(is 200 pages into Hotspur)

me: *trains glass out front windshield* Ms. Dorsey, set a new course. We’ll tack south’ard to Arby’s.

wife: why are you talking like that?

(in drive-thru)

me: Avast! What have you for your freshest catch today?

drive thru kid: uh, we have a fish filet sandwich.

me: That will do. And from your storeroom a small pot of tartar sauce if one can be spared.

wife: oh my god will you shut up?

me: Helm-alee and haul off the tops’l! I wish for some dessert!

wife: fine, how ’bout Dairy Queen?

me: A proper suggestion! Load the port guns with two shots each. We’ll draw prow-level with the sugar merchants and demand oreo blizzards. I should like an oreo blizzard before I retire to my quarters at four bells.

wife: let me out of the car. now.

 

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