Lurching Toward Epiphany: The End

On the twelfth day of Christmas, Dolores gave to me



twelve months' probation,
eleven units responding,
ten words of warning,
nine neighbors ringing,
eight shameless encores,
seven kegs a-brimming,
six queens sashaying,
five Highland Flings,
four letter words,
three clenched men,
two hurtled jugs,
and a party that lasted 'til three.

(And so concludes our merry holiday chronicle–slightly late, as booking at the precinct took simply forever. Normal (?) blogging resumes tomorrow.)