Weasel Piss Creek is a fine place, no doubt, and fair crawling with shiftless underclass who will gladly do your bidding for scarce more than a copper. Nevertheless, you wouldn’t catch me near the place, owing to its proximity to the tourist haven that is the fictional home of Ayn of Purple Turnips and her twee, insipid adventures, so beloved by the Japanese for no discernible reason.

Whoa! Possessed by LEB there for a few minutes!

But I must take exception to your reference of my “luxurious estate” in Lower East Potato Juice Cove. That is merely my summer cottage. I wouldn’t be caught dead pretending to be high society living year round in that poky 5,000 square-foot cabin. And it’s only on 10,000 acres of land. No, sir: I pass the winter, and all the High Holidays, on my true luxurious estate (10,000 sq ft, 25,000 acres) on Weasel Piss Creek. Not as handy to the Co-Op, but I have my man Junior run most of my errands for me anyway.