stief !!!!!!!!!

When some son of a bitch in one a them there helly-copturds comes a swoopin' down to bust us for humming

Fiddler's Green

when we is mad enough to be out there puttering and surviving on said wild brine...


Then we get out the rocket-launchers from under the spare pressure-cooker... RIGHT ???

pop


pop



A man who would go to sea for pleasure would go to hell for a pastime.




actually, do be accurate, that is normally


plop


plop