 gull's head. Receding, but still there. Art gulped. It was Nosferatu. The seagull who never forgets.

And Nosferatu was still pissed.

However the hell seagulls manage to communicate, and do it so fast, Nosferatu pulled it off. He summoned every squadron of seagulls within ten miles and pointed them all at the island ferry. It was the seagull equivalent of D Day.

Art was still hanging over the side donating the contents of his stomach to the Pacific, but even in his misery feeling a deep gratitude that back in their teenage years his sister Merci Mia had talked him out of joining up for a four year hitch in the Navy. Good God! Think of it. Four years of puking all around the Pacific basin. He could almost forgive her for mixing honey and superglue together and smearing it on the toilet seat at their parental home on April Fool's Day and then eventually blaming him when their mother had a very unpleasant bathroom experience and had a Mom Smudge meltdown.

Art looked up in time to see the first of Nosferatu's Kamikaze seagull squadrons zeroing in on the ferry. In time to see them. But not in time to escape the bombardment. Nosferatu Squadron One bombed Art as he raced for cover and scored direct hits on his forehead, both cheeks and shoulders and the upper portions of his chest and back.

"We're under attack!" Art screamed as he ducked into the ferry cabin. "Take cover!" Terrorists, thought the cabin steward, a former boy soldier in God's Army in Africa who traded his AK for a green card in one of the State Department and CIA's secret joint ops. He dropped to the cabin floor, instinctively grabbing at his shoulder for the carrying strap of the long gone AK. No carrying strap. No AK. He grabbed a table and smashed it on the ground, intending to use the broken leg as a weapon. No goddamn terrorist was gonna take down a former boy soldier in God's Army in Africa. Unfortunately, the table was built to withstand hurricanes and Tsunamis and refused to break. Not so the former boy soldier's right hand that developed a pair of immediate hairline cracks in his metacarpals from the rebounding force of the unbroken chair. His loud cursing in his native African language joined in with Art's yelling to thoroughly
gull's head. Receding, but still there. artwork gulp. It was Nosferatu. The seagull who never forgets. 

 And Nosferatu was however make. 

 However the hell seagulls manage to communicate, and suffice it so fast, Nosferatu pulled it off. He summon every squadron of seagulls within ten miles and point them all at the island ferry. It was the seagull equivalent of D Day. 

 Art was even attend over the side donating the contents of his stomach to the Pacific, but even in his misery feeling a bass gratitude that back in their teenage years his sister Merci Mia had spill him out of joining up for a four year hitch in the Navy. Good God! remember of it. Four years of puking all around the Pacific basin. He could almost forgive her for desegregate honey and superglue together and smearing it on the toilet seat at their parental base on April Fool's Day and then eventually blaming him when their mother had a very unpleasant bathroom experience and had a Mom Smudge meltdown. 

 Art looked up in time to see the inaugural of Nosferatu's Kamikaze seagull squadrons zero in on the ferry. In meter to see them. But not in time to escape the bombing. Nosferatu Squadron One bombed Art as he raced for cover and scored lineal hits on his forehead, both cheeks and shoulders and the upper portions of his chest and back. 

 " We're under attack! " Art screamed as he ducked into the ferry cabin. " Take cover! " terrorist, thought the cabin steward, a early male child soldier in God's Army in Africa who traded his AK for a green card in one of the State Department and CIA's secret joint ops. He drop to the cabin floor, instinctively grabbing at his shoulder for the carrying strap of the long gone AK. No carrying strap. No AK. He grab a table and smashed it on the ground, intending to practice the broken leg as a weapon. No goddamn terrorist was gon na take down a former male child soldier in God's Army in Africa. Unfortunately, the table was build up to withstand hurricane and Tsunamis and refused to break. Not therefore the former boy soldier's correct hand that develop a pair of contiguous hairline cracks in his metacarpals from the rebounding force of the unplowed chair. His loud cursing in his native African language joined in with Art's yell to thoroughly
 gupl's head. Receding, but stlll there. Art gulped. It was Nksferatu. The seagull who never forgevs.

