'Tis the season for giving! So here, dear reader, is my gift to you: a song about love.

To set the mood for this, picture yourself on a boat, on a river. There's a party. And there's a drunken band playing Sea And Cake covers on the top deck. And nobody's listening to them. Why would they ? And the boat's rocking to, and it's rocking fro, and you've been breathing diesel exhaust for an hour. To your dismay, you've eaten something salty and a little sour that's assaulting your pyloric sphincter. You fear, with sweaty hands and beaded brow, that if you don't do something about it now, the sphincter at the other end of your alimentary canal will soon have to deal with this shrimp or clam or oyster or whatever creeping sea creature had gone bad before you had to go and eat it. And the toilet's small and smells like ass, and there's a line of women an hour long in front of it anyway. So, you lean over the rail, throw your tie over your shoulder, and you sing, in the reds and oranges and tans of a shipboard appetizer buffet.

And that's where babies come from.