21 Year Glenwaffle

The ocean swayed and rose and sank, as oceans do especially out on the high-seas; somewhere in the distance a gull of some sort gulled and probably crapped on somebody.
“Did you hear that gull?” I asked The Niles drinkingly, then downing more of my now cooled off waffle-scotch concoction; I asked again, only drunkingly.
“I almost didn’t hear you,” said The Niles. “But I heard that damned gull and know we must be close to land, and more significantly we must close to those god-awful cannibals!”
“Yes, I think it’s only natural that we have a mighty ship with a less mighty hull, since it’s really only a haf, and the ship of mights must have a name like the S.S. Glen.” I glanced at The Niles and nodded and thumbs-upped and winked and made a whizzing noise. The Niles returned the secret knowing gesture that told him we were about to beat the ever-living fuck out of an entire crew of sober sailors and kidnap the very captain of the S.S. Glen and take his shit – namely, the S.S. Glen, which I just said.
The ensuing battle between The Niles and I with the crew of the S.S. Glen went much as we expected it to go. The crew was a mighty opponent, however much too sober and with too many letters missing from their names. Glen (with only one n), for instance, went overboard quickly and met a terrible and bloody death at the hands of The Neil Diamond Shark (or really he met the death at the fins, and more so really at the teeth of The Neil Diamond Shark, since with sharks it’s really the teeth that do the killing more than the fins; which really don’t do any killing, they just sort of sit there. The only real difference between say, a hammerhead shark and The Neil Diamond Shark is that the hammerhead just eats you and its fins do nothing, while The Neil Diamond Shark’s fins are used for dancing while he sings to you, right before he uses those teeth I mentioned earlier to eat you). So that’s how Glen died.
Then Scot, Tery, Bil, Jery, Hary, and Jef (a different Jef from the Jef that was in the bar) all died from having the ever-living fuck beat out of them by The Niles, while I drank and looked cool in the background, and of course cursed The Jovi’s name at every chance.
“I’ll take the captain,” I said darkly and drunkingly.
“I’ll back you up,” The Niles said also darkly and drunkingly.
We made our way to the bridge of the S.S. Glen, which we almost never found because it actually looks nothing at all like a bridge and serves a completely un-bridge-like purpose. We broke down the door and immediately jumped behind some stuff that was piled up on both sides of the room, which was perfect for jumping behind to dodge the bullets that the captain was firing at us.
“Die you fucking bastards!” The captain shouted shooting wildly at the piles of stuff, I guess not realizing that the bullets couldn’t penetrate the stuff.
“Ferocius?” I shouted.
“Huh?” Shouted the captain, still shooting.
“Captain Ferocius DeSoto?” I exclaimed so well that the punctuation called for a question mark.
I stood and looked at the captain, it was Ferocius DeSoto, the world-renowned explorer and adventurer and all around complete asshole.
“The Boss and The Niles! What could you possibly be doing here?” He asked.
“We came in search of Glengodly.” Said The Niles.
“The Scotch of the Gods.” I said.
“Glengodly.” Ferocius said. “I always wondered something, and now I think I know the answer. C’mon, follow me down to the hull.”
--The Boss