Shwag.

An Ode to Beer.

Why, if 'tis dancing you would be,
There's brisker pipes than poetry.
Say for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?

Oh many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God's ways to man.

Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think
Look into the pewter pot
To see the world as the world's not.

And faith, 'tis pleasant till 'tis past.
The mischief is that 'twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,

And carried half-way hame, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;

And down in lovely muck I've lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky;
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;

The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.

--From A.E. Housman "Terence this is stupid stuff"

I love beer. It keeps me sane.

In other news, I have an idea for a new publication.

I am drunk, so I cannot elaborate.

Best for us all really.

That said, I hate poetry. I'd rather read a poem about farts.

Beer is close enough.