Excuse

    'This ship has entirely too little weaponry.' Blitzmann said, shaking his head disapprovingly. 'Not a single harpoon, cannon or firehurler in sight.' He whirled around, pointing an accusing finger at a deckhand swabbing the deck. 'You!' he called.
    The man froze like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes wide and panicky.
    'A-aye, cap'n?'
    'What's your excuse for this travesty?'
    The deckhand knew better than to question the doctor's mad accusations. Best to just play along.
    'I'm a halfway-retarded ogre spawn scarcely worthy of the pathetic brain in my inferior skull?'
    Blitzmann blinked, taken slightly aback. 'Correct,' he said. 'Carry on.'