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Captain Squawk, a magnificent, brightly plumed parrot, was the terror of the seven seas. He had a formidable eye patch, a tiny sword, and a deep, booming voice. He was also a pirate who prided himself on his terrifying, rhyming insults. The only problem? Captain Squawk was terrible at rhyming.

"Arrr! Prepare to face my wrath, you scallywags! You'll soon be swimming with the… with the… blue fish!" he'd yell, glaring at a passing school of fish.

His crew, a long-suffering group of squirrels and chipmunks, would exchange weary glances. "Captain," chirped Squeaky, the smallest chipmunk, "doesn't 'blue fish' usually rhyme with… with nothing?"

"Silence, you landlubbers!" Captain Squawk would boom. "My rhymes are advanced! Abstract!"

One sunny morning, their ship, The Salty Nut, encountered a rival pirate ship, The Slippery Eel. A fierce battle of words began.

"You're a vile villain, you scruffy sea-dog! Your ship is as leaky as a… as a… wet umbrella!" shouted the opposing captain, a nefarious ferret named Flicker.

Captain Squawk puffed out his chest. "You're a rotten rogue, a miserable scamp! Your flag is as tattered as a… as a… torn napkin!"

The crew of The Salty Nut winced. The crew of The Slippery Eel burst into laughter.

Squeaky, seeing the captain's distress, had an idea. He scurried up the mast and whispered into Captain Squawk's ear. "Captain, sir! Use your special talent!"

"My special talent?" Captain Squawk looked confused. "My talent is being a terrible rhymer!"

"No, sir! Your talent for mimicry!" Squeaky insisted.

Captain Squawk suddenly understood. He took a deep breath. Instead of trying to rhyme, he perfectly mimicked the sound of a huge, creaking ship's mast snapping in half, followed by the terrifying CRACK of thunder, and then the sound of a thousand hungry seagulls diving for fish.

The crew of The Slippery Eel gasped. They looked at their own mast, then at the perfectly clear sky, then back at the miming parrot. Panic set in. "He's cursed us! Abandon ship!"

They scrambled into their dinghies, convinced their mast was about to fall. Captain Squawk watched them go, a triumphant gleam in his eye. He didn't need rhymes; he had the power of sound!

"Squeaky," Captain Squawk boomed, preening his feathers. "Prepare the victory feast! We shall celebrate my… my… victorious… triumph!"

Squeaky just nodded, happy the battle was won, and the rhyming had, for once, been mostly avoided.