Fred's Multiple Nautical Faux-pas

Apart from Lots, who brings down his knuckle-dustered hand on Fred's jaw with stunning force. A couple of Fred's molars fly across the deck.

"Aaaaaarrrh! We'll be havin' less o' that 'speakin'-bed' talk on this here ship!" Lots scowls. "Don't-ee know that it's powerful bad luck to talk of talkin' beds when aboard a schooner sailin' betwixt the Horn of Godspry and the Cape of Good Vibrations durin' a fool Moon on St. Detox's day?"

"A'hm very chorry! I awn't hin'ing*" Fred responds as best as his swollen and bloody mouth will allow.

"AAAArh!" Lots roars as his brass knuckles liberate a bicuspid and a canine from Fred's mouth which fly over the edge of the ship and plop into the sea.

"Scurvy knave! Don't-ee know that it's even worse luck to apologise standin' stern-wards of the fo'c'sle wearin green boots within' hearin' distance of a one-eyed cabin-boy (unless yer name be Cyril, an I'm a-bettin' it aint)?"

Fred, who'se mouth now resembles the inside of a cherry pie, decides discretion is the better part of valour, and remains silent. However this only serves to enrage Lots even more.

"Answer me, you good-for-nothin' sea swab!" he bellows so close to Fred's face that the latter can smell the tang of his anchovy sandwich breakfast.

(* - "I'm very sorry. I wasn't thinking")

1. Fred tries to explain
2. Fred is suddenly rescued in a fairly unfeasible manner
3. the bad luck predicted by Lots begins to kick in
4. Fred's bed comes to life. "Hey shut up" it hollers

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