"Aaaarrrrrr," you said, a young pirate on the bridge at the 123rd Street playground.
We were suspended above the sand sea. "You’ll walk the plank, I say," you said.
"You don’t have a plank, I reply!" I replied.
"Better yet, I'll stuff you in an old ale barrel and throw you overboard, I say."
"I pour hot wax, no, hot oil on your bald-but-bearded head, I rejoin."
Unfortunately for me, you didn’t know what a rejoinder was, and you definitely weren't familiar with the verb rejoin.
And, under article 212 of our Code of Play, you’d been relieved of having to acknowledge anything you didn’t already know about, or couldn’t understand without “buckets of explanation” (your phrase, of course). As I began defining the word for you, I could’ve sworn you chose not to understand it. And so, I was thrown overboard.
The cold water seeping through the slats of the barrel took my breath away.
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