ALOHA!

That means, “Hello!” in Hawaiian. Or, as in some dialects, “HELLLLLP!”

I always knew it’d come to this: trapped on a raft with a frog and a huge pair of underpants. Don’t ask me how I knew; I just did.

“Relax,” Renfield said. “Take some time for yourself,” he said. “You deserve a tropical cruise,” he said. And I was colt enough to believe him!

My ears should’ve twitched when I booked with “Extreme Fever Cruises,” but I had visions of boning up on my skills in a relaxed maritime setting. Too late did I discover their name had less to do with Peggle and everything to do with their menu.

Still, I got my sea-horse legs after a few days and, so long as I stayed away from the salad bar, the clam bar, the tofu bar and the bar bar, I could spend whole hours without feeling like I was on the wrong side of death. I even managed to make a few vacation friends, one stone frog in particular, and we whiled away the evenings burping and chatting about balls. Sure, all he said was “Ribbit,” but he had a way of inflecting it so it seemed like it meant something.

It was during one of these evening chat sessions when we heard a tremendously thundering bang from the direction of the clam hold. There was a lot of yelling and I’m certain I heard somebody scream, “Abandon ship,” so I magicked up a bamboo raft for me and my amphibious companion.

That was eight days ago. Luckily we found a floating crate of underwear so we were able to sustain ourselves for a few days, but as you can see, we’re down to our last pair and things are looking desperate.

My froggish friend seems confident we’ll find an island just in time, but just in case: if anybody out there is reading this blog, if you get a chance, ALERT THE NAVY!

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