"Captain's Log. Stardate……uh……I'd say July………
Well, it's finally happened. Elaine, my exquisite Pirate Princess of a wife, has evicted me from our humble mansion overlooking the bayside Capital of Melee Island. I swore to her that Timmy and I would be on our best behaviour, but she wasn't prepared to take any chances. Yup………that's my wife. She's been at her wits end ever since she caught wind of that Caribbean Sanitation Commissioner's arrival to the Tri-Island Area of Melee, Scabb and Plunder. She says that all of the islands under her jurisdiction are as hygienic as a bullet wound at room temperature, and that she faces possible impeachment if the level of cleanliness doesn't meet the Commissioner's standards of excellence. So now she's on a last-minute crusade to disinfect the festering regions of our beloved providence. I asked if I could help, but she says that my………incompetence………is cute, but potentially harmful to her position as Governor.
That's why I'm here. Here on the sun-dappled shores of Chubb Island. It's a resort island crafted exclusively for wealthy and important pirates looking to get away from the decidedly lethal overtones of everywhere else. It was initially a part of Dinky, but some curious continental driftage made it independent of the whole Tri-Island regime. But I'm babbling. I guess the whole point of this entry lies with my unhappiness concerning Elaine's distrust of me. She says I'm the embodiment of unsightly mishaps and unnecessary mayhem, but I think that's an unfair generalisation: my involvement in all of the Caribbean's noteworthy misadventures is purely coincidental, and - -"
"Your drink, Monsieur Threepwood," interrupted Raoul, the waiter of unparalleled snootiness.
"Aha! New Grog Twist, the same palate-scalding brew of its predecessor with a refreshing citrus tinge! Thanks a bunch, Raoul, that'll be all for now."
Raoul bowed with subdued disdain and left Guybrush where he lay, on a deck chair beneath a palm tree, the only protruding apparatus on the unspoilt golden beach. Taking a quick sip of his beverage, the enigmatic adventurer finished his log entry.
"Besides, there's nothing especially unsanitary about the Tri-Island Area. How could any man find fault in the enchanting mysteriousness of the Swordmaster's Meadow? The rustic and inspiring tradition surrounding Puerto Pollo? The authentic and occasionally washed barnacles encrusting just about all of Booty Town? I tell you, my presence here on Chubb is all but unnecessary. Nevertheless, it is a burden I bear with a heavy heart, and I shall indulge in the five star luxury of its exclusive amenities to the best of my ability. Elaine would've wanted it that way. After all………she's paying for it."
Sighing, Guybrush closed the journal and cast it lazily onto a towel beside him. He adjusted the position of his shoulders in retrospect to the angle he was reclining at, and turned to face Timmy, his chimpanzee companion.
"Well, Timmy?" he began, "Think we can handle another week of spread-legged slovenliness?"
"Ook," grunted the miniature primate in reply. Guybrush grinned and took a hearty swig of his grog, the seething foam of the dangerous beverage hissing malevolently in response.
"Aah," breathed the self-confessed Mighty Pirate, "If those years of perpetually interactive dialogue hadn't given my tongue such a high threshold for pain, I'd be writhing about in torturous agony just now."
He rested the empty mug beside him and rolled to his side, the steady breathing of the tide and the ominous intensity of the sun sending him adrift to a mythical destination nestled deep within his subconscious, and before long, he was fast asleep. He remained that way for longer than he had intended to, and when twilight drew near, he was awakened by the somewhat less than subtle slap across the face from his furry comrade.
"Ee-ee-ee-ah-oo!" demanded the monkey. Guybrush looked up at him and tilted his head quizzically.
"What is it, Timmy? Fatal Scurvy epidermic? Unwarranted grog depletion? A renegade faction of LeChuck's skeletal hoard?"
Before any of his suggestions could be confirmed, a wave of icy evening seawater ploughed over him, soaking his whole body and leaving him sprawled across the sand when the waters pulled away momentarily.
"Perhaps you're trying to tell me that it's high tide?"
Sighing, he clambered to his feet as Timmy scurried onto his shoulder. The two made their way back to the quaint harbour town of Puerto Gato, named so because of the domestic cat's synonymy with sophistication. Elaine had booked him an apartment at the Silver Cutlass, the Island's most prestigious hotel, perched on a plateau above the town, and overlooking the bay on the other side. The Sunday markets centred in the town square had closed, and all of the peddlers were securing their wares in wagons or dinghies, ready to shroud their exact whereabouts till next they were called upon. Fixated establishments were also finishing up for the day, except for The Tasteful Phlegm, Chubb Island's only tavern, which was just opening for business as Guybrush and Timmy passed by.
"Aye, dost me eyes deceive me, Mr. Threepwood?" came the melodious cackle from inside the institution, a sizeable galley masquerading as a bar. "It looks as if the Mighty Pirate is all washed up, har har!"
Guybrush grinned and peered through the entrance. Though the interior was centred inside the hull of the beached vessel, it was very tastefully decorated; complete with glimmering chandeliers, exotic rugs and varnished mahogany tables.
"Evening, Mr. Hockworthy," he chuckled.
"Would ye care for one of me patented Algae Shooters, melad?" the Bartender continued, gesturing for the sopping Pirate to enter.
"Ah, I wouldn't wanna put a damper on your evening," Guybrush replied, winking at his own pun. "It looks like you've got a full house tonight."
He made the comment in regards to the generous helping of 'Reserved' cards positioned on most of the seating quarters.
"What's the occasion?" he inquired.
"Argh, I won't lie to you, Guybrush," Hockworthy acquiesced, "Cap'm Adrian Sever and the crew of the Lingering Floater'll be docking here in just a couple o' minutes, they will. He booked the whole place, he did, saying he's pay me double quota if I can make everyone under his command unconscious before midnight."
"What a curious request," Guybrush grunted to himself.
"Aye, lad," he continued, "That's why I'm offerin' you a drink now. Surely as I'm standin' here, you won't get another chance tonight."
"No, it's okay. With a full house you probably wouldn't wanna spare a single drop. I'll see ya tomorrow."
"Bubbye, Mr. T!" called Hockworthy as Guybrush departed for the far end of town. The numerous lanterns dotting the cobblestone sidewalk were being systematically lit by one of Puerto Gato's Union employees as dusk became night, and Guybrush bid the man a friendly hello as he passed by. He took the road from the Cay at the far end of town to the elevation nestled amidst the jungles behind it.
"Evening, Mr. Marley!" called Gertrude, the manager of Silver Cutlass.
"Threepwood," corrected Guybrush through clenched teeth.
"But of course," the man replied, bowing apologetically. "Did you have a nice time down at the beach today?"
"As always!" grinned the Pirate, overlooking the common error and passing Gertrude to enter the establishment. "I inhaled a sizeable dune bug in my advanced state of relaxation!"
"Terrific, sir," chuckled Gertrude, grimacing at the thought as he handed his guest a towel. Timmy scurried up the stairwell to their apartment on the second floor, and Guybrush, drying himself off, followed behind. His room was tastefully furnished, with a velvet and timber décor, and an Ocean Mythology theme. A foghorn sounded from outside. Identifying the noise as the arrival of the Lingering Floater, Guybrush approached the main window and gazed out over the harbour. Three dozen lumbering gorillas of men trundled anxiously along the boardwalk towards The Tasteful Phlegm, ready for a night of coherence drowning and miscellaneous mirth.
Smirking, Guybrush fell languidly onto the bed and let the resonating orchestra of belches and cheers loll him back into comforting recesses of sleep.