Apologies to all.

The deep blue ocean stretched out before them like the spandex on a Sweatin' To the Oldies background extra. High above, the sky was clear and empty, like a mormon's urine sample. First mate Semaphore stood at the prow, the silence hung heavy about his shoulders, like a leaden shawl.

Finally, like a irish workman, he started.

"Captain, three long weeks we been out here, sailing round and round the Cape of Simile like a turd that won't flush. When will you give up this fool's quest?!"

"Fools quest?" replied the Captain.

"Aye, a fools quest! We're running out of food, we're dangerously low on water, and the crew's morale ain't been this low since you made Johnny Metaphor walk the plank!"

The Captain snarled at the crowd that had gathered, like a tiger with a tick on its nuts.

"Don't mention the name of that filth to me! He was a lead weight around the neck of this crew! Next person to speak his name to me will join that dog in his watery hell."

"But Captain!" shouted Semaphore, gesticulating wildly, "What are we doing out here?"

"We're here to find the lost treasure of Abrams!"

The crew of the Ambience gasped.

"But.. but the treasure is a myth!" stammered Semaphore, like a retard at Peter Piper's Pickle Patch. "Why, no one has ever seen the island it on which it was set!"

"Aah, there ye be wrong! Before we left port, I had an interesting chat with Old Man Irony."

"That rusty old gimmer? He's crazy. He just sits in that old hovel on the hill and counts his spoon collection all day."

"Aye, he is mad. But he weren't always. No, he used to be a ships' psychologist, back before he was driven mad by the over-saturation of the psychologist market. Couldn't find work, you see. Anyhow, he told me about his first voyage, aboard the Chickenchaser. Aye, the Chickenchaser, Abram's fabled ship. He told me all about it; and more importantly, how to find it. First, he said, you sail into the Cape of Simile. Be on your guard, he said, for the Cape of Similie was like nothing i've ever seen."

A cry came down from the crow's nest, interrupting the Captain, like a girl.

"Avast! Freudian Vikings, starboard!"

The Captain gazed out across the ocean. The merciless Freudian Vikings we're coming straight for them. Their long, powerful craft surged through the water, each mighty stroke of it's oars pushing the craft onward, tearing through the waves, breaking them apart.

"Man the cannons!" shouted the Captain, "We'll give these dogs a taste of our long nines!"