Alas, I am afraid the Ninth must respectively bow down before the cunning-linguistics so masterfully bated in so strong and erect a manner as the above elucidation. I'm afraid such a stunning display of polished triple-entendre is quite beyond the meager talents of a frothy hack-n-slash double-entendre mind more suited to a game of whack-a-mole.
Despair not bud Zeb, for your heart-rending introspection, and resulting self-correction to a more direct form of flirtatious banter is sure to result in the relief you so achingly seek.
Thanks for the beer (got a great head). O, an I'sa callin' off da fly mates, yer bu** is safe fer now.
