I gather you were in Paris over the festive season. How was it?

Refreshing to be in a place where intelligence, quality of life and erudition are highly valued. A bit like Kentucky, only the exact opposite.

You must have stood out like a sore thumb then. Un imbécile importune, as the locals no doubt muttered. I like the French, though. No mucking about with bland pleasantries and a highly-sophisticated appreciation for the richer things in life. None of this Anglo-Saxon-working-all-day-every-day bollocks. The Frogs do just enough work to actually live out their bucolic fantasies, sitting around drinking wine and eating cheese at gîtes in the countryside. Now that I think of it, you’d never fit in.

What? Of course I fit in. The French know a kindred spirit when they meet one.

Seeing as this is the Sobriety Issue, that’s a neat, if not entirely manufactured, segue: You won’t touch booze. You can’t live out your dotage soaking up the Provençal sun if you won’t neck the vino. The local peasants would burn you at the stake. Rather than spend the New Year considering giving your liver a break, you need to put yours to work. Why is it that you don’t drink?

In case it slipped your notice, I’m a contrarian, always have been and always will be. And since all my mates did it, I naturally didn’t. Never will. Then there’s the vanity. I wanted to stay healthy, as well as not ending up worrying that my body might ever come close to looking like, well, your body. Anyway, it all seems to have worked out OK. I still get invited to parties and I still look younger than Keith Richards.

Didn’t you think that being a bald-headed, midget, loudmouth, provocateur, misanthrope who makes Dennis Rodman look well turned-out didn’t make you stand out from the crowd enough though? Honestly, being teetotal is the least of it. I accept your criticism of my girth though. Once you’ve got it, getting rid of it is long, painful and a shit-ton of work.

“Misanthrope”? Have you been reading your kids’ dictionary again? Anyway, I’m shaven-headed not bald-headed. And as it happens, there’s a profusion of people in this city who would do very well to take life lessons from me.

OK then, Belisha. Name names.

Rand Paul. Apart from being the scruffiest person in the Senate he should have known better than to play a round of golf with Trump. Like any good gangster, Trump casually mentioned his kompromat, and poor old Rand turned to jelly.

I like it. Too late for Rand, but solid advice nonetheless. My guess is that Trump told Rand he knows Aqua Buddha was actually a bong, and Rand was stupid enough to think that nobody else knows it, when in fact anyone with half a brain got it immediately. Since you’ve got the mic, anything else you want to moan about? Try to bring it back around to booze so we can get paid.

Bill Burton from WFPL. Stop pronouncing the word “details” as “d’tails.’” Nobody says it like that unless they’ve had five pints. It’s infecting the entire WFPL newsroom and making me reconsider Tony Malito’s previously-unchallengeable position as most annoying person on local radio.

You’re a mind-reader sometimes. It’s the worst. I think Kathi Lincoln has been infected too. ‘We’ll have more d’tails later’ makes me want to do a Harvey Keitel on my car radio. Doing surprisingly well so far. Next?

OK, I’m torturing the context a bit here, but the Bullitt County GOP needs to sober up and fast. I can only hope that the people down there are sensible enough to decide that the wife of a racist backwoods Walter Mitty is probably not who they want making their laws, but I hold out little hope for that one.

She’s probably a shoo-in despite being totally and utterly unqualified for just about anything as far as I can tell. They’re so consumed with triggering liberals there’s literally nothing they won’t consider. So not going to happen. Next.

Matt Bevin. Obviously. Even in this utterly bonkers world it’s hard to think of a politician more drunk on his own self-importance and inflated ego. The truth is that Bevin’s influence on Kentucky has been nothing like he imagines it to be. If he would just for one second stop thinking he’s the smartest person in every room he’s ever been in he might make a better governor.

Partial credit. He’s done well getting the praise for the investment into Kentucky, people don’t care how it was achieved and no credible likely candidates from our empty Democrat closet mean he’ll cruise to another term. Last one?

Can’t leave out our champagne socialist mayor Greg Fischer. Election year is coming up, with probably zero chance any Republican will beat him, but he needs to fully embrace this city’s anti-Trump sentiment, or a real leftie might give him a proper run for his money. Which would be no bad thing, perhaps. Still, he’s done well and I’m not one of those people who buys all this nonsense about “high crime rates,” which seems to be the right’s go-to critique of his tenure. We’re a midsize city and shit happens — plus how the fuck is that his fault, especially when people constantly whinge about paying more in taxes?

Fair play. And for once you’ve matched my political acumen and incisive wit. Maybe France had a positive effect on you after all.