h a l f b a k e r y"Not baked goods, Professor; baked bads!" -- The Tick
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Invite an unsuspecting ‘guest’ back to yours for a nightcap whilst twitching slightly below the left eye. Enter your home through the excessively wide wooden door leading into your church like living room. Surreptitiously don your long black cloak and turn and ask “Mwha ha ha haha , what will it be my
dear?”
Complete with the order of your ‘guest’ and your requirement for a Bloody Mary, step up on the stage and sit at your mad professor cocktail mixer. Basically a Heath Robinson re-working of an old church organ. The pipes now contain different spirits and mixers all controlled through the traditional keyboard, complete with pedals and knobs, and a central mixing engine. As you play sweet music on your organ, spinning, shaking, ice chipping and mixing, a perfectly blended cocktail drops out of the delivery pipe into the receptacle of your choice.
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Annotation:
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a perfectly blended cocktail drops out of the delivery pipe into the receptacle of your choice... smoke drifting off the gently bubbling surface. |
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Shame about the Archbishop bit. |
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Chilled with dry ice, of course. |
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But why black? Don't all mad professors wear white lab coats, sometimes accentuated by a metal prosthetic hand(s)? |
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I'd imagine it'd be tough for a mad professor to get an unsuspecting "guest" these days though. Ladies tend to veer away from them, as a means to avoid any rohypnol hijinks, or kidney-heist type action. |
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