I never realised my cooking was so bad. Don't get me wrong on this, I understand fully that the Leeds United tattoos upset a lot of crew members.
But now I'm well and truly in deep poop.
My head is currently protruding through the Buggerall's planking, and I'm faced with the prospect of having to watch the Captain and Dora Piebottom 'gettin jiggy wid it'
Meanwhile, the rest of me is stuck outside the ship, getting all wet and wrinkly. I am also being attacked by Sucker Fish, which is actually quite a pleasant experience. Thank God I'm not being attacked by sharks.
The swine Hornblower has landed up next to me. I'd kill him if I could get my hands on him, which unfortunately isn't about to happen on account of our heads being blasted through the Buggerall after being used as human torpedoes by the bastard Nemo.
I fear I may be about to expire. I must keep my final thoughts lucid. Although that is a little difficult, what with the Sucker Fish. Oh yes...
Must remain lucid.
What is to become of us all? The gallant ship's doctor, the brave Captain, the Wall Street Accountant, the conjoined twins who became unconjoined and whence became known as Laurel and Hardy, the Irish Bosun who couldn't sober up, the Turse coalition, the fake priest, the sheep wearing a garter belt..?
In and out of consciousness. I'm losing it. Some would say I lost it years ago, but sod them.
It's the ship and the crew, most of all the lovely crew, apart from Jesus Budda - have you ever tried cleaning cum stains off a wok? The bastard.
Got to keep it together now, for the end is nigh.
The Frenchies, that was a right laugh.
The parrot...Bollocks by name and bollocks by nature.
And ah, the poop deck...
So full of poop...unbelievable.
You know, that Captain Nemo fella asked me as he had me loaded into the Nautilus's torpedo tubes complete with me best greasy raincoat:
"What is it with you Brits?"
"Beggin your pardon sir," I told him. "I'm not strictly speaking a Brit."
"What do you mean that man?" he challenged.
"I'm half Irish Sir," I told him.
"Which half?" he demanded.
"Er... probably the lower half sir," I informed him.
At which point he had me launched out of a torpedo tube.
What I was attempting to tell him, (he looked a lot like the actor James Mason, come to think of it,) was that the people of these islands have met with adversity beyond comprehension and have always been a little bit haughty and self-superior over their Transatlantic Brothers, deriding their humour and history.
I now realise, that to jump to conclusions, is just wrong.
So here I am.
Head stuck through the bow of a mighty ship.
Having to watch Captain Morse and Dora Piebottom get it on.
My head really hurts.
I'll step aside to let our American friends have the last word.
You guys are great.
The sucker fish ain't bad either....
Oh shit, is that a shark?