You live to vinegrette it.
And all the kitchens echoed
And all the kitchens echoed
And all the kitchens echoed
And all the kitchens echoed…
The dressing was off.
But the lettuce was not put
Into the freezer.
Like I did, somehow, last week. 
Anything that isn’t growing fur in my fridge is considered edible.
That principle has worked for years, and I’m not dead yet.
A salad dressing-
Past it’s prime, surely, but, oh!
How it was wanted!
Fenris, thank you for brightening my evening. It’s too rare I get a dose of beat in my life, despite my love of it, and you have provided it wrapped in leafy juicy healthy green guise, marred only by chronological inconvenience capable of turning creamy desire into rancid sickmaking temptress.
I sometimes write beat poetry, most of it unreadable. Beat is the easiest thing in the world to do and the hardest to do right. I applaud you with virtual fingerclicks, never having been able to master the meatspace variety.
::click::
::click::
::click::
Ah, fuck off Fenris…some things (like Ginsberg poetry and Kerouac himself) are better left dead…they smell better that way!!
OK, now THAT’S funny!
Paging Dr. Williams! Paging Dr. Williams! We have a hysteria-induced embolism!
Anything can be enhanced with a William Carlos Williams parody, I’ve found. He’s just so parodiable.
l(a
le
af
fa
ll
s)
et
tu
ce
snap snap snap
And would have it been worth it, after all,
After the bowl, the artichokes, the peas,
To be at the porcelain, ralphing on your knees,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the lettuce with a smile,
To have squeezed your intestines into a ball,
To roil it towards some overwhelming indigestion,
To say, ‘I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all’
- T.S. Herder
(Yeah, it ain’t Beat, sue me.)
No, first we’ll snap our fingers disapprovingly.
Then we’ll beat you.
Argh… OK, I walked into that one.
I nearly used the :smack: smiley but I knew that the response would probably be “no, no - snap not smack”. 
See, that’s why you stash a small jar of Miracle Whip in the pantry.
Bwa ha ha!
Ah yes…the City Lights salad bar…
On a more helpful note, couldn’t this salad have been salvaged? Pick out the croutons and other items that turn unpleasant when wet, put the whole mess in a colander, rinse the rancid dressing off and pat-dry?
Then again, I supose if all problems were solved so quickly we’d have very little literature of interest.
Scablet salad for everyone!
What, iceberg lettuce and Traditional Western Culture aren’t good enough for you?
Not only are you a chi-chi foodie, you won’t even deign to make your namby-pamby attempt at poetry rhyme?
Pseudo-elitist punk.
Humble Upholder of Standards