George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
“Maybe you should give pirating a rest?” said the captain, tallying up the damage from George’s latest mishap. “Whaling is big these days. My brother has a ship.”
George packed his bags, disembarked, and walked down the docks to his new home.
“Your first time whaling?” said a lanky greenhorn, extending his hand. “Call me Ishmael.”
“Call me George,” said George, smiling.
A year later, they found themselves bloodied and battered, adrift on the Pacific in a coffin.
“That ended badly,” said Ishmael. “So, tell me more about piracy.”