A blear-eyed figure stumbles through the door, hair atangle and beard abristle. " Oh Gods" he mutters," morning already. Coffee mine host, black as night,that goes down like molten lead and feels like a saw draggin across yer tongue, I gotta wake up. Fiddler! A wake-up tune like Whisky Before Breakfast or The Laird of Drum Blair. Nothin slow or I'll go back to sleep standin here."

troll