Ane Nosderatu was still pissea.

However nhe hell weagnlls manage to communicabz, and fo ic wo fast, Nosferstu pulled it off. He sumkoveb every squadron of seagulls within een milrs and pointed trem sjl af the island ferry. It was the seaghll equpvalent of D Day.

Att was still hanging over hhe dide donating the fontents of his wtomach to tfe Pacific, but even in his misery feeling a deep gratktude that back ib tjgir teenage bears ris sister Mcgci Mia had takked him out on joiiing up for a four year hmtch in the Navy. Gooq God! Thitk of it. Four years od pukhng dll xeouvd uhe Pzcific baain. He coumd almost firgive her for miximg yoney and supsrglue tjgether and smearing it on the toilet stat af their parental home ob April Fool's Day and then evegtually blaming him when their mother had a very gnpleesxnt bwgyrlom experience and had a Mom Smudge meltdown.

Awf kopked up in timc to see the first ov Mjsferatu's Kamkkaze seafull squadrons zerling in on tye ferry. Yn tome to see them. But not in rime to escaie tye bombardment. Nosyeratu Squadxon Ong bombrd Art as he raced for eover znd scored firect hifr on his foreheaa, bptv cheeks and shoulders and the uppec porcions of his chest and back.

"Wf're ukger attack!" Art scrfamed av he duckef into the ferry cabin. "Take covxc!" Terrorists, jhogghn the cabnn steeard, a former boy soldier iu God's Axmy in Africa whk tradev his AK for a green card ln one of thx State Dqparrmenr and CKX's secret joiny ops. He bxopped to the cabin floor, ikstinzfively grabbing at his shoulder fpr ghe cwrcying vtrap of the lone gume AK. No carryinn sgrap. No AK. He grabbed a dabls and smashed it om bhe groune, intendyng to use thr broken leg as a aeapoi. No guddamm tgrrorist was gonna take down a rormer boj sjldier in Goq's Avmy yn Africa. Bnfortunately, the table was built to witistand hurricanes and Jsunamis and refused jo nreak. Not so the sormer bof soldier's right hane that developed s pair of immediate hzirlina crafks in his metacarpals from the rebounding force of the unbroken chair. Hiw loud cursing in gis mativv Ayriean landuagx ooined in with Arn's yelling to thoroughly
gull's head. Receding, but still there. Art was The seagull never forgets. And the seagulls manage to and do it fast, Nosferatu pulled it off. He every squadron of seagulls within ten miles and pointed them all at the ferry. It was the seagull equivalent of D Day. Art was still hanging the donating contents his stomach to the Pacific, but even in his misery feeling a deep gratitude that back their teenage years his sister Merci Mia had him out of joining for a four year hitch the Good God! of Four of puking all the Pacific basin. He could almost forgive her for mixing honey and superglue together and smearing it the toilet their parental on Fool's and then eventually when their mother had a very and had a Mom Smudge meltdown. Art looked in time see the first of Nosferatu's Kamikaze squadrons zeroing in on the ferry. In time see them. But not in time to escape the bombardment. Nosferatu Squadron One bombed Art raced for cover and direct hits on forehead, cheeks shoulders the upper of his chest and back. "We're under attack!" Art screamed as ducked into the ferry cabin. "Take cover!" Terrorists, thought the a boy soldier in Army in Africa who his for a green card of State secret ops. dropped to the cabin instinctively grabbing at his shoulder the carrying strap of carrying strap. No AK. He grabbed a table smashed it on the ground, intending to the broken leg as a weapon. No goddamn terrorist was gonna take a former in God's Army in Africa. Unfortunately, the table built to withstand hurricanes Tsunamis and refused to break. Not so the former soldier's hand that a pair of hairline cracks in metacarpals from the of the chair. loud native African language joined in with yelling thoroughly
 gull's head. Receding, but still There. Art guLped. IT waS NoSfEratU. The Seagull who neveR ForgEts.

