After weeks and weeks of sixteen-hour work days with no time off, I was feeling kind of ship-wrecky and thought that I should just deep-six the whole project by hauling boxes full of plans and parts out to the river to traject them from the shore into the rapidly flowing current  – or at least it seemed like a larruping good idea at the time.

My three hour snorbing session along the River Severn Bore had been larruping good fun, until I began to turn green and feel distinctly shipwrecky as I was trajected back and forth fifteen tmes in rapid succession, my half-digested breakfast of sausage, egg, beans, mushrooms, and toast-with-loganberry-jam making an unwelcome re-appearance as it was deep-sixed from my larger intestine in a noisome eruption worthy of Mount Vesuvius.

"It's gettin' kinda shipwrecky in here," observed Frelma Bodkin nervously, as the water level in the cabin rose to the level of her gluteal sulcus (the trajectory of the Larruping Manatee had gone seriously awry, a consequence of Captain Stubing's having imbibed six times his usual quantity of laudanum and then pulled his underwear up over his face for the better part of an hour; now we were frantically deep-sixing all the ballast we could lay our hands on, in an effort to lighten the sinking ship, and I noticed to my horror that among the items tossed overboard was the fabled Chambered Mollusk of Calpurnia, a priceless tungsten statuette rumored to have the ability to summon Peter Tork from anywhere in the world at a moment's notice).