A beautiful Celtic lass sent me this. > 'Twas the pig fair in September > A day I quite well remember > For I was walking up and down in drunken pride > When my knees began to flutter > And I sank down in the gutter > And a pig came up and lay down by my side > As I lay there in the gutter > Thinking thoughts I could not utter > I thought I heard a passing lady say: > "You can tell the man who boozes > By the company that he chooses!" > And with that the pig got up and walked away.