In the telling of the tale

I ask for water from your well,

and for the stories it might tell,

but if you want it to end well

it best be told by a Martell.

You pour me coffe and your tea,

but this is water foul to see,

and nothing looks so good to me

as shots of purest Hennessey.

You give me splurting ginger ale,

fermented leaves all harsh and stale,

though I have heard that any tale

which starts this bad will surely fail.

I drink my beer and bid for wine

altough the taste of Ballantines 

could tell me stories of divine

that I could proudly claim as mine.

My mug is empty, I implore

of you to fill it up with more

of just whatever  there's in store.

You say you've heard that tale before.

But this you have not heard, I beam

This story ain't the way you deem

'cause nothing here is like it seems

and logic is for happy dreams.

So pour me Irish Whiskey, and

a dash of every Scottish brand

and watch as randomness expands

and blends in perfect circumstance.