Make Mine Mike

I need a drink.

Not just to drink a drink but to create one, too. And name it after me.

Today I saw someone drinking an Arnold Palmer. An “Arnold Palmer Lite”, out of a can. Genius.

It’s so simple. Iced tea and lemonade. And now it’s a big commercial property, appealing to consumers who consume. And since it’s a soft drink, anyone can have one. But throw in some amaretto, it’s an Arnold Palmer Sr. Not as catchy as Sex on the Beach, but it’ll do.

I rarely drink carbonated beverages, but whenever I get the self-serve kind, I create my own concoction: three-quarters Diet Coke (or Pepsi), one-quarter Mr. Pibb (or Dr. Pepper), and one-quarter Barq’s root beer (or Mug).

Why can’t I sell that? Besides the fact that they’re other companies’ trademark names? And, I realized right after I wrote that, I obviously don’t know my fractions.

Also, I’m not a famous golfer like Arnold Palmer. Similarly, I’m not a cute dimpled child star of the ‘30s like Shirley Temple. Nor a British Prime Minister (that’s Earl Grey tea, not Margaret Thatcher in the Rye or Tony Blair Witch’s Brew). Hell, I’m not even fictional like Harvey Wallbanger. Or a distinctively-colored insect, as in the old joke:

A grasshopper walks into a bar. The bartender says, “Hey, you know we got a cocktail named after you?” The grasshopper says, “You got a drink named ‘Irving’?”

But, dammit, I will be famous one day, just so they’ll name a drink after me. I’m not sure what it’ll be yet. But, it’ll be delicious. And mark my words, before long, when the bartender asks what you’re having, you’ll say: Make mine Make Mine Mike.