Ode to the Doctor

You Scrumptious Surgeon of Sweetness,
You Pleasing Pathologist for the Palette,
You Flavorful Doctor Feelgood.
What, you didn’t know?
Motley Crew sang a song about you.

You are the Chief of Medicine
In the busy Beverage Hospital.
Not some nobody nurse
Who makes her rounds,
Stabilizing taste buds
With her fruity Fanta antidotes.
Nah, you are
The cure for the common cola.
You write prescriptions for parchness.
A twenty-one ounce IV bag of
Cinnamony syrup packed with caffeine
That runs straight into the vein
Of thirst.

You are a confident man,
With no wish to become a Rockstar
Or bullshit dreams of getting wings.
You are satisfied with your PHD
In Thirstquenchinology,
And the many years of sleep-
Less study nights it took to get that
Magna cum Laude.

Not like that jobless has-been
Mr. Pibb,
Who dropped outta college on day one,
The ladies love you
And your fit contoured body.
You are more popular with the ladies
Than if Tom Jones fused with Justin
Timberlake.
Your fan mail comes by the truckloads,
Chock full of phone numbers,
Perfumed scented panties,
And even naughty photographs.
Who cares about Cherry Coke,
That fine ass girl from your school days
When Ginger Ale is sending you pictures
Without her top on.

Oh yeah…
You da man Dr. Pepper,
You da man.