Ah, the days of our collective youths...

...Are here and gone like the shot of an arrow of bliss and no small joy. If only we could pressure the acupuncture from within and squeeze the juice from the archetypes of our brutal and lost innocence. Where would the fun be in that? Time for a story, no?:

Captain Igor Galinsky the third had a plan. O Brad would get his comeuppance for the distasterous deed of '03. Brad could smell the whiff de diablo from miles away (when the wind is just right). Unfortunately, for our antagonist in this morbid little tale, the wind wasn't blowing, so there was no whiff to be inhaled with the nostril of justice and sensuality.

Captain Igor Galisnky the third planned it this way, as only Captains de diablo are liable to do. Ah, the grim lives of diablo workers, the work, the grit, the sweat, the pressure!!

Captain Igor Galinsky the third decided to reminince on his earlier days of glory--the men he captained, the women he loved, the children he fathered, the fish he ate.

Captain Igor Galinsky the third took a moment of bittersweet nostalogia to grieve over the portending future of fish--edible fish, that is.

Captain Igor Galinsky the third knew what we know now--seafood will be extinct in less than fifty years.

Captain Igor Galinsky the third then realized that he was 103 years old and therefore would be long dead before the demise of fish and chips.

Captain Igor Galinsky the third thought to himself:

"Captain Igor Galinsky the third, you old dog! Chips aren't going extinct."

Captain Igor Galinsky the third chuckled at his impotent mind.

Captain Igor Galinsky the third proceeded to forget about the cunning plan of sweet, sweet revenge he had concocted to abdicate Brad from his freshly made crown of pious pretension.

Captain Igor Galinsky the third celebrated with a fish and chips dinner.