♪♪
I wasn't much of a sailor before the flood.
Even now I never got used to the open water.
Nothing in sight for thousands of miles.
And beneath it all,
strange creatures inhabiting a forgotten world.
Under normal circumstances,
I might've stopped for some treasure hunting, but not today.
They took my [bleep] shark, and I was going to get her back.
Plus, it was night squid mating season.
The pod was sonaring me from a few miles out.
I needed to find safe harbor before sundown.
Given the choice between death by squid
and a night with the Parrotheads,
I'd normally choose death,
but this wasn't about me.
♪♪
[ Sizzling ]
The rot gut kept the squids away.
Kept most sensible people away, too.
The plan was catch some Z's, push off by dawn,
and make landfall within three days.
Then a ghost appeared.
Rick...
a disgraced commercial real-estate broker
I'd traded with once before.
To be honest, I would've expected someone
to have drowned him by now, but here he was,
telling me he wanted to come along for the ride.
Apparently things weren't going so hot
for him here on the flotilla.
Something about a bad batch
of teeth-whitening strips he'd been peddling.
Strangely enough, I felt sorry for the guy, and who knows?
I could probably use the extra muscle.
With the squid behind us, the only thing to contend with
was Rick's endless babbling.
Best way to grill a hot dog, James Taylor's greatest hit,
different styles of belts -- it never ended.
Nighttime was my only respite.
[ Wind whistling ]
Until it wasn't.
[ Squid screeches ]
♪♪
[ Water splashes ]
As we approached the island,
I actually thought we made a decent team.
Wrong again.
♪♪
Sold up the river for a couple 30-racks of light beer.
I guess that's what you get for trusting
a leather-faced James Taylor fan.
At least Verizon was okay.
Like a trapped firefly, glowing brighter than ever.
♪♪