I was napping, quite gently in my squalid cabin last week-end, when I heard and most cacophonous clamor outside. I went above-decks clad only in my nightshirt to find them. Basques: those dread cod-poachers and navigators. They were spouting some nonsense in that strange Jovian language of theirs, which no-one may ever hope to understand. Their overly floppy berets, too, were in plain view, all places upon their thick-skulled heads at jaunty angles! Oh, what a horrid sense of maritime fashion!
They then proceeded to throw rotten squid parts at my vessel, the Gilded Sham. Rest assured, ye scourge of both Spain and France, that I shall take this matter up with the International Court of the Sea!
Where can I get some Icelandic salt cod? It far better that the scummy waste that those Basques produce.