Regency Waste Lines

Mister Smitty is a regent!

While the Misters wait for their house to be built, they consider this period the Interregnum.

The Misters, the once and future Kula residents, are appalled by the ambient noise hereabouts in the ‘hood.

“Does Mister enjoy ‘The Talking’?”*

* The fallen circumstances of the Misters have cast them in and amongst a joyfully loquacious set of funsters on the one side, the distaff branch of which gather each morn’ in their kitchen to chant the day-long Jeremiad affectionately dubbed “The Talking” by the Misters.

(For more information on the deleterious desuetude into which the Misters have fallen during their Interregnum, see “Bleach Bardo Babylon” [-- or don’t. Ed.])

Meanwhile, the Smee, as regent, sits above the fray on his frayed brocade pillow.

Walking the Plank Scale

“Where I am is good,” said the Smee (in his mind)

-- as he forded the overflow of the Misters’ flooded carport on his wee cat bridge (lovingly provided by his staff (aka the Misters)).

Pausing mid-crossing, the Smee was perhaps contemplating how, a couple of hours before, he had, in this very same spot, sip-slurped the rainwater (pooled up in such a way that this Mister felt necessitated the plunking-down of a plank so as to expedite passage to the raised seating area created for just such deluge situations as a result of hideous Christmas rains).

[ed.: The length-of-sentence alert having “dinged,” we must now close down this blog post forthwith.]