We stopped at a sea port the other day to do a bit of camper supplies refueling. Mr. C. Cow put on a pirate hat and a patch to try to fit in with the locals. I, personally, think that the fake parrot on his shoulder was going a bit overboard. He explained to me that, in these types of places, one must look the part. For some strange reason he felt that the shopping was best left to him. Mr. C kept mumble-mooing about “lingo”, “barter”, and “danger”. He is the most caring friend in the world and I trust him to not only keep me safe but re-supply the camper. It doesn’t hurt that he is did take swashbuckling classes in college.
I decided that I would trust Mr. C. Cow. I didn’t exactly fit in with my outfit and I didn’t really feel like changing. A fake neon boa, 3 foot high (and perfectly sculpted I must say) beehive, and sunglasses the size of a bowling ball don’t make one look very sea harbor shanty town ahoy. Perfectly content I sat in the camper reading the latest “Martini Times” magazine. Even had the time to make and eat a cheese and cracker plate without anyone chewing up all of my crackers!
Three hours later Mr. C. Cow came back with what could possibly be the best and worst items to ever be called camper supplies.
Gigantic Bucket Of Rum: GOOD!
Magic 8 Ball That Only Answers With An “Arrrr”: BAD!
Comfy Blanket: GOOD!
Toilet Paper Made Of Poky Wood Shavings: BAD!
I’m still trying to figure out how Mr. C. Cow felt that toilet paper made out of wood shavings was a positive purchase. He informed me that, when bartering with pirates, you sometimes have to make concessions. That kinda sounds like some sort of life advice. I’m, at least, grateful for a comfy blanket and a bucket of rum.
Location: Hedeby (M)