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Arrr! Scoundrelz, cut-throatz, scalawagz'n scabarous ol' sea-dogz, the lot'a yaz!
It'z noticin' I am (from a few postz back) 'att 'ere be some mutinous talk'a abandonin' the good Cap'n S2ook'z fine'n sea-worthy ship.
'Bes'be belayin'att kind'a talk ladz. It'll be servin'ya up'z entertainment fer the rest'a the crew a'cher own, personal gullyin', n' when we pull the remainz'a yer sorry carcass back aboard, ol' Polly'll'be gonna feast on the remainz.
Whudd'itt be'izz the Doldrumz ladz, n' there'll be no more talk'a leavin'iss fine craft fer jus' the lack'v'a bi'a freshinin' breeze.
(By the pa'arz . . ahm thinkin' some carbunkleated jellyfish shang-haied me crew'n left landlubberz in'eir place!)
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In life-long pursuit of that most mythic of beasts: the ever-elusive perfect corner. Well . . . that, r' at least a whole lodda clear spin-out room.
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