The Great Sael Adventure 1

It is not fine.

As the Mariposa ventures onward into the unseemly storm of phallic vegetables, the deck begins to fill with unpickled booty. The rising level of cucumbers becomes almost immediately worrisome. Olga (the ship shrimpist) recites a poem from her childhood spent shrimping:

"Oh no, cucumbers up to my toe.
Oh gaff, cucumbers up to my calf.
Oh gee, cucumbers up to my knee.
Oh gods, cucumbers up to my quads.
Oh dear, cucumber up to my rear.
Oh snip, cucumbers up to my hip.
Oh nut, cucumbers up to my gut.
Oh fate, cucumbers up to my waist.
Oh blessed, cucumbers up to my chest.
Oh grammatical, cucumbers up to my clavicle.
Oh boulder, cucumbers up to my shoulder.
Oh heck, cucumbers up to my neck.
Oh sin, cucumbers up to my chin.
Oh dip, cucumbers up to my lip.
Mm mmm, Mmmmm mm mm mm mmmn.
Mm Mmm, MMmmm mm mm MM Mmmn.
MM MMM, MMMMmm mm mm MM MMMM."

And that just about sums it up. You are slowly enveloped in a green, crisp, refreshing blanket ideal for infusing fresh water on a hot summer day, and you succumb to the cucumbers. That is, you succucumber.