GARBARGLE!! Yes, men. GARBUNGLE!! \*shoulders klink\* If we scream it from the masthead we’ll scare the hell out of ‘em, boys! Lemme here ya say it. (men scrape their boots on the floor and spill mead from their cups, singing jauntily and swaying in sync) “OH GARBUNGLE OF THE HIGHEST, WE SING IT FROM THE PEAKS. WE WILL SING IT FROM THE MOUNTAINTOPS AS WE SOW OUR SHINING SEED! HEY! GARBUNGLE, GARBUNGLE, GARBARGLE GARBLE GO! (Captain Gardunkle spills drops of mead on his shoes and laughs jauntily. His shoulders go up and down and this noise comes out: ARRR, ARR GLUCK GLUCK. ARRR, ARRR GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK. He puts two hands in his pockets and throws fistfuls of doubloons around the crunky tavern, known as GUNKLE. SPRUNKLE. a little boy at the top of the foremast smiles jauntily and there’s gargarnkle in his teeth. Garbunkle. He sings a sweet tune by the name of “gunk”. “Oh for all the flags in tripoli and the gold-lined lacy streets, there’s a lass that’s waiting just for me in the old town cavalry. She’s wearing straps of leather and her shirt says goonkle on it.” Going to go back to this paragraph later and remove unnecessary words after developing characters more, particularly captain smunkle; just kidding, GOT YOU!!. Suddenly a stout bloke grabs you by the ears and straps your portquarters gruffly. Captain midgers is doing a miserly dance on the portbellow ghast affixed twixt the loaves of barley, and befixes you with this spectacled eye. “GATHER ROUND, MEN” he bellows. “GOT OURSELVES AN OLD SMARMY DODGER TWICE AFFIXED.” He trips on his gankle and almost falls down, but shoves his flask betwixt two bed posts so as to prevent his fall. The men gather round and stare at you with smarmy eyes and begin another jaunty dance. “THE SHOW IS FINISHED, THE LADY HAS SUNG.” A boy smiles so hard that he spills port drink all over the smudgerly floorboards. Port drink is something your shipmate drinks when he’s thinkin’ about his missus, but that’s a tale for another time, as it were. “IF EVER YOU HAVE DOUBTED THAT THE BRAVE MEN OF THIS HOME, A CURMUDGEON, A CURMUDGEON, MY EYE IS FIXED ON THEE, I SIGHT THEE IN MY SPECTACLES UPON THE SHINING SEA. A TITTER TATTER TATTERING ON GARMO IS TO THEE, AND WOE TO THE SPECTATOR WHO HAS BEEN TOO BLIND TO SEE.” Port drink stings your eyes as the revelry builds and builds, and you have to lean against a straddling board twice ground. Your fingers feel wrankled and the kinks are there. Yet a smile braves your face as you state your case in a ghastly whisper. “OH MEN, OH MEN, IS IT I WHO YOU DEFEND? IS IT I ON WHICH YOUR MIDGER MUDGER LIVES TRULY DEPEND? TELL ME WHEN BOYS, TELL ME WHEN, AND I’LL SEND MY LOVE TO THEE. THERE IS NOT A SNAKE IN OUR WHOLE BOAT’S WAKE WITH VENOM IT WILL WREND. Captain Board has a smile with a lot of teeth as you grank the anchor from the masthead and sail onward on the sea. Smooth sailing, you think.