Shake Dem Bones

Good evening, my friends. You may call me Red Skeleton. I see by the clock the cocktail hour is upon us. I'm quite sure a cold one is now in order after a rather trying day at work, unless of course you work the graveyard shift.

I will be more than happy to shake one up for you. Don't worry about drinking and flying, I've got your back, backbone that is. Come to think of it, I also have your thighbone, legbone, jawbone, etc. etc. As you can see, there are no skeletons in my closet. They're all out in the open for all to see, warts and all. I kill myself sometimes.

In case you were wondering, I can also do a mean Shirley Temple. On the good ship, lollipop! That's quite enough of that. What will it be? Don't be shy. Name your poison. I personally prefer a very dry, very cold, dirty martini. So cold, it chills you to the bones.

I must warn you, though, I do make a very dirty martini. In fact, you could say they are down right swampy, guaranteed to put you on the ground or in the ground, whichever you prefer.

So what do you say? I say, here's looking at you kid. Or better yet, here's mud in your eye. I've got a million of 'em.