Seamus;
    Old MacDonald's deformed Farm is one of my favorite cuts on your CDs. (my first favorite is La Vie En Rose, but we're not doing French right now, so I've changed it to a Belgian folksong. Nobody does melancholy, nostalgic tunes like those Belgians.)
    A few years ago I wrote an absolutely hilarious satirical article in a Wyoming magazine about life in small, western towns, like Red Lodge MT and Rawlins, WY, where the gene pool is the size of a birdbath and all the children are 9-fingered albinos grafted at birth into their fathers' pickups. I recieved lots of interesting mail, much of which had to do with "Gut shot and left at the border", and invitations to various cowboy bars "Jist come on in around midnight and mention yer name." Fortunately I'd used a nom de plume that had leapt to mind when I sent the article off. So I just thought I'd suggest that if you ever entertain in a small western town you might want to call yourself Gus or Lefty or some such.

O'Meara