%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
A book to hold all writings from Game of Thrones. |
| Captain Pip wasn't really a captain. He wasn't really called Pip either. His name was Percival Snodgrass the Third, but when you have a nose that plays "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" every time you sneeze, nicknames just sort of happen. So, the name stuck and he became the captain of his very own sailboat- The Wobbly Walrus. Now, The Wobbly Walrus wasn't just wonky, it was a floating circus. The sail was a patchwork of pirate flags, polka-dotted tablecloths, and one of his baby sister's sparkly diapers (don't ask). The rudder was so stubborn, you'd swear it was arguing back. But Pip loved her dearly, despite the snickers from fancy yacht owners with their boring white boats. One sunny Tuesday, with a pickle hanging out of his mouth, Pip decided it was time for an epic voyage. He packed a picnic basket with more peanut butter sandwiches than a squirrel could hoard, a jar of extra-squishy pickles, and his trusty pet parrot, Squawkers. Squawkers was less parrot, more squawking ball of green feathers. He could say three things: "Danger!", "Pieces of Eight!", and a burp-tastic rendition of Pip's favorite sea shanty. They set off with a grand wave and a sneeze-powered horn blast. The Wobbly Walrus tipped, wobbled, then did a little spin before bobbing back upright. "Adventure awaits, Squawkers!" Pip declared, spraying pickle juice everywhere. "We'll find treasure islands, battle jellybean pirates, and maybe even teach a narwhal to tap-dance!" "Danger! Burrrrrrrp!" squawked Squawkers, joining the pickle juice shower. The adventure started well enough. Pip nibbled sandwiches, Squawkers tried to eat the sparkly diaper flag, and then... absolutely nothing happened. No wind. Not even a whisper of a breeze. The Wobbly Walrus stopped wobbling and just sort of sat there. "Hmmm," said Pip, scratching his freckly chin. "I believe we've been wind-whatchama-hoozied. Or maybe...the sea has hiccups!" "Pieces of Eight! Hic-hic-hic!" Squawkers squawked, which probably helped matters not at all. Pip pondered the situation. He pulled on ropes (nothing), kicked the rudder (it kicked back), and even tried hopping on one leg while singing (disaster!). Hours passed. The sun dipped lower. Turns out that being stuck on a sailboat was like watching grass grow, but wetter. Finally, as a magnificent orange sunset painted the sky, Pip heard a noise: "MUUUUUUUUUUU." "Giant seagulls?" Pip blinked at the empty lake. "MUUUUUUUUU!" came the sound again, closer this time. A giant cow head, complete with long eyelashes and a shiny pink nose, popped up beside the boat. It was followed by another cow head, then another, and another! "We're saved!" Pip cheered. Turns out, Farmer Brown's entire herd had decided to go for a paddle. They happily towed The Wobbly Walrus back to shore, mooing along to Squawkers' burp-filled sea shanty. Pip stepped onto the dock, soggy, smelling slightly of cow, and grinning from ear to ear. He was greeted by a search party, flashlights waving. "Percival Snodgrass the Third!" boomed his mom. "Where on Earth–" "It was epic!" Pip shouted, waving a half-eaten pickle. "No treasure, but I outsmarted the wind hiccups, battled a sea of COWS, and Squawkers is now fluent in moo!" As Pip recounted his grand, soggy, slightly stinky adventure, no one was quite sure whether to laugh, scold, or check if those extra-squishy pickles were past their expiration date. But one thing was for certain: Pip, captain of the wonkiest sailboat, conqueror of the cow-infested seas, and possible inventor of the pickle-burp sea shanty, wouldn't soon forget the day the wind went on vacation. Word Count: 598 |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