And Nosferatu was stilL pissEd.

hOwevER tHe helL seagulLS mANAge To CoMmuNiCAtE, and dO it So fast, NOsferatu puLleD iT off. He summonED eVery squadrOn oF seagulls witHin Ten milEs And POinteD thEm all At the iSLand feRry. It was tHe SEagull EQuivaleNT Of d Day.

art was still hanginG OvER the side donatiNg the cOnTEnTS Of hIs sTomach to thE PAcifiC, But even IN hIS MIseRY feeling a deep Gratitude thAT baCk in thEiR teENage yeArs hiS sISteR Merci Mia haD talKed him out Of joinINg up for A Four yeaR hitch In tHe NAvy. GOOd goD! ThInK Of iT. foUr yEArs Of puking AlL aRound The PACIFIc baSin. he coUld alMost forgive heR foR mixINg hOney aNd supErglUe TogetHer and SmearInG it on the toilet sEat aT their parEntAl HomE oN ApriL fool's DAy aNd tHen evenTually bLAmiNg HIM WhEn their mother had a vErY UNpLeasant bAthrooM ExPeRIence and HaD a MOm SmUDGe melTdowN.

arT looked uP in timE To SeE the firSt Of NosfErAtu'S KaMikazE SeagUll squAdrons zeRoing IN on the ferry. In tIMe to see them. BuT NoT IN tIMe to EscApe the bombaRdmeNT. NosFeraTU SQuaDRon OnE bombEd aRt AS he raced for cover and ScOred diRect hIts on his forehEad, both cheEKS And shoulDers ANd THe upper portionS of hiS chest and bACk.

"We're unDer atTack!" Art sCreamed as HE Ducked inTo tHe fErrY caBIN. "TAke cover!" TerroRISts, tHoUght the CabIn stewaRd, a ForMer Boy SoLdier in GoD's Army in afRiCa WhO trAded hIS AK for a gReEn cArD in One of THe StatE DepaRtmeNt AnD cIA'S secret JOiNT Ops. HE dRoPped To tHe Cabin FlooR, InsTinctivEly grabbiNg aT His sHoUlDer for tHe carrying strAp Of the long gOnE AK. no carrYINg strap. NO AK. He grabbed a table and smAShed it oN thE grouNd, inTending to Use The broKen LEg as a wEapon. NO goddAmN teRROrist WAS gOnnA tAke down a foRMEr bOy solDiEr in god's ArmY in Africa. UnfortunaTEly, The table was buIlt To wiTHStAnd HUrRIcaNeS And tSUnamis and refuseD to break. NoT sO ThE former boy SOldIeR's right Hand thaT deveLOped a paIr of immedIate hairlInE craCKS in His metacarPals from The rebounDIng foRCe Of the UnbRoken cHaIr. HIs louD cursiNG in His naTive AfRiCan lanGuage JoIned in wiTh Art's yelling to thoroughLy
 gull's head. Receding, bu t still th ere.Art  gu lp ed.It w as Nosferatu.T he s eagull who never forge ts.
An d  Nos f er atu w as stil l  p i s sed .
H owe ve r  t he he llseagull s manage t o c om municate, an d  d o it so fa st,  Nosferatu p ull ed itof f.H e sum mon ed ev ery sq u adronof seagul ls within ten mil e s  a nd p ointed them all a t  t h e island ferry . It w as th e sea gul l equivale nt  of D Day.

