Ah, ye weren't me type anyway! Not like me Connie. Well, she weren't exactly me type either, not like me Trista. Now that one could cook, but then she'd go sharin' her biscuits all around town while I was out at sea. There was me Heather. Poor, sweet Heather. Blown overboard in that storm... (wind) (thunder) "Help me...help me...please help me...help me...glub glub..."