Wow, tough crowd.
Pulled the nuclear option tonight in the hopes of getting moored in Brooklyn while we await orders for our next cargo ('could you berth us in Brooklyn? I'd like to go get groceries and go to church tomorrow') but failed to impress, I'm afraid. Instead on the Pimputer (our galley computer is tricked out with gloss and chrome and mirror finish, but is otherwise a 386 running DOS 1.0 with a "Pentium" sticker on the case. But it's a hologram-y sticker, so, you know, tech.) it says we're going to the bird shit sanctuary.
New York's seagulls are real dump ducks. Fat to a fault, ill-tempered, and capable of remarkable feats of elimination. And we're now anchored in their restroom of choice, just offshore from the Statue of Liberty. And Thank God, too, because there's so much new paint on deck, and it'd be a real shame for it not to be beshitted 3 inches deep before sunup.
Friday, November 25, 2011
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I never realized all the, err, pleasures I was missing out on.
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