A lonely year it’s been at the bottom of the ocean. My books, thankfully, are intact. The laminating material I purchased using ship repair funds is clearly of the first water. Unfortunately, my sweet tooth has been rotting — or rather, thriving. Anemones are about as sugary as my prospects. But truth be told, I don’t think the ice cream would have survived anyway. The crates that held it were good insulators of heat, but not, I think, of rats. A few had blissful expressions on their faces as they descended with the Nupple-duck’s remains.
All this is to say that if my impressions of ice cream flavours are off, please be understanding. I am aware of the shortcomings of my opinions and I promise to procure a supply as soon as circumstances permit. Already I have engaged the services of a seal, a shark and a blobfish, with whom I have established a four-way relationship built on a common aversion to poetry. They have vouched to bring me any ice cream they find as long as I let them paw, crunch, or (as regards the blobfish) flatten any poems I encounter in my reading. I seem to have gotten the short end of the stick, but this will do for now.
– Captain Abersouth (formerly of the Nupple-duck)