[Between my frenzied reading of Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey-Maturin novels (I’m working on #14 right now) and this week’s Talk Like A Pirate silliness, how could I not write this 100-word story incorporating the themes Popeye, Movies, and Reflection?]
The sailor walked down Main Street, occasionally catching a glimpse of himself reflected in a store window. He moved with a peculiar gait, swinging his ridiculously muscular forearms, hitching up his pants fore and aft with each step.
Years of salt beef, biscuit, and grog had blocked his bowels such that only an exophthalmos-inducing strain could clear them. For him, Popeye was more than a name; it was a way of life.
But today he was happy, for he was planning to take Miss Oyl to the movies. And, he thought, perhaps one day she’d be his wife, Olive Eye.
The sailor walked down Main Street, occasionally catching a glimpse of himself reflected in a store window. He moved with a peculiar gait, swinging his ridiculously muscular forearms, hitching up his pants fore and aft with each step.
Years of salt beef, biscuit, and grog had blocked his bowels such that only an exophthalmos-inducing strain could clear them. For him, Popeye was more than a name; it was a way of life.
But today he was happy, for he was planning to take Miss Oyl to the movies. And, he thought, perhaps one day she’d be his wife, Olive Eye.
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