Attack of the Lame!

The wind blew through The Boss’s hair as he posed dramatically on the bow of the S.S. Glen. Below him, there was nothing but the vast ocean and the faint sound of Neil Diamond scouring the sea for tasty morsels to devour such as lost sailors, poodles, and all-around good taste. Nothing can stop The Diamond, and The Boss and I shuddered at the sound of “Everywhere… around the world! They’re coming to America-a-a!” echoing ominously in the night air. I noticed Ferocious in the corner and the thought occurred to me to offer him to The Diamond as a sacrifice, hoping that The Diamond would leave us to our travels once and for all. However, Ferocious (being the disgusting man that he is) was sucking his toes again and I felt entirely too sick to approach him. Instead, I drinkingly and drunkingly took a large swig of 14 year Oban and continued looking out across the sea.
Suddenly and without warning (which is actually a very stupid cliché, but in this case was very necessary, as the occurrence did indeed happen suddenly, and none of the three of us were warned in any way) there was a large splash in the water behind us. The Boss, startled by the noise, nearly fell off the side of the ship, but was luckily hallucinating in a drunken stupor which enabled him to drunkingly grab hold of a giant mustache connected to the underside of a regular sized red chile pepper.
“Thanks pard’ner” The Boss said to the mustache, shaking it (in a manly way so as not to appear weak to the mustache which is inherently manly in itself) and then tipping his invisible sombrero to be polite. Another splash near the ship, and we all looked around in the night to see what was going on.
“Avast ye mates!” yelled a very large and sad looking man, illuminated by a spotlight held over him by Arbitrary Henchman #47. “It is I, Meatloaf the Pirate, and I’ll be having my way with your ship now.” He followed up.
“Dude, what do you mean by ‘having your way?’ What kind of sick bastard are you?” The Boss yelled back, and I laughed at the thought of Meatloaf gently caressing the haf of the S.S. Glen while singing a love song so bad that it could only be called something like “Flotation Love.”
“I’ll get him!” Ferocious tried to exclaim, but again failed and was then too distraught to follow through with his proclamation.
“You really do suck, don’t you?” I asked Ferocious, but he was too busy crying and telling himself how special he was.
“Now there’s not a dry eye in the house…” Meatloaf the Pirate was singing under the spotlight from his ship, the S.S. Hazbin, which also looked overweight. “After loves curtain comes down…”
“What the hell is that shit?” The Boss exclaimed loudly with pride, and the shear awesomeness of the exclaim caused Arbitrary Henchman #’s 56-72 to spontaneously combust. Ferocious was so impressed that he cried a little harder, stopped abruptly, shed one single tear in honor of the exclaim, stopped just as abruptly, and then proceeded with his lame sobbing for the duration of this entry.
Meatloaf the Pirate was taken back by the powerful exclaim, but regained his composure and hollered back to us (because only a complete tool like Meatloaf would do something like “holler” rather than yell or shout or exclaim, which he could never do), “that’s my hit song ‘Not a Dry Eye in the House’ from my internationally successful album, ‘Welcome to the Neighborhood.’ It was the second single off that album.”
“Yeah, sure you had another hit song.” I yelled back to him sarcastically. “And I’ll bet you were in a big-time movie like ‘Fight Club’ also too… You’re pathetic!”
“I was in ‘Fight Club!’ I swear!” He hollered back defensively, this time holding back sniveling tears.
The Boss and I looked at each other drunkingly, toasted to Richey’s with our respective single malts, said “Go-Go-Boss-and-Niles Spring Shoes!” in unison, and then lunged upward toward the S.S. Hazbin. Meatloaf the Pirate, in all his lameness, looked obviously nervous when he saw us lunge toward him with shear determination. However, this was short-lived, as The Boss and I are not mechanical and do not have springs in our shoes. Because of this, and the fact that the S.S. Hazbin was a good 30 yards away from us, we quickly fell into the ocean, hearing nothing but “Girl… (da, dow, dow, dow)… you’ll be a woman… soon!” coming up from the terrifying depths.
Meatloaf the Pirate was laughing stupidly at us as sharks, piranha, and Neil Diamond circled us hungrily. The Boss started doing the chicken dance, but realized you can’t chicken dance in the ocean without sinking, so he stopped.
“Well, I’m out of ideas.” He said to me, and I felt bad. Not only did I feel bad for him after his failed chicken dancing attempt, but I also felt bad simply because I really wanted to chicken dance, and I knew that if The Boss couldn’t do it, I couldn’t either. A shark grazed my foot and I felt Neil Diamond lurking close by. I quickly drank the rest of my bottle of scotch and no longer cared about the imminent danger I was in.
Just then, I had an idea! If only I could get up enough energy… I could…
“Hey Meatloaf!” I exclaimed as loudly as I could, and the exclaim was magnificent. I passed out from over-exclaimedness and an entire homeless family in Prague got an assortment of Saranak ales which came from the sky. I smiled as I lost consciousness, drifting under water and toward the gaping mouth of Neil Diamond.

I awoke on top of a raft, with The Boss using a giant piece of French bread to row us back toward the S.S. Glen.
“Where am I?” I asked The Boss, surprisingly drunkingly. I noticed that The Boss had done the right thing and given me scotch intravenously while I was passed out.
“The ocean.” The Boss replied, rowingly.
“Oh.” I said and looked around. It was then that I noticed that my exclaim had worked. The magnificence of my exclaim had forced Meatloaf the Pirate to fall into the water. He was immediately killed by Neil Diamond. The Boss was then able to lift me onto the floating body of the deceased pirate, safely shielding us from the hungry ocean dwellers. Knowing that Meatloaf never went anywhere without a giant piece of French bread, The Boss thought quickly (and drinkingly of course) and used it to row our Meatloaf raft back to our ship, the beasts from below gnawing away at the pathetic pirate the entire time.

Back on the S.S. Glen, we beat up Ferocious who was still crying. Then we proceeded to take all the liquor off the S.S. Hazbin, employ the crew which were all curiously named Arbitrary Henchman followed by a number, and sink the ship.
“Now we have a crew for our trip to South America.” I said to The Boss, and The Boss just drank more scotch. The Boss and I then gave an Arbitrary Henchman a bottle of scotch and then beat the ever living fuck out of him for it and threw him overboard, knowing that it would send the message to the rest of the crew that if they touched our scotch, they’d be the next to fall victim to the dreaded Neil Diamond. Onward we sailed, drinkingly and drunkingly to the point of extremes.