The King's Compound, Old Caribee
The King has found refuge in his compound in the Olde Caribee for quite some time now. The winter's wind does no longer thrill the King. Rather he yearns for the tropical latitudes.
The sap is arising and the end to all that is finally at hand. To quote dear Geoffrey:
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open eye-
(So priketh hem Nature in hir corages);
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
(Ah, the middle tongue. Why shan't we bring it back?)
The King has returned to his throne in the Historic Core, albeit it for a limited term. Ready this week-end to perform his annual Spring ritual: the Burning of the Ascots!
|The Squiress' Fence|
You see the ruffians beyond the Gulf in dirty old Eastport-ville have issues on their hands. All sorts of issues. Propelling this is a pedestrian plastic fence, built by a squiress in accordance with the law. Yet the fiendish 'Porters have an objection. A number of objections actually.
It's ugly they say. Without merit or purpose. Improper procedurally. And the paper work was forged. And then notarized! (What is a good controversy without the involvement of a forger or two?)
|A 'Porter Criminal Behind a Fence|
Their Alderman even got involved. Confused about his role, he led a band of misfits to abuse the poor squiress. Called five police cars. Then denied it all.
Poor Mayor Cohen was then forced to enter stage right, meeting with all those aggrieved and binding their wounds.
|A Winter Ascot to be Burned|
All while sipping sherry with dear Harvey and Josie.
Keep the 'Porters out and away. Out of sight is out of mind. Just relocate the blasted fence to the business end of that foolish bridge. (I knew the General Assembly should never had let us build that thing in 1870.)
We will all be better off.
|Baden Baden: The Cure & A Countess|
Historics, even though my sojourns may move me afar, my heart is with you.
And I ask you, please, only use fences to keep the 'Porters from us.
King of George