Day 3

Island Arrival

Captain’s Log, 1140 hours

“Ahoy, pasta-lovers! Our mission be finally a sauce-cess!”
– Th' Enthused Quartermaster

Th' sun blazes overhead, reveal'n an island coastline shaped like a question'ble noodle bowl — th' perfect destinat'n fer our midnight pasta cargo.

Status

Purple sails flutter 'n th' island breeze
Th' octopus figurehead be oddly shining—some claim th' wooden tentacles be still danc'n t' an unseen rhythm
Slight tang o' marinara lingers across th' entire deck

Incident 'n th' Crow’s Nest

Upon our arrival 'n th' harbor, th' lookout nearly toppled from his perch 'n a fit o' excitement. A mysterious figure on th' dock signaled wit' a lantern three times—followed by a deafen'n call o' a heron 'n flight.

Th' lookout swears th' bird cawed 'n perfect Morse code, as if warning us o' impend'n calamity. Moments later, a sudden gust toppled th' spyglass stand, send'n it clatter'n down t' th' quarterdeck, just as th' heron sped off wit' a triumphant whistle.

Mission Debrief'n

Crates o' sauce offloaded wit' care (and th' occasional accidental slosh)
Crowds o' locals, excited fer fresh spaghetti
Squid ink banner hoisted high t' announce “Operat'n Squid Spaghetti Complete”