<       > S my D to the Nth Degree Daniel Bailey keeps wriggling his wormy body into my poems. If you lean in close and scratch this one, PBR is what you'll smell. You'd smell the same scratching Dan. His career is rising like a helicopter & will probably hover into a mountain after becoming enchanted by Colorado's wilderness. He'll say, "S my D. This is dildos." And all his good friends will cry, remembering a time when he was less feral. They'll say, "But, Dan. 'Grizzly Bailey' doesn't become you."