Au revoir to the young lady who has been elected to represent the very best of America's oven-baked pastry-topped comestibles.

I directed my vintage Detroit-built automobile to the flood protection embankment, but found the aforementioned facility totally deficient in aqueous fluid.

And the elderly Southern gentlemen there assembled were consuming various distilled liquors, including both imported varieties (Caledonian or Hibernian?)* and locally produced options.

While chanting that this specific point in the calendar would be the occasion of their(or possibly my own?)* demise.

*ask Mr Maclean for further details

Wassail!