Captain's log:
July 24, 1893 - It's been three weeks now since we've been stuck in these seas. I've not seen a sea like this in all my years of nautical navigation, a sea with no brine or tide. I am beginning to think that the others, Dunmoore and Hemmingway are getting a spot of cabin fever, as they said they've come to the conclusion that we are in a sea of mashed potatoes. This is utter nonsense, and I am worried about their health. It's been a long time since we lost our bearings, and they've not had their Flinstone vitamins in nary three days. Dunmoore gets a little loosey goosey when he doesn't have his zinc. Ever since he was a child.
Captain Haddock
Captain's log:
July 24, 1893 - Captain Haddock is an ass. I despise the way his disgusting beard trembles when a strong gust blows, loosening all the bits of morsels that had been stuck in there to fall to the ground. Honestly, what kind of man doesn't comb out his beard after a meal? It's common courtesy, and I am up to my ears. And the way his sweater can hold a stench. Like an odor sponge, his knit. I admire the craftsmanship of the weaving, but the garment smells like the inside of a fake leg, and I cannot stand another wiff. Especially with all of this mashed potatoes. I've no idea how our sea-faring vessel came upon this strange salt chuck, but I am set that it is indeed, mashed potatoes that our ship is currently marooned in. Far as the eye can see the billowy stuff contains us. About a fourth of a nautical mile out, I can spot a pat of butter, but because Haddock hogs the telefocals, I can't be sure. I've dropped a line into the strange body, my harpoon, and when I drew it up and tasted the remnants, I could swear it was what I said. It certainly isn't water. Haddock is just a stubborn ass.
Captain Dunmoore
Captain's Log:
July 24, 1893 - I hope they don't find out what I did.
Captain Hemmingway
Captain's Log:
July 30, 1893 - Ever since I've known Captain Hemmingway, I've thought he's much like a popsicle. At first, he's a grand thing, just what you wanted. I find myself going "hm, I wish I'd a popsicle..." just as often as I say "hm, I would like Captain Hemmingway's company." But once finished with a popsicle, one is left only a stick with a less than comical riddle printed upon it. This too is like Hemmingway. He's great at first, but at his core, he is a dull stick dressed up with a witticism of sub-standard quality. Just today he claimed to have known why we are marooned in a sea of mashed potatoes. When I told him we were most certainly not in a sea of mashed potatoes, he began to laugh. He suggested that I was "nutty as a fruit cake." He says these kinds of things all the time, and while I can humor him through most of it, I could not stand it today. I've never had fruit cake, and as such I am not aware as to what degree their nuttiness may reach. If it is high, I am thoroughly offended.
Captain Haddock
Captain's Log:
July 31, 1893 - I stirred from my barracks at three o'clock in the morning and set about taking more samples from the strange foam, and the results of my analysis have confirmed my suspicions. Within I discovered:
- Chives
- Green onions
- Three uncommonly large bacon bits
- What appears to be melted cheese
- Massive amounts of sour cream
- And most worriesome, gravy.
It is a commonly known no-no for us nautical types to bring gravy on board because it's composition allows it to eat through the hull. Being that our ship was in a sea of the stuff, I knew that our time was now running short. This is when, at around five o'clock, I saw Captain Hemmingway doing the stangest thing. Standing over the railing, he emptied the contents of five very large, unlabeled sacks into the sea. He then walked, zombie-like, back to his quarters. This is all so queer. The fact that the stick lodged up Haddock's ass won't allow him to accept the situation just makes it more difficult to understand.
Captain Dunmoore
Captain's Log:
August 1, 1893 - I can't sleep. I haven't been able to get any shut-eye for the past two and a half weeks. Whenever he comes, it is late and very very dark and I can't make him out fully, and I am no artist, but this is what I think he looks like:
Captain Hemmingway
Captain's Log:
August 5, 1893 - I've had enough of all of this. To be honest, I am feeling very uneasy. Dunmoore and Hemmingway have spent all day together, stealing crazed glances at me. A few days past we got in an altercation, me insisting they stop with the mashed potato insanity, they insisting that I was wrong. We debated for a good long hour on the stern, and near the end neither would speak to me. All Hemmingway would do is gaze at the harpoon and Dunmoore just shook his head and played with his cloth. It was all very eerie and I felt like an intruder on my own ship. They've not spoken to me since. I fear I am the only reasonable person left. I am reminded that this is true each time I look out to sea and perceive only a great body water called the Pacific and not a vast stretch of spuds. I can only pray they will come to their senses. Until then, I admit I will be on edge. More so than a man should be.
Captain Haddock
Captain's Log:
August 5, 1893 - That bastard. That bastard is blind. I have presented him with all the evidence, all the tests and studies, yet he still won't see. We are in this damn mess because of him. With his help we could escape this death trap, this... potato viceroy, in an instant. But he refuses to acknowledge the obvious. Hemmingway is the only one I can trust now. He let me in on how the sea got this way. A little duck man with a hypno pendant comes and changes the sea into mashed potatoes at night time. I never would have concluded that that was the source. But Hemmingway has seen him. I saw him the night after he told me. The duck told us what we had to do. I didn't believe him. I tried telling Haddock all of this, about the duck, but he just said I was crazy. I tried. I see now that the duck was right. Hemmingway is the only one left I can trust. Him, and the duck. If only Haddock could see the truth, then I wouldn't have to confide in these two I have left. But it will be done. I must be.
Captain Dunmoore
Captain's Log:
August 6, 2007 - I wish he'd believed us. It's empty without him. I suppose the duck will keep us company now. He's nice. I decided I am going to take up drawing. I just love sketching. My first one is on the page behind this one. It's nice now. Quiet.
Captain Hemmingway
Turn the page...
No comments:
Post a Comment