Guacamole research

The right hand man was in shock. And trying his best not to laugh, Louis was either the best or the worst. Maybe both. Though he had to take the captain's side. That and if he didn't do anything he'd be the one to clean this up

The right hand man swallowed his laugh, and turned to Louis:

The breath he took to say this inhaled some confetti:

Louis grimaced a bit. He could not speak as elegantly as the captain and first mate. He tried his best nonetheless.

he breathed and said:

Wow The right hand man thought to himself. He had thought it was hidden on top of the fridge, Louis wasn't tall enough to reach up there.

Now it was time to scold he who was supposed to hide the confetti gun

He blew some confetti how of his nose:

The captain, overcome with great grief in these turn of events, was no longer following the conversation. He was off to the side, with his makeshift pocket oven, baking cookies of shame. He liked cookies. He did not like shame. Maybe they would cancel each other out.

but he realized something: the missing piece of the puzzle, the thing that would either tie it all together or break it all apart:

That smell- that aroma, it could only mean one thing. The captain had bakes his glorious cookies. The right hand man didn't even need to register what the captain said because it could only have been one thing. MILK. The right hand made had been saving a stash of milk just in case the captain bakes his cookies, and now the time had come. His time had come. The right hand man went to the secret fridge and got the best milk he had and turned to the captain.

There was a gleam in his eye as he prepared his next sentence:

The captain saw his chance. A beautiful trade was about to occur, if he played his cards right. All it would take would be a quick mind and a sharp tongue. Unfortunately, the captain's mind was more of a distance runner than a sprinter, and his tongue was not the sharpest tool in the shed. So he left his fate entirely up to the right hand man.

the captain made his wager, in the voice of the most overzealous front-door-of-Walmart campaign marketeer:

It was only natural the the milk alone wouldn't be an equal trade, the captain's cookies were the best here- No, the best in the world. That, and it would be terrible if they made a mess of crumbs. The right hand man pulled a bunch of stylized napkins out from his back pocket and held them out towards the captain.

he prepared his next line, the right hand man reeeeeeally wanted to eat those cookies:

Satisfied, the captain divided the cookies. "One for you, one for me..." he whispered. "Two for you, two for me..." On and on until each had an equal amount of the cookies. Then the milk and napkins were methodically divided. "Thank you," the captain said. "After this, you will be promoted to the post of 'right arm man.'"

the captain dipped his first cookie in the milk, and took his first dainty bite:

Could it be- HIS ONE TRUE DREAM. Right after eating these cookies. He was getting promoted. He had always hoped to be right arm man, right arm man; the more he said it the more he couldn't believe it. There was only one way to show his gratification.

The soon to be right arm man picked up his first cookie and prepared to take his first bit:

The captain wanted to speak, but he was a bit busy at the moment enjoying the scrumptious taste of dairy on sugar. He had no greater meal in his life. No amount of rum or stale, salty bread could rival the exquisite sensation of pocket-made cookies when combined with the dippings of milk. He drifted away to seas calm, oceans pleasant, and waters absolutely divine. Somewhere below deck, he heard the noise of a cannon being stowed away to yet another hideout.

he savored every cookie, relished every morsel, deliberated over every last crumb:

No words were worth interrupting this gift. The wind was beating against the the sea and caused a mist of salt to be spread through the air. The clapping of the waves hitting each other seemed to be an applause to the glorious combination of sweet cookies with cold milk. The mice were scurrying here and there; despite their size they were quite easy to hear.

though none of that matter all that mattered, all the mattered was not dropping any crumbs:

The captain, back in the mortal world, was mentally penning a soliloquy, an ode to the cookies-n-milk heaven in which he'd just been submerged. He had all the right flowery metaphors picked out, when suddenly a loud boom announced the presence of a cannon. But it wasn't their own.

Yonder blue, just in view, firing a warning shot from the horizon—another ship! And she flew the jolly roger!

the captain scrapped the soliloquy and cut straight to the chase:

They were under attack! And the order had been given! And one of those orders was to razzle!!!!! This meant on thing.

The right hand man new the man to get this job done: