"Way Haul Away! We'll Haul Away Bart!"
Bart tottered in from the privy, buttocks clenched, his legs motionless above the knees, as if they had been tied together (or he was wearing a pencil skirt, to each their own).
"A life at sea's the one fer me,
Blowin' Frenchies an' Spanyerds ter bits!
Takin' their wemmins (ACK!) an' plundrin' their gold,
Except when Oi've got me thee..."
Bart spun the knife. It came to rest pointing at...