"To excel at a meal interview, avoid bards that could cause embarrasment."
Williams? "Can we keep the blood-and-guts until after the desert please?"
Dylan Thomas? "No, honestly, I'll pay. Please stop making passes at
the Dean's wife."
Lowell? "No, Robert. We will not be served faster if you insist on
calling the maitre'd 'Mein Fuhrer'."
Shakespeare? "No, really. I believe you. You did write all those plays."
Bacon? "No, really. I believe you. You did write all those plays."
Pound? "Please stop showing everyone your certificate. And yes, nobody
gives you enough credit for editing the Wasteland. No, you can't go
back to St Elisabeths. Yes, the South is de-segragated these days."
Auden? "Please don't pee in the sink again. The restaurant owners are
beginning to complain. And yes, I have heard the one about you,
Christopher and the three sailors. Several times."
Dickinson? "No. You can't go home. We've only just arrived."
Hughes? "Listen, we let you slaughter the bull last time because you
said you liked your meat to have a little life in it. They're still
trying to clean the kitchen."
Kerouac? "You can't use the napkins to roll your joints on."
Burroughs? "You cannot cut-up the menu and expect the chef to do the
same with the ingredients. No, the chef isn't a 10 legged bug with a
degree in psycho-active medicines and a machine-gun. And stop trying
to tap the waiters up for drugs. And sex. Wait until after I've left."
Coleridge? "Really, that postman was a complete bastard. And so's
Wordsworth. Laudnum is *not* on the drinks list. You brought your own?
Wordsworth? "Putting your walking boots on the table is fine with me.
But did you have to bring the shepherd *and* his sheep?"