So here we were, Sibyl and me, sailing on the seas looking for mating orcas. I don't understand why Sibyl had to drag me along, but she'd said it was for company. A fat lot of company *she's* been! Just standing up on the bridge, and she didn't even let me blow the whistle, well, not a whole lot anyway!

Nobody'd told me they don't deliver mail to ships, either. They said we were *delivering* mail. So where's my 'Blonde Weekly' then? I'm getting bored to tears, here.

Now, just last night she'd sneered at a sailor telling her to seek shelter, there's a hurricane coming up... and I'm getting scared. It's getting -really- windy, now. My pink trenchcoat is blowing up around my ears, and my coiffure is all blown to heck.

[So tell, pray tell, will Pythia save them all?]


   It was the schooner Prophetess,
      That sailed the wintery sea;
   And the skipper had taken the office junior,
      A girl named Cassidy.

   Red were her lips as the rose that blooms,
      Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
   Though Nature had less to do with this
      Than a certain Lauder (Estee).

   The skipper she stood beside the helm,
      A looking-glass to her eye,
   And she watched for mating orca pods,
      But none did she espy.

   Then up and spake an old sailor,
      Had sailed the Spanish Main,
   "I pray thee, put into yonder port!"
      The man was a royal pain!

   "Last night the moon had a golden ring,
      And to-night no moon I see!"
   "Well, then go and put your glasses on,
      And do stop bothering me!"

   Now hail and lightning filled the air,
      And rain fell all around,
   So hard that truly you could have said
      That it was pissing down.

   "Come hither! come hither! my little Cassie,
      And cease your moaning, please;
   For getting all wet is just part of the joy
      Of a life upon the seas."

   "O Sibyl! The wind is awful strong!
      Oh, say, what is its force?"
   "It's fifteen on the Beaufort scale,
      But - hah! - I've weathered worse."

   "O Sibyl! Is that a pemmican?
      Oh, say, may it be so?"
   "There's no such bird as a pemmican!
      It's a gull! Now let it go."

   "O Sibyl! I see a great big fish!
      Oh say, what may it be?"
   "That's not a fish, that's an orca, girl;
      And orcas are mammals, see?"

   Lashed by the waves, part white, part black,
      It neared their starboard bow.
   "Quick, Cass - look if there's another one;
      We'll see some mating now!"

   But a hatch oped in the orca's back,
      And Pythia's head popped out;
   And as to her sub being able to mate,
      Well, that I greatly doubt!

   "Hi, Sib!" called Pythia, "By the bye,
      I don't know if you know,
   But your vessel's drifting out of control
      Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe.

   "This sub of mine is somewhat cramped,
      But I can take two more;
   That is, if you'd rather come with me
      Than be dashed upon that shore."

   The skipper looked at the old sailor;
      With a heavy heart spoke she,
   "Well, Cassie must go for one, of course,
      But th'other, that's me or thee.

   "Now it's true that the law of the sea requires
      The captain go down with the ship;
   And, all other things being equal, that's
      How I would end this trip.

   "But a greater law still governs our lives -
      I refer to etiquette,
   And you, being a true gentleman,
      The phrase 'Ladies first' will've met.

   "So I thank you for your kind courtesy,
      For we know what must be done."
   So saying, she boarded the mini-sub,
      The hatch closed, and they were gone.

   The Prophetess struck where the fleecy waves
    	Looked soft as carded wool,
   But the cruel rocks, they gored her side
    	Like the horns of an angry bull.

   Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,
      With one crewman left aboard;
   Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,
      Ho! ho! the breakers roared!

   Such was the wreck of the Prophetess:
      To each what he deserves!
   Now you owe me something to cheer Norman up,
      For his Woe gets on my nerves!