Stavanger Bay wish we could turn back time

"Hoho," chortled Blurry when Wednesday failed to answer his question. The little pirate may have been a lot of things, but he was surprisingly keen. It would be his downfall someday, even he was sure of it. "Avoidin', ain't ye? Well, me bucko, ye may no' have a lil mast but yer the savviest corsair I e'er did see," and with that, Blurryface decided that Wednesday was a male. A male with a teeny tiny hidden dick. After all, if he wasn't willing to fuck it, then it was no wench worth calling, and he wouldn't approach Wednesday for that sort of company any day of the week.

"Aye," he said at last, lapsing into some kind of seriousness, though that was never really the case for the swab. "Thar be a galley o'er yonder," and he swung his dirt-caked muzzle toward the sand he had tamped and pissed all over not two days past. "Bu' thar also be booty if'n ye favours treasures," and here the coywolf's eyes lit up with a funny, covetous light.