...it was a quiet morning in the Tavern. Start a tab for the 'catters who fell for my Ten Little Possums bait, I'll settle up on Monday after my weekend session at the PYC:(sigh) shuffleboard and group therapy. Say, why didn't anyone tell me this parrot Cap'n Bob brought back doesn't talk? I've been sitting here all morning trying to teach it to sing the fourth verse of Wild Mountain Thyme or say "My friend will pay for the drinks" in all known languages and I haven't got a squalk outta him. Stuffed? I wondered why it didn't react when the possums ate the beernuts I'd put in his perch dish. Well I'll slip away, I think the SPCA are about to come to look into the possum blowing and fish whacking allegations. Plead insanity, guys (there IS a sanity clause) and I'll see you in the PYC. I'm in the Munchausen wing with the picture of Louis Armstrong on the locker. Just fill this Lucozade bottle with Metaxas' finest for me before I go. Don't bring grapes (unless trodden and fermented). Tara each.