Oh Captain, My Captain
I enjoy High Passions. As my days are spent mostly drinking and avoiding my wife, any change to my routine is both welcomed and applauded. Jack and Patrick detest them, believing that an emotive demonstration reveals a weakness of character unfit for men of stature.
Since Capt. Araoz has moved in nary a month ago, High Passions have reigned within the household. Not a day has passed without a threat of a duel, a dropped glove, or a questioning of honor. I cannot so much as pass the sugar at breakfast without it becoming an issue of respect and deference. Despite our best efforts, Capt. Araoz’s temper will not be reigned in as he will not “compromise his Latin Blood.”
Things are a bit dicey when the subject matter is Love. Saucy wenches who refuse his advances are met with tears and a “curse upon their house and their pig whore of a mother.” He has twice threatened to defenestrate himself in vexation with claims that “his heart can take no more.” While I do not doubt his sincerity, it scares the clientele at the Crimson Unicorn and can be extremely damaging to one’s effort to write a post when one's roommates is constantly threatening self immolation. Thankfully, I have some peace this afternoon as the good Captain has decided that his latest adventure deserves to be inscribed in ink, and has gone off to have his sailor friends tattoo an anchor or some such object upon his arm. I do hope it is done in good taste.