Radish, mon Chéri, my plumptiousness, my sweet,
The fool vic-k, fires only on… how you say…half his cylinders…oui?
The effrontery of the imbecile, describing you, my lusciousness, as skinny!
When will we share quality nibble time together, oh thee, of the rosy glow and healthy muscle, grrr…grrr. My three remaining teeth tingle with anticipation!
I must avail myself of the evil potion, Absinthe n Laudanum` to dampen my ardour till we meet, my Blushing Globular Goddess!
Le D 
IPA, ESB, and Scottish Ale are my three favorites. Turns out that they are on the same branch of the taxonomy tree. At least I’m consistent.
I moved to Eugene, Oregon the beginning of January. Lots of good beer here. Growler of Tracktown IPA (from Eugene City Brewery, an Embassy of the Rogue Nation) in the fridge. Twenty ounce pub glasses in the freezer standing by.
mmm… beer.
I lived in Eugene for a dozen years. Some good writers there (patron saint: Ken Kesey plus Kate Wilhelm and, unfortunately, at least one despicable fraud). Try the Ninkasi ale.
Oh, my yes. Ninkasi Tricerahops Imperial IPA is the most perfect beer I have ever tasted. Truly a gift from the Goddess!
The best beer by far is the FREE beer.
You know what I am talking about. 
When someone else pays for it for some reason it tastes that much better.
Well make the most of it birdbrain, because Tarty Jameson has a warrant out for your Public Plucking!!
Hee!..hee!..hee!
Shes invited tenders for the contract, from North Carolina shiners. Theyre coming in by the coop full
Le D 
The preacher man says it’s the end of time
And the Mississippi River she’s a goin’ dry
The interest is up and the Stock Markets down
And you only get mugged
If you go down town
I live back in the woods, you see
A woman and the kids, and the dogs and me
I got a shotgun rifle and a 4-wheel drive
And a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive
I can plow a field all day long
I can catch catfish from dusk till dawn
We make our own whiskey and our own smoke too
Ain’t too many things these ole boys can’t do
We grow good ole tomatoes and homemade wine
And a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive
Because you can’t starve us out
And you cant makes us run
Cause one-of- ‘em old boys raisin ole shotgun
And we say grace and we say Ma’am
And if you ain’t into that we don’t give a damn
We came from the West Virginia coalmines
And the Rocky Mountains and the and the western skies
And we can skin a buck; we can run a trout-line
And a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive
I had a good friend in New York City
He never called me by my name, just hillbilly
My grandpa taught me how to live off the land
And his taught him to be a businessman
He used to send me pictures of the Broadway nights
And I’d send him some homemade wine
But he was killed by a man with a switchblade knife
For 43 dollars my friend lost his life
Id love to spit some beechnut in that dudes eyes
And shoot him with my old 45
Cause a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive
Cause you can’t starve us out and you can’t make us run
Cause one-of- ‘em old boys raisin ole shotgun
And we say grace and we say Ma’am
And if you ain’t into that we don’t give a damn
We’re from North California and south Alabam
And little towns all around this land
And we can skin a buck; we can run a trout-line
And a country boy can survive
Country folks can survive