I Just Make Them Up, See!

Copyright ® 1957 by Fantasy House, Inc.

Oh, Dr. A. —
Oh, Dr. A. —
There is something (don't go 'way)
That I'd like to hear you say.
Though I'd rather die
Than try
To pry,
The fact, you'll find,
Is that my mind
Has evolved the jackpot question for today.
I intend no cheap derision,
So please answer with decision,
And, discarding all your petty cautious fears,
Tell the secret of your vision!
How on earth
Do you give birth
To those crazy and impossible ideas?
Is it indigestion
And a question
Of the nightmare that results?
Of your eyeballs whirling,
Twirling,
Fingers curling
And unfurling,
While your blood beats maddened chimes
As it keeps impassioned times
With your thick, uneven pulse?
Is it that, you think, or liquor
That brings on the wildness quicker?
For a teeny
Weeny
Dry martini
May be just your private genie;
Or perhaps those Tom and ferries
You will find the very
Berries
For inducing
And unloosing
That weird gimmick or that kicker;
Or an awful
Combination
Of unlawful
Stimulation,
Marijuana plus tequila,
That will give you just that feel o'
Things a-clicking
And unsticking
As you start your cerebration
To the crazy syncopation
Of a brain a-tocking-ticking.
Surely something, Dr. A., Makes you fey And quite outrt. Since I read you with devotion, Won't you give me just a notion Of that shrewdly pepped-up potion Out of which emerge your plots? That wild secret bubbly mixture That has made you such a fixture In most favored s.f. spots—
Now, Dr. A., Don't go away—
Oh, Dr. A. — Oh, Dr. A. —