The salty sea was raging, wayward wind washed water up into the boat. Wolfhook stood staring at the grotesque duck sitting across from him. They would sink in minutes.

“Duckhook,” cried Wolfhook, “we’re going to die!”

Duckhook looked with his beady eyes at the miserable soaking wretch. “Yo, shu’up beoch,” said Duckhook, in his very gangsta drawl, “Why you all up in my Kool-Aid, if you don’t even know the flava?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Yo, I said shu’up. Bus a cap in yo ‘a’.”

“What? You don’t have hands! You can’t even hold a gun.”

“Well, check dis, mofo. I got the bliiing, I’ll spread my wiiing, and bus out uh dis shiz.” And with that, Duckhook alighted into the air, leaving Wolfhook alone in the rapidly filling vessel.

“Curse you!” Cried Wolfhook, “Curse you, Duckhook!”