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When will that Dadgum Murderer strike? I wanna know who dies! Please don't be me...please don't be me...please don't be me...et cetera, et cetera.

Okay-dokey! Day 3 is ready and waiting for you to read! You must all be thinking, "Finally! When is this Ominous person every going to be on time with these days?" The answer is unknown, but what I can tell you is that NaNoWriMo will soon be over, and my time will be my own once more. Mostly...

IMPORTANT NOTE FROM THE RMS CO. : Just so you all know, The Ominous is actually enjoying the cruise from the safety of the RMS Humbug, where he watches all the security cameras and steers the RMS Tiny with a remote control. He will occasionally visit the RMS Tiny, but always incognito, so you'll probably never actually see him. Anyways, on to Day 3!

Humans only think that they are the smartest beings in the galaxy because they aren't smart enough to have discovered the beings that are smarter. Those beings happen to be the Globulous Bubblefish, who look a bit like a cross between our Earth piranhas and sharks, but glow bright purple and are several times larger than RMS Tiny's sister, the RMS Humbug, who is a very large ship indeed. The Globulous Bubblefish live on the other side of our galaxy on a boa-constrictor-infested planet, and if they ever discovered Earth, we'd all suffer the fate of having to gaze upon the Globulous Bubblefish's extremely ugly national flag before we were exterminated and Earth was turned into a boa-constrictor zoo.

-The Ominous

Day 3, Ship's Log

The fish jumping and flying alongside me that morning looked a bit like Globulous Bubblefishes, but they weren't quite so big and they only glowed a slightly menacing shade of brown. They also hadn't yet turned our planet into a place for viewing the boa-constrictor in its natural habitat.

My third morning at sea was very cold, and the fish jumping alongside me froze mid-jump as the waves turned to ice. It was still very early, but the green sofa took this opportunity to go for a nice skate around my deck, which had been quite wet before the sudden freeze. There was a slight crackle of foreboding in the air, and also a smell of pickles.

Below decks, the CBers were fast asleep, snoring quietly in unison to the tune of “Oh Great Globulous Bubblefishes, You Are The Greatest!” which is the horribly horrible national anthem of the Globulous Bubblefishes. I'm sure that was just a coincidence though, and it was certainly not a mild form of hypnosis. Certainly not. In fact, I may be wrong about the tune they were snoring to, because it also sounded suspiciously like “Old Macdonald Had A Farm”. But one national anthem is much like another, you know.

In the depths of my basement, Gollum had already found his way back to his book, and in the quiet, messy darkness, a small Captcha poked his nose out of a broken banjo and looked around warily. It was hiding from the Admins, who were hunting this Captcha and its brothers and sisters, with their long crossbows and viking helmets. The Admins had the crossbows and viking helmets, I mean. Not the cute, furry little innocent four-lettered Captchas, of course!

This particular Captcha was very hungry, so he quietly crept up to the kitchen. There, he met up with the third lieutenant brigadier Captcha, also known as Gary. “Training will begin momentarily, young Captcha! That is, once you've finished your breakfast!” said Gary. At least, that's what he said translated into English. What he actually said was “pine appl piza ande mumy yumy yogu rtie”, but that makes no sense to non-captchas, so from now on it will all be translated into English automatically. Our Captcha grabbed a cookie, and then reported for duty. “Reporting for duty, sir! All humans asleep and snoozing!” “Good work, small and disposable crew member! We shall proceed to the Wreck Room for mandatory training! This week we shall be working on what to do when attacked with a bunch of bananas. Now, forward march! Left right! Left! Left right! Left right wrong! Don't touch that gong! Or that painting of Shakespeare!”

A few milliseconds after the two Captchas left the kitchen, Aldo walked in. He yawned, and then stretched, showing off his pajamas, which were decorated with pictures of food, especially pies, pizza, pears, and anything else edible beginning with P. Not a meatball in sight, of course. Looking around and seeing that there was no one else but him in the kitchen, Aldo grinned and snuck over to the fridge, where he produced from a secret drawer...a cantaloupe! The cook then pulled out some dangerous-looking neon-green pudding, a huge bunch of bananas, and a large and probably very suspicious THING wrapped in cardboard. Aldo then dropped the THING onto a counter and rushed out of the kitchen, carrying the other stuff in his arms. He rushed along the corridors, muttering strange incoherent syllables to himself and occasionally stopping to catch his breath. At last, Aldo reached the right place. Looking up at the...unique...painting above him, the cook dropped his cargo in a heap and ran all the way back to the kitchen. He paused at the door to the kitchen and took a deep breath, and then turned the handle and walked slowly back into his domain. Nothing had changed. Aldo jumped up and snapped his fingers, chuckling in glee. Then he saw it. The THING was gone.

A few corridors away some Captchas pulled a mysterious cardboard THING into their little room (where the sheep, who hadn't stayed a penguin for long, greeted them warily), and rushed to open it. Inside the cardboard was...a boring little steak. HaHaHa! The Caped Captcha laughed. And now for something completely different!

Far, far, far, far, far down a nearby hallway, Glennis looked up at the ceiling. There was a door which I had moved there, hoping to stump people once and for all. I also kind of hoped to wake someone up by doing it, because everyone on the ship but the staff was still asleep. However, the usual occupant of this room (who was probably John F.Q., judging by the silver plate on the door) was actually asleep on a couch in the billiards room, and Glennis wasn't fazed at all. Instead, she drew out from her purse a long ladder and a purple umbrella, set the ladder up against the wall and climbed it, and then opened the umbrella and flew through the last bit of air to get to the door. Glennis looked down carefully, and then, seeing no one, opened the door and went in. In a flash she had it completely clean (no matter that the bed was on the ceiling and the window looked out at nowhere!), and the smell of pickles wafted through the air. With the room clean, Glennis looked around again, and, finding that she was alone, peered into the teleporting dustbin. Aha, there it was. The box marked “Pandora's Box”. Glennis smiled, and then opened it, pulled out a random hat that was definitely not a fedora, and put it on. Definitely. Not. A fedora. That is certain. Glennis also absolutely positively did not in any way say “I'll just go and give this to the murderer. This trip WILL be fun!” and then giggle happily to herself. Let me tell you yet again, readers of this Log, Glennis did NOT do any of that. She then left the room, packed the ladder and umbrella back into her purse, and continued cleaning everyone's rooms, humming strange tunes to herself.

2 pm – At the sound of the dinner bell, all the CBers woke up all at once, having had the exact same dream about pickles in avocado sauce for the last three hours. The dinner bell was actually a false alarm, because dinner wouldn't be served until 6 in the evening, so they all had a light snack and wondered why all their rooms had been flipped upside down (by me). Since this made it a bit hard to go back to bed, they went off to explore more of my endless (literally infinite) corridors. Eventually, Indigo stopped and looked curiously at a door that shimmered with such a rainbow of colours that it looked like a bubble, and no one wanted to touch it in case it popped and something happened. Danie decided that having something happen might actually be interesting, so she grabbed Squeak and pushed him into the bubble-like door, which turned out to actually be a bubble, and it popped into a million soapy pieces that floated away on a nonexistent wind. Squeak screamed dramatically, and for a minute no one could see what was in the room past the doorway because of his flailing limbs. So instead, everyone else screamed dramatically too, just for something fun to do, you know. After a few minutes and several buckets of ice-cold water and watery icecream later, Amy stopped screaming and pointed out that perhaps it wasn't as bad as everyone seemed to think. Squeak had fallen out of the way now, and past him everyone could see the large sickly-yellow letters that were so hard to read that it looked like they had been written by a dying penguin. They actually had been, just before the penguin died of the Black Death, but that isn't important because none of the CBers knew that. They only knew that, after much squinting and trying to spell the thing out, the words on the sign inside the room read “The Plague Room. Enter At Own Risk.”

Maplesyrup grinned. “That isn't so bad! Let's go in!”

They all trooped into the room, and began reading the various labels that marked the various mason jars that were all lined up on various shelves. Madeline read the label of a bright purple and yellow spotted mason jar. It said “The Incurable Plague”, and the mason jar beside it, which contained a chocolate-flavoured bouncing red rubber ball, had a label that read “Cure for The Incurable Plague”. Beside that mason jar was another mason jar, which contained a bruised banana, and this mason jar's label said “Cure for The Cure for The Incurable Plague”. Madeline coughed and moved on.

Curio and Magic decided to open one of the mason jars which had a label that said “Bubonic Plague, nickname: Jimmy, or the Black Death”, but the lid was stuck and they only succeeded in releasing a horde of butterflies.

BookWizard and Everinne found one mason jar that had a small goldfish swimming around in it, and the label for this jar read “A Small Fish In