In Which We Have Fun With Capitals

I want to apologize. The scathing little imp whose business it has been since my childhood to inflict bouts of creativity on my foggy, fevered brain, is back. Courtesy goes entirely to certain jiggle-loving, beer-swilling teddy bears who Shall Not Be Named lest it goes to his Entirely Overinflated Ego.
Anyhow, this morning, post breakfast cuppa, I found myself writing a loose-lipped little jangly piece of four quatrains (how redundant is that?), and despite the fact that I Do Not Like It, I am writing again! As our favourite Swiss stoner would say, 'yuppee.'
Except he's not my favourite Swiss stoner.
I haven't one of those at all.
Anyhow, I get the feeling that people think I'm too arrogant for the modest level of talent I exert. This is Simply Not True. I am just the right level of arrogant. If you're Too Modest, it's not my fault. In fact, it's more of an expression of pride to be self effacing.
If I write something that is Downright Wretched, with very little Excuse for Being Alive, I acknowledge it. Go to WF, and look up my latest. It is simply Not Very Good. I wrote better material when I was thirteen.
Anyhow, I am going to be very busy over the upcoming holidays. So if I don't update, I don't want the three of you who Are My Readers to whinge. Which you don't, anyhow.
I love you, Mum and Dad.