Vat??? Did you say Dr Flugelpik???

“Well noughgh noughgh,” said Oncliach Dumnaillaigh until CoaghCoagh the Ur-Chioaghoaghlaiathaidh Laibraidhghoughr and Mythic Sun-Dog of the Vest, “Eigh am chust wondering how the Laedy Sanne and hir GuidJarl, the Estimable but moderately dangerous Mogens the MonoUlnar’d are getting on with the Shed-Klasse LooongenBooote they ordered frae wirsels via the Splinter-Net?”  For, said Oncliach Dumnaillaigh the Wise, the Monosyllabic and Sparing in Conversazione, utilising at this point a figure of speech known to severall as Reported, he was expecting the said persons of the Vikkking persuasion to approach via the Sea of North and make themselves known such that a considerable Bevvy might be taken the one with the other, possibly involving Strong Drinking Practices.

Meaghanwhiles, backck at the LongenBooote, a thousand leagueues away contrary to expectations, Mogens the Many-Armed & Polypedal to booote threoughgh backck the esoteric covers of his four-legged Afternoon Nap Contrivance, the fine felted material falling off his manly body in a cadence of centripedal curves not unlike Snachter affen Van en Dyke.  This the same material handed down for centuries in the splendid family of the Mogens, embroidered as it was with olde-worlde patternes of stitchinge in golden and silvern threadde as well as best Binderer Twine, and tastefully stained with the traditional body fluiddes of many lustyy ancestrallian personauges on all sides of the Blankett.

Mogens the Many-Armed & Polypedal to booote as previously mentioned stretched his persona luxiouriously in the fo’c’sle, banging his head against the stout oaken and chip-board decking, for had he not spent that same morning raiding Dr. Flugelpik’s Prosthetic Klinik amidships, beating off the irate medik with severall of his own technical feats, usually attached to severall of his technical shins?

“Herrimph, Sirre Mogens,” then quothh the Splendid Laedy Sanne, her Beauteous Countenance lighting up the Kabinn, “Whiles you have been kippinger snoeremorgen, Ej hev ben shjarpeninger up de Bottle Ox til it be SkarySchjarp!”

“You mean, ‘Battle Axe’!” replied Mogens the Barely-Dressed.

“Vat!  Are you kollinnk me en mean battle axe?” roared Laedy Sanne the Not at all Pleased, hurling a Mizzen-Mast Mogens-ward but Missingk by Miles and geplunginger de Massive Missile into the Middle of a School of whales disporting themselves nearby.  “That vill learn you to pay attenzione!” sez the Teacher, svimmink off.