Meet Clyde Beauregard

Hey Clyde, since you and your beer are featured at the top of the blog, I think our readers should know more about my imaginary friend.

Imagine this.

Now come on, Clyde. Don't be like that. Say! How would you like to be in one of my books?

No thanks. You'd probably get me drunk an' drown me in my beer cooler.

I would not. That would be way to obvious. How about I let you inhale one of those fancy fishing doo-hickeys on the intake of a surprise sneeze and you aspirate with the hook through the back of your tongue?

Ha! Shows what you know. I only use my teeth to bite through the line, not ta bait the damn thing.

Good point. So let's start with the basics. Where you from?

Besides your medulla stupida?

That's right prefrontal , smartman, among other areas.

Have you donated to Wikipedia yet?

Don't change the subject.

Fine, I'm from Honea Path, SC, my dad was in the armed services, my mom was the principal of Whitehall Elementary, and my older brother, Dylan, we call 'em Dill, regularly beat the piss out of me until I outgrew the sonofa--

Thanks, Clyde. We got it.

Well you asked.