I wish I could get Irish Backs of Steele to transport my meager belongings across the Atlantic for a few coppers! A solid week of sifting through my possessions and staring balefully at the mounting collection of boxes has caused me to convert the half of it to garbage bags. Who needs Stuff anyway?
Me, that’s who! Me! Me!
Don’t worry, lads and lasses of the Colonies, I will not be disposing of anything particularly fetching. I will be living under that bridge in the Common. And as Mother always admonished Father, “Just because you are a Bum, is no excuse to dress like That!” Surely I won’t be a public nuisance for long. One of you fine folk are bound to fill my biscuit barrel with cash, in return for me doing mostly nothing. My resume is lined with fascinating and useless items! I am trained in falafel making and creative napkin folds. I am also a skilled liar. Opportunities abound!
Lambchop and Licketysplit used to rule the Boston airwaves, lollipops in hand. Lickety, while I search for my passport and try to match up my socks, do be a dear and find something else for us to rule. Or at least someone to lord it over.