The police arrested the pesky scaramouch for pilfering pastries, and after much legal yada yada, it was decided his sentence would be to stand in the town square and be pilloried by public comment regarding his activities, in addition to full facial assault by anyone who chose to select a cream pie from a nearby table – and those who were standing on his leeward side had even more impetus to mete out punishment after they became aware of the offensive odor wafting in their direction due to the length of time the miscreant had spent unwashed in the dungeon.

As I swung the ship's steering wheel hard to the left and turned the Roaring Plankton leeward, I tried my best to tune out the constant obnoxious chatter of that scaramouche Hanrahan to my right, as he yammered on and on about there are no animal crackers left in the galley, and why aren't there any animal crackers left in the galley, and oh, by the way: the peanut-butter supply is dangerously low as well, and anyway, who ate all the friggin' animal crackers, and yada yada yada (I later pilloried the garrulous milliner by forcing him to walk the plank wearing nothing but a pair of water-wings and a strategically-placed clown-nose--though I stopped short of actually pushing the obstreperous hunchback into the deadly flounder-infested waters).

I was coaching a gaggle of Olympians on the best technique to throw a javelin in a leeward direction, when suddenly an unwashed scoundrel, a scaramouch, a larrikin sought to pillory my thesis by yelling "yada yada and blah blah blah", but another of the athletes grabbed him with one arm and hurled him 300 feet downwind.