“…you mean a haf.” I corrected Ferocius.
“What do you mean?” He asked stupidly. The Boss and I looked at each other and just shook our heads, shakingly.
“Ferocius, you haven’t changed at all.” The Boss muttered drinkingly, and we headed down to the haf to take a gander (which is a silly word that I hate using, but to be honest we weren’t really “looking,” nor were we “gazing” or “staring” leaving me to reluctantly settle on the word “gander”) at whatever the evil, yet somehow amusing, Ferocius was talking about.
As we entered the haf of the S.S. Glen, our newly acquired ship, Ferocius stopped at a box and began digging through it. The Boss and I looked drunkingly at each other and we noticed a bottle of 10 year Ardberg on the shelf behind Ferocius and his special box that he was looking through. Without pre-emptively gandering into the box because we didn’t want to spoil the surprise, The Boss went to the left of Ferocius, while I veered off to the right. The Boss pulled out a walkie-talkie and tossed it to me drunkingly, bouncing it off of Ferocius’ head.
“Ow, you assholes!” Ferocius tried to exclaim, but ended up whining because no one can properly exclaim in the presence of The Boss and The Niles. We stood there and The Boss told him that we were trees… boat trees! And that the walkie-talkie in my hand didn’t bounce off his head and that it in no way had anything to do with our plan to get the bottle of Ardberg, because there was no such plan.
Upset and pretty much lame as usual, Ferocius shed a few tears at his lack of exclaiming ability, then got back to his searching.
The Boss laughed and said loudly to me, “Ferocius is such an idiot!” This of course was heard by Ferocius who then just cried a little louder, cry-baby that he is.
Sobriety beginning to set in, The Boss and I knew that we had to get to that bottle of Ardberg. The Boss quickly lunged forward, crashing head first into the shelf, causing the bottle of precious single malt scotch to roll down the other side of the shelf into my awaiting hands. I drinkingly drank haf of the bottle and tossed the rest to a now unconscious The Boss. Being unconscious didn’t stop The Boss from catching and drinking the rest of the bottle however. The scotch revived him and there were several moments of exuberance and all around joy at the awakening of The Boss.
“Why didn’t you guys just grab the bottle off of the shelf?” Ferocius asked, now apparently done with his girlie tears. “I mean… you can totally reach the shelf, I don’t see why you needed to plow into it like that.” It was then that I noticed Ferocius was holding a mystical looking box that had engravings all around it. The Boss and I looked at each other knowingly and compulsively beat the ever-living fuck out of him and took his shit.
“I was going to give it to you guys anyway!” Ferocius complained, but he knew that it was just the way of The Boss and The Niles, and that ever-living fuck beating and taking of shit was just part of the grand sheme of things. He pouted in the corner, sucking one of his toes, because he’s a disgusting man.
“What do you think it is?” The Boss asked.
“It’s a very disgusting man sucking his toe.” I replied. “But I want to know what this thing is. It looks like it opens, but what do these markings mean?”
The Boss had found a bottle of 12 year Glenfiddich and was drinkingly examining the box. “I think it’s in English.” He said.
“How odd.” I said. “Normally, these mystical thingies are in some crazy language that we need help translating. Ferocius, do you speak English?”
“Dude, WE speak English.” The Boss informed me and he was indeed correct. As we looked at the strange engravings, we realized that we were actually able to read them very easily. The engravings read:
“Only a fish or a penguin shall have the ability to open this box.”
“Only a fish or a penguin, huh?” Ferocius repeated. The Boss and I shook our heads and after I gave the secret sign of nodding with a thumbs-up and a wink with a whizzing noise, The Boss returned the sign and it was decided to beat the ever living fuck out of him again.
“Never… (punch, kick) repeat… (smack, hit) things already… (pound, smash) read!” The Boss wailed on Ferocius.
“Yeah, even if it’s just so that the reader knows the key element of the statement above it, thereby strategically setting up the next line that the protagonists are going to say!” I added drinkingly. I thought about adding some kicks in there, but I became afraid of Ferocius’ obvious toe fetish, and because once again… he’s a very disgusting man.
The Boss finally stopped beating Ferocius and said, “now that he’s identified the important aspect for my line, that being “ONLY a fish or a penguin,” I’m ready to say the strategically set up line. What about a Penguin-Fish?”
“Tom!” The Boss and I both exclaimed in unison, then proceeded to do a little air band display for an on-looking Ferocius. The Boss’ air saxophone is getting a lot better and Ferocius was obviously impressed. Also, at the completion of every The Boss and/or The Niles exclaim, a bum gets a beer. So at the completion of this exclaim, Albert Hunt in Baltimore was able to enjoy a Hoegaarden.
“Thanks guys!” Albert said up to the sky, and we somehow heard it and smiled. Ferocius resumed his crying at the beauty of it all.
The Boss and I looked very seriously forward in unison, almost as if there was a camera in front of us, and I said in a manner that would only be fitting to end a segment with, “Let’s go find Tom the Penguin-Fish.”
-The Niles
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment