re: #877 calcajun

Mad dogs and Americans go out in the mid-day sun?

Perhaps we should be Blithe Spirits and go about our Private Lives.

In a bar on the Piccolo Marina
Life called to Mrs. Brentwood Wooster
Fate beckoned her and introduced her
Into a rather queer
Unfamiliar atmosphere.

She’d just sit there,
Propping up the bar
Beside a fisherman who played to a guitar
When accused of having gone too far
She merely cried
“Funiculi, just fancy me, Funicula!”