The Great Sael Adventure 1
You exit Let's Get Naughty-cal, and you can tell The Commodore is ready to head back to The Luseal. You sense that this trip to Pour't-o'er-Carlotta didn't go quite as he might have hoped. Perhaps there's something there. You try to convince the Commodore to head into another store—Let's Get Knotty-cal—and he whirls around on you.
"We're already taking the long way around!" he shouts. "And you want to dilly-dally here forever, wandering aimlessly, and looking at... at... AHHH!!!"
You've never seen this kind of unbridled rage from The Commodore before (and it makes you think of bridling him—a pleasant thought). You step back, surprised and a little scared. You've set him off, and he won't stop. He hollers and shouts at you, his tongue curling back and forth in his mouth, his lips coming together and separating percussively, his throat straining, his face flushing, his nostrils flaring, his teeth shining, his eyes glimmering. You stand, mouth open, receiving his anger into your body for what feels like hours until you feel your throat begin to close and your eyes begin to water.
By the time The Commodore has finished, and you turn to return to the catamaran, you see that the boat is gone, and a new store has popped up, selling scanty clothing with a catamaran theme—Let's Get Naughty-Cal, My Cat and My Man.
While you weren't looking, the inhabitants of the island have scrapped your catamaran and you have no way off the island. You are doomed to a future of being scantily clad in this, the most promiscuous town in the Indian Ocean. Oh no.
"We're already taking the long way around!" he shouts. "And you want to dilly-dally here forever, wandering aimlessly, and looking at... at... AHHH!!!"
You've never seen this kind of unbridled rage from The Commodore before (and it makes you think of bridling him—a pleasant thought). You step back, surprised and a little scared. You've set him off, and he won't stop. He hollers and shouts at you, his tongue curling back and forth in his mouth, his lips coming together and separating percussively, his throat straining, his face flushing, his nostrils flaring, his teeth shining, his eyes glimmering. You stand, mouth open, receiving his anger into your body for what feels like hours until you feel your throat begin to close and your eyes begin to water.
By the time The Commodore has finished, and you turn to return to the catamaran, you see that the boat is gone, and a new store has popped up, selling scanty clothing with a catamaran theme—Let's Get Naughty-Cal, My Cat and My Man.
While you weren't looking, the inhabitants of the island have scrapped your catamaran and you have no way off the island. You are doomed to a future of being scantily clad in this, the most promiscuous town in the Indian Ocean. Oh no.