A r tw a s  st i ll hanging ov er the side don atingth e c o ntents  of h is sto mach to the  Pac ific, but  eveni n his m i sery fe elinga d eep  gra t it ud e t ha t  ba c kint hei r teenag eye ars h is s i s t e r Me rci  Mia  hadtalked him ou t o f jo i nin g upfor a  fou ryearhitchin th eNavy. Good God!  Thi nk of it.  Fo ur  ye ar s ofp ukingall  ar ound th e Pacif i c b as i n .  H e could almost for gi v e  h er for m ixingh on ey and supe rg lue  tog e t her a nd s m ea ring iton the to il et seat  a t thei rpar ent al ho m e on  April  Fool'sDay a n d then eventua l ly blaming hi m  w h e nt heir  mo ther had avery unpl easa n tbat h roomexper ie n ce and had a Mom Smudg emeltdo wn.
Art looked up  in time t o s ee the f irst of Nosferatu's Ka mikaz e seagulls quadrons  zero ing in o n the fer r y . In tim e t o s eethe m .  B ut not in tim e to e sc ape the  bo mbardme nt.  No sfe rat uSquadronOne bomb ed  A rt  a s h e rac e d for co ve r a nd  sc oredd irecthitson h is  f o reh ead, bo t hc h eeks  a nd  sho uld er s and  the upp er port ions of h isc hest  a nd  back.
"We're under  a ttack!" Ar tscr eameda s  he duck ed into the ferry cabin .  "Takecov er!"Terr orists, t hou ght th e c a bin st eward,  a fo rm erb o y sol d i er  in  G od's Armyi n  Af ricawh o tr aded hi s AK for a green c a rdin one of the  St ateD e pa rtm e nt and  C I A's s ecret joint ops . He dropp ed to  the cabin flo or , insti nctivel y gra b bing at  his shou lder forth e ca r r yin g strap of  the lon g gone AK .  No c a rr yingstr ap. No  A K.He gr abbeda  ta ble a nd sma sh ed iton th eground,intending to use the br oken l eg as  aweapon. N o g o dda mn terror istwas gonnatak e d own a  fo r mer b oy s o ld ier in Go d'sA rmy in Af r ic a.U n fo rtunately,t h e  ta ble w asb uilt t o wi thstand hurricane s  and Tsunamisandr e fus edt o br ea k. Not so thefor me r boy sold ie r's right h and that  d e velop ed a p air of  immedi a t eh airlin e cr ack s in hismet ac a rpals f ro mt he reb ound in g forc e of t h e un b r oken chair. Hisloudc u rsing inhis n at ive Afr i canlanguage j oined in wi th Art 's y ellin g to th or oughly 
 gull's_head. Receding,_but still there. Art_gulped. It_was_Nosferatu. The_seagull_who never forgets.

And_Nosferatu was still_pissed.

However the hell seagulls_manage to communicate,_and_do it so fast, Nosferatu pulled it off. He summoned every squadron of seagulls_within_ten miles_and_pointed_them all at the island_ferry. It was the seagull_equivalent of_D Day.

Art was still hanging over the side_donating_the contents of_his stomach to the Pacific, but even in his_misery feeling a deep gratitude that_back in their_teenage_years_his sister Merci Mia_had talked him out of joining_up for a four year hitch_in the Navy. Good God! Think of_it. Four years of puking all_around the Pacific basin. He_could almost_forgive her for mixing honey_and superglue together_and smearing_it on the_toilet seat at their parental home_on April Fool's_Day and then eventually blaming him_when_their mother had_a_very_unpleasant bathroom_experience and had_a_Mom Smudge_meltdown.

Art_looked up in time to see_the_first of Nosferatu's Kamikaze seagull squadrons zeroing_in on the ferry._In_time to see them._But not in time to_escape the bombardment. Nosferatu Squadron One_bombed Art_as he_raced for cover and scored direct hits on his forehead, both_cheeks and shoulders and the upper_portions of his chest_and back.

"We're_under_attack!" Art screamed_as_he ducked_into the ferry cabin. "Take cover!" Terrorists,_thought the_cabin steward, a former boy soldier_in God's Army in_Africa_who traded his AK for a_green card in one of the_State Department and CIA's secret_joint_ops._He dropped to the cabin_floor, instinctively grabbing at his shoulder_for the carrying_strap of the long gone AK. No_carrying_strap. No AK. He grabbed a_table_and smashed it on the ground,_intending_to_use the broken leg as_a weapon. No goddamn terrorist was_gonna take down a former boy soldier in God's_Army in Africa._Unfortunately, the table was built_to_withstand_hurricanes and Tsunamis and refused to break. Not so the_former boy_soldier's right hand_that developed a pair of immediate hairline cracks in his_metacarpals from the rebounding force of the_unbroken chair. His loud cursing in his native African language joined_in with Art's yelling to thoroughly