'What happens to bad poets when they die?' 'Aye, tis a good question,' says the sotted brute wavin his hand whilst spittle flyin with most syllables 'I yam told bad poets stew in alphabet soup and get eaten by old grannies for all eternity' 'I eard that one but seems a waste of good soup' 'Aye, and why de grannies get involved it's a misog misog a ting against women I'll bet' 'Well then, what might you think?' says the innkeeper to the quiet sod at the end of the bar 'Eh..I should think they'd go with the good ones cuz I'll be ****** if I can tell the difference' 'Aye' says all 'aye'