Buccaneer sits on the dock and picks his teeth with his cutlass.
"Argh, landarcipus and zydecopawsikus were foolish, drinking with those crimps last night and now they've been Shanghaiid.
Making eyes with that moose headed wench, argh, serves 'em right.
Well, the SS Farkanautikus has sailed without us, and fitting it is too, as Buccaneer I go privateer and I'll scuttle these two teams and keel haul the survivors, argh, that oi will."
He dislodges a lobster stuck in a gap and looks at it flapping in his gnarly hand, a gleam in his eye.
"Seafood, argh, I'll load the first salvo with seafood, that's set the prat among the sturgeons!"
He sits quietly, reflecting on how utterly out of place he is with his 16th century lame ass dialog clashing with the starwarsian whackadoodlishness all around him and reaches for his rum...