Ya wouldna poota carrot inna beer, wouldja?
The Bear-Man's voice sounded like rocks tumbling around in a washing machine but despite this, I took a moment to admire the poetic grace of his mad muttering.
No more than I would lovingly insert my penis into one!
I replied enthusiastically, slapping my right hand off my hip as if I was a horse that I was riding.
Bear-Man narrowed his eyes and tugged at his big brown beard.
Well, some mad bastid has.
He intoned gravely.
What!? They have lovingly inserted their penis into a beer? I hope it's not one that you are selling?
I cast a fearful glance around the Bear-Man's beer shop as if a horde of angry penises were readying themselves to leap from the shelves at any open receptacles they could find.
Thankfully, there were none. Just many bottles of beer resting in the cool shade.
Nonetheless, I flexed my own receptacle to make sure that it was firmly closed.
Nah, ya plum. Carrots!
The Bear-Man grunted and hauled his mighty girth around the counter to stand beside me.
See?
He reached out a beefy paw to a nearby shelf and pulled a bottle out for my inspection.
It was a very sophisticated looking bottle with a picture of a slice of carrot on the front.
No!
I reeled back shielding my eyes.
Aye.
Grunted the Bear-Man sorrowfully.
My eyes!?
I squeaked peeking through my fingers to see if he had put the monstrosity away.
He fingered it briefly them slid it back on the shelf.
Why would someone do such a thing?
He muttered beardily in his Northern English growl.
I've seen some sights in the world of beer but never carrots.
I lamented with him.
Aye.
The Bear-Man let out a disappointed hiss like a lorry at a stop-light.
So what's it like then?
I asked brightly.
I figured he must know. You don't let a wet dog into your bed without at least weighing its knackers, as they say in London.
Eh!? Ah don't know. Not tried it.
There was a pause so pregnant that Doulas for miles around raised their snouts and sniffed at the air.
I looked at the bottle on its shelf. Despite the tinted green glass of the bottle, I fancied I could make out a faint orange glow.
Gives the fucking thing and I'll try it.
I said with the handsome bravado of the finely muscled.
Wouldja? Carrots?
Asked the Bear-Man with what looked like relief.
I clicked my tongue against my cheek.
Aye. Carrots.