The plumber's bum. Burnt.
Never, ever tell anyone where you found the mushrooms.
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The electric lines reminded me of sheet music as I listened to the jazz festival in the valley. The birds creating notes of an ever-changing melody.
“Fed up to the back teeth” ? "How do you think I feel"? This duck farmer doesn’t see the irony of his statement.
Reproduced as giclée print in various sizes, some with mounts.
Of course I'm not smuggling eau de vie. This is organic fuel ! Honest, Officer...
Before machines took over, wine picking was a happy family affair, rewarded by they 'casse croute' under the trees.