Her ship was rusty. It was an iron ship with wooden nails holding planks of iron together. They all laughed and sneered and said, "by the great Poseidon, that vessel'll never float or our names aren't collectively Bob Seager." She boarded her boat for the first time to shove off and with her back turned to the jeering crowd she said in a low voice, "all your words are stupid and bad."
To the amazement of all who were present, her ship did float. It floated too well, in fact. A craft whose construction defied all sense floated so well that it hovered several inches above the water, not touching it at all. "Curse this wretched sea," she sneered. And to be a walking, sailing oddity and to tire of oddities and to wonder when the oddities will cease is to sail the great blue ocean and hope to find the spot where it dries up.
Water water everywhere, come again another day. If you don't, I don't care. I'll pull down your underwear.
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