Randy was the captain of a pirate ship, just like his father, Randy Sr. had been, before he retired. In his younger days, Sr. could buckle those swashes with the best of them, but now he prefered to rest in his waning years, giving the family business to the new Cap’n Randy. The old captain had always wanted to learn how to bake, and now with Jr. on the high seas, he had plenty of time to pursue his hobbies.
On a particular day, Young Randy eyed a storm brewing. This would not be the day that the good ship Sandwich Wednesday turned to a mass of broken timber, to drift for a few hundred years, acquiring “authenticity,” only to be turned into a coffee table by a hipster carpenter and sold for $9,000. No sir, not today! He started shouting orders to the crew, “Avast ye lads, [do this nautical thing], [do that nautical thing], and fer Davey Jones’s sake, batten down them hatches!”
Little did he know, that his father was facing a crisis of equal magnitude at that very moment. Old Randy had spent all day baking cookies, and there were pans cooling all over the kitchen. Just as he was closing the oven for the last time of the day, he saw it. A small black cloud was moving quickly across an open field, and toward his kitchen. Such a sight would strike fear into the heart of the saltiest of sea dogs. “Flies ho!” he yelled, and falling back into his old captain’s habits, he began to bark our orders, though only to himself. “Look lively now mate, look lively. We ain’t loosin’ these macaroons to no flies today me hearties, nay not a one! Aye, Grab the tricorn! Grab the derby! Grab the fedora and the deerstalker even! Fer the love o’ booty lad, hatten down them batches!”