Greetings my little darlings!

Lady Potamus here. Sorry I have been so lax in updating lately, but it was a hard month, what with losing the Queen Mum, Billy Wilder, Milton Berle, Dudly Moore and (recently) Robert Urich. I have been bedridden with two bottles: one of laxative and one of a brand of scotch I can only refer to as "the liver remover."

The positive thing is that this has given me the opportunity to catch up on Volume Two of my memoirs. I have titled this one "Loss of Innocence: The Finishing School Years." It deals with my hot and heavy romance with my ninth grade English teacher and her husband, both long deceased. I hope that their family's have a good sense of history and don't sue, but realize that, at my age, there is nary a chance I will survive long enough for one of these court cases to work its way to completion.

Having a sense of one's mortality gives one a wonderful freedom to say or do whatever one wants. I have absolutely no fear of reprisal. I have made my peace with death and life and am ready to go at any time! At any... gah... ah...

Just kidding, dearies. This old gal has still got a few thousand miles left on her odometer, if you know what I mean.

At any rate, Chapter Two of my memoirs also details my affair with a sailor that I knew only as "Dirty Abe." Abe is resposible for my only tattoo, a skull and cross bones against a blood red flag which is on my left inner thigh. Amazingly, he put it there using only his tongue and, of course, ink and needle. After all these years, it has never faded. I am particularly fond of the legend he inscribed at the base of the tattoo, 'Abandon all hope ye that enter."

Ah, high seas hijinks.

I am out of bed now and have decided it is time to take up a new hobby. Any thoughts?

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