[A single sailor walks into a tavern immediately after he landed alone on his ship at port. He has a thick Scotch accent.]
Sailor: Give me a shot a'your finest whiskey. No, I don't care how much, mate. Look in my eyes--do you think I can go much longer without it? I've been at sea for three weeks--yes, I know. I know the rumors. A man comin' into dock by himslef on a galleon--a bit suspicious, eh? Well mate, I'll tell you and you only what really happened out there-- (bartender hands him his whiskey.) Ah, thankee, thankee. Seven nights out there alone on watch'll do thing to your mind. He just lost it at the wrong time--we all do it mate, he just didn't get the break we did. He came down from watch--boy, could I see it in his eyes!--somethin' was wrong with that boy. I saw it--I saw the whole thing. He chopped every one a' them up, one by one as morning came. (He swallows his shot of whiskey whole and then pauses.) Ah, but you won't get me by surprise...
