Ahoy

It is 1817 and it is just a two years after the mists have cleared from the hillsides of Waterloo where Wellington our general finally outgunned Old Boney Bonaparte, while the french tyrant was snoozing and allowing his pampered egotist generals to take over the campaign on the field in the afternoon after a very full french lunch involving saucissons a la Crow de Avignon with copious lashings of Dijon moutard a la Simm. Yes the crow laden belgian hillsides were misty from the reports and retorts of the big guns. Wellington executed a trompe l'oeil and made as if to retreat and the inexperienced french generasls on the hills threw everything away into a blind rush forward. Boney lost his army because of his lazy habits. The hill of the crow on waterloo field was covered with rotting corpses and old boney was the catcher in the rye. "Have you no faith?" the marshall ney had wickedly said to Boney as the little fat guy was going for his siesta. Those hills have eyes. Those lovely bones. To be bleached by the sun. Crow was gone for a burton, though both he and boney were partial to picking over the corpses - such is the habit of tyrants.