Sunday Kipling

We had a great day yesterday celebrating Angus' birthday. I thought he was a little too generous with the pictures but all in all he did a fine job filling in for me yesterday. I think I'm gonna have to change my password though. He keeps muttering "That damn cat" and something about getting even. A defamation lawsuit from a stray feline would be most embarrassing.

The days have been hot, the nights pleasant. Lu and I are counting down the days until DO and the kids arrive.

I'm currently stuccoing but only just a little bit. I hate doing stucco more than any other remodel chore. If we do any more I'll hire it out. Seriously, stucco purely sucks.

I hope you're all enjoying the recent spate of alleged humor posts. It's a writing itch I need to scratch. I'm just purely burned out on the serious stuff. I must take a break from it lest I lose those last few remaining scraps of what little sanity I still possess. It's also charging up my writing batteries though that may be either a bad thing or good depending on how you feel about my scribblings. It makes me happy and that is enough.

In that light this poem tickles me and not in a naughty way...
Happy Sunday to you all. Eat something hot and tasty, tell a bawdy joke and kiss the one you love best. I'm going to do exactly that!
Six

Cells

I've a head like a concertina: 

I've a tongue like a button-stick,
I've a mouth like an old potato, 

and I'm more than a little sick,
But I've had my fun o' the Corp'ral's Guard: 

I've made the cinders fly,
And I'm here in the Clink for a thundering drink 

and blacking the Corporal's eye.
    With a second-hand overcoat under my head,
    And a beautiful view of the yard,
  O it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
    For "drunk and resisting the Guard!"
    Mad drunk and resisting the Guard --
    'Strewth, but I socked it them hard!
  So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
    For "drunk and resisting the Guard."
 
I started o' canteen porter, 

I finished o' canteen beer,
But a dose o' gin that a mate slipped in, 

it was that that brought me here.
'Twas that and an extry double Guard 

that rubbed my nose in the dirt --
But I fell away with the Corp'ral's stock 

and the best of the Corp'ral's shirt.
 
I left my cap in a public-house, 

my boots in the public road,
And Lord knows where -- and I don't care -- 

my belt and my tunic goed;
They'll stop my pay, they'll cut away 

the stripes I used to wear,
But I left my mark on the Corp'ral's face, 

and I think he'll keep it there!
 
My wife she cries on the barrack-gate, 

my kid in the barrack-yard,
It ain't that I mind the Ord'ly room -- 

it's that that cuts so hard.
I'll take my oath before them both 

that I will sure abstain,
But as soon as I'm in with a mate and gin, 

I know I'll do it again!
    With a second-hand overcoat under my head,
    And a beautiful view of the yard,
  Yes, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
    For "drunk and resisting the Guard!"
    Mad drunk and resisting the Guard --
    'Strewth, but I socked it them hard!
  So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
    For "drunk and resisting the Guard."