Long story....
My mother was a Chinese trapeze artist, in pre-war Paris (smuggling bombs for the underground), she met my father, in a Fet in Exaun Provance, he was disguised as a Russian Cadet, in the employ of the Axis. And there in the half light, of Provencial moonlight, in a lone Concertina, they drank in Cantinas, and toasted to Edith Piaf (and the fall of the reich)
My sister was born, in a stable in Germany, and left for the cattle, but later was found by a communist, who deserted his ranks, to follow his dreams, and start up a punk rock band (in South Carolina) I get letters sometimes, they bought a plantation. She weeds the tobbacco, (he offends the nation) She writes... "Dont be a stranger, ya here? sincerily your sister)
Now my parents had me, to the disgust of the prostitutes, in a bed in a brothel. But suprisingly, I was raised with tender care. That is until money got short, and they bet me away, to a blind briggadere in a game of high stakes Canasta. Well, he made me a sailor, on his Briggadere ship fleet, and I know every yard arm, from main mast to jib sheet, but sometimes I long to be landlocked. (and to work in a bakery)
bittersweetmuleymeat