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The Good Ship Battleby
"What does this look like to you?" the lanky man at the helm of the ship said, thrusting a small, golden object towards his aide.
"A pocket-watch, sir," the aide replied slowly.
"Clearly," the main said, annoyed, stuffing the watch down his trouser pocket, and turning his head back towards the ship's railing. His protruding nose was turned down towards the sea, a quivering frown marring his sharp face, as his signature, permanent look of deep thought hovered about him. It was also widely agreed that he was shaped like a stick of celery.
The aide looked curiously at the captain. He was facing stonily straight ahead, his dark hair oddly unmoving, despite the cool breeze that swept through the entirety of the airship.
"And that!" the captain snapped suddenly. "What's that?"
"Right by the bow, sir?"
"Yes, right by the bow," the captain said, sneering the last few words.
"That's a balloon, sir."
"Damn!" cried the captain, kicking the ship's railing furiously.
"If I may inquire, sir -"
"What?" the captain roared, swiveling around and bringing his face down so that he stared his aide directly in the eyes.
"Er, I was wondering, sir, why are you -"
"Why am I asking what everything is?" the captain hollered.
The captain stared long and hard at his aide, hair flopping into his eyes, lip quivering in anger and pure frustration.
"These bloody things," he said, at last, "don't bleedin' work at ALL!"
And with that, he got up, tore off his brass welder's goggles, and hurled them at the floor, storming off in a huff.
"Why don't they work, sir?" the aide called after him.
"Because nothing ever works!" the captain yelled back.