bubbles with a Moscow Mule

Ah, or going tropical and hit up a Mai Tai

If not perhaps a Sloe Gin Fizz would hit the nostalgic spot, but not tonight

Leading her to decide on a Rum and Coke since sometimes simple is better

She was sad when her drink disappeared after she misplaced it moments later.

Silly (an acrostic poem)

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So a neutron goes into a bar and asks, “How much for a beer?”  The bartender says, “For you, no charge.”

If your boss tells you to have a nice day, does that mean you can go home?

Looking for a bitter and sweet drink?  Try some Reali-tea.

Listen, singing in the shower is fun until you get soap in your mouth, then it becomes a soap opera.

You know what, I was going to tell you a time-traveling joke, but you didn’t like it.

Sour (an acrostic poem)

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Scrunching up her face in reaction to sipping the drink

Obviously, it was much tarter than what she was expecting

Uttering a sharp laugh, her partner handed her a sugar cube as an apology

Refusing the cube, she gave it another sip.   It was better this way.

Crisp (an acrostic poem)

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Cider so hard you need a hammer and chisel to drink it

Resulting in puckered lips that would make an Instagram influencer jealous

It leaves an impression on the consumer’s soul

Searing the memory of that tree, that branch, that fruit, that moment

Permanently into your psyche

Spell (an acrostic poem)

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So do you believe in the magic that surrounds you?

Pushing the fantastical into the factual

Enabling imagination to define reality

Letting wonder bloom in the field of drab predictability

Let’s drink deep of this fever dream and cast our fancy into the world

Chilli (an acrostic poem)

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Can’t make it hot enough to please him

He scarfs down whole scotch bonnets for breakfast

I even saw him puree ghost peppers and drink it as a smoothie

Last Superbowl was the topper.  The con carne concoction he brought was pure chemical warfare

Leaving us all to stare in awe and fear as he ate the whole thing without a single sniffle

It did come to no surprise that his intestines eventually got their revenge for his war crimes.

Cider (an acrostic poem)

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Cold pressed apple fluids left outside in a large jug

In the dead of winter the water freezes on top

Driving the flavor into a more concentrated solution below

Each time the blah ice is then removed and the process repeats over and over for months

Rewarded finally with a fermented drink that tasted of sunny autumn days and patience