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sharks and onto our new brig—and not a bad one at that! The
pirates had retrofitted her with muscular engines—the fishing
stuff was just to veil her true function from the authorities.
Relieved big-time, co-Employees of the Week Thesaurus
and Stupid George (no one but Stupid George had thought
that he’d ever win Employee of the Week once, let alone twice),
Moses, Nelson, Duq and me watched the cabin cruiser cant,
then slip bow-first beneath the waves. The whole of her’d be on
the ocean floor in just a few seconds.

Just then I realized we’d accidentally brought Nelson’s
gear bag. The bag with the eight million in cash in it was still
aboard the cabin cruiser.
P.S. Why the women go for guys like Nelson makes as little sense
to me as anything. Still, cause so many’ve them been writing
in and asking for it, here’s a scrimshaw done of him by Flarq.
Lucky thing for Nelson that Flarq’s still ashore or I’d’ve had
him draw in devil’s horns, which would’ve been fitting given
the way Nelson’s been acting lately.
By the way, in the picture, Nelson’s
shirt has “Pirates” on it, as in the
Pittsburgh Pirates baseball team.
Nelson’s not from Pittsburgh and
he doesn’t like baseball much, but
he thinks it’s funny that he wears it,
to which I say the only way Nelson’s
ever getting work in a comedy club
is if he plunders one.

Saturday, 3 July 2004 6:09 PM
Legal Trouble
    So my duffel bag and its eight million in cash sank along with
the cabin cruiser. But thanks to Duq machine gunning so many
of them to death, sharks were the fish du jour at all the local
victualleries that night. And as it chanced, the nice big one me
and my crew ordered (broiled, medium-well, and topped with a
delightful pecan crust) had, believe it or not, the duffel bag in its
belly!

Don’t believe it, shipmate. I was just yanking your anchor
chain there.

Here’s what really happened. As the cabin cruiser was
slipping below the surface, Thesaurus pried his harpoon free
from the fishing boat hull, flung it, bulls-eyed the duffel bag,
and jerked it back to us on the line like it was a caught fish.
Afterward, we motored in to Guava, found Flarq, and went out
to celebrate with a nice big shark dinner—which in reality was
neither boiled or topped with pecan crust (it was rare and topped
with nothing but Tabasco).

No sooner did we get served the shark, though, we got
served a subpoena. A whales’ rights advocacy organization
called Bluepeace has got me charged with libeling Dickhead—by
calling him that, bastard, etc., on this blog. Outright ridiculous
as it may be, it so happens that libeling a sperm whale is in
violation of Chapter IV, Article XIII of the Guavan Penal Code.
It’s important to notate two things here: 1. This Bluepeace,
determined to do whatever it takes to keep me from my whale,
has sent a squadron of Ivy League-educated lawyers to Guava.
2.
Guava’s a pretty lawless spit, as you might’ve guessed when eight
men got knife-and-forked to death in the harbor and the cops
didn’t bat an eye between ’em. Only one thing gets the Guava
Five-O to do any part of their job other than sporting house
patrol (though they never bust nobody): a bunch of attorneys
whining lots of big words, thus disrupting prime siesta hours.
Fact is, Guava didn’t even have a Penal Code before those guys
got here.

So now, instead of loading up on weapons and stuff like
that and going whaling, we’ve got to waste time at the Guava
Municipal Court (which doubles as a sporting house at night
incidentally).

To cheer the crew up after getting this crappy news,
Nelson invited us to cruise over to his own sporting house two
islands south. Drinks and tarts will be comped. Sometimes that
Nelson’s a swell guy. This isn’t one of those times. Still sore
about the knockout powder stunt, Flarq told Nelson he’d de-
bone him if he didn’t issue the invite.

P.S. A scrimshaw of one of Guava’s