So I drop anchor in my home port yesterday, to avoid the foul gale Isabel. While enjoying some fine women and drink, I heard several stories which even my good eye had trouble with.

The names of the tales were "Tears of the Sun", "Punch-Drunk Love" and "Basic". Each began to take on water as soon at they left port, with most foundering in the shoals long before the end of their treasonous missions. Oddly, all tales featured good crews with bad boats. Even "Basic", possessing a cap'n of extreme skill, was unable to blow the man home.

Polly, me parrot, warned me as much when the first yarn began. "Run For Your Life" he squawked over and over again. I miss me bird, but the silence after I ate him taught the rest of the scallywags a lesson they'll like not to forget. And if anyone of thems do forget, me knife will learn them good.