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He teases out the stupidest implications of a string of conceits, including his proposal for a brutalist dream house characterized by “Stalinist chic, Stasi nostalgia. Designed to be unfriendly,” and his idea for a restaurant — Gristle — that serves foie gras “made from horse corn that was forced down the throats of masochistic ducks who enjoyed being humiliated by the butchest liver-loving farmers this side of the French border.”

"Rise up, rise up, my bonny boy, Gi'e my horse corn and hay."

The tea was to be served in the large barn adjoining the church, surrounded on two sides by tall plantations of Indian corn, a rough kind known as horse corn, and not used at table.

Hen's are aye free o' horse corn.

I'm speaking o' hay and you o' horse corn.