For five days now I have been watching the Pink Daffodil. I have to say I am NOT impressed. One of their crew, the fat one, was seasick during the storm last night. I saw him, heaving his huge carcass round the deck of the ship, puking his guts out... Not pleasant.
And then there's the First Mate. A poet! Hah! All he ever seems to do is sitin his cabin and write depressing little diitys. There are no poets on my ship, I can tell you that. no wasters, no fat guys, no ghosts either. Because I run a good, tight ship!
After observing them and their pathetic (but slightly amusing) misadventures, I believe that this would be a perfect time to launch an attack. They've been sitting in that one section of ocean for years now; it'll give them a shock alright. And they've got all that delightful booty just waiting to be shipped off to my beloved Spain.
La Fantasma Traviesa shall reign supreme!