dark beige

By eyewitness Donna O Hare

It was like, the coolest thing. I was in this packed nightclub in the West Village, it was so busy that maybe 40 people were trying to get served by 2 barmen. It was really cool.

Then, all of a sudden, the most awesome thing happened. This young, hot barman that everyone in Manhattan is talking about (I think his name's Brian) just suddenly got up on the bar, and started reciting a poem.




This guy is like the coolest guy ever. He like flips bottles and stuff. I'm not sure about everyone else, but I feel like this guy changed my life last night. There I was, having always thought that a barman is just some kind of low-paid tool who should just shut the fuck up and get me a drink. But as he stood there, ignoring the 40 strong crowd of revellers, and began to speak, I saw that I was all wrong. I grabbed a pen, and started to jet his incredible words down, knowing that I was seeing our generation's Oscar Wilde in the flesh.

Get this - this is what he said:

I am the last barman poet.

I see America drinking the fabulous cocktails I make.

Americans getting stinky on something I stir or shake.

The sex on the beach, the schnapps made from peach, The Velvet Hammer, the Al-La-Bam-A Slam-a!

I make things with juice and froth: the Pink Squirrel, the 3-Toed Sloth.

I make drinks so sweet and snazzy: The Iced Tea, The Kamikaze,

The Orgasm, The Death Spasm,

The Singapore Sling, The Dingaling.

America you've just been devoted to every flavor I got.

But if you want to got loaded, why don't you just order a shot?

Bar is open.

We whooped and cheered and hollered realising that we had always got barmen wrong, I even partially wet myself with excitement. It was so cool. They should give this guy like a TV show or something.

I'm going to start going to bars more, to see what else these cool cats have got to say about life. It's really got me thinking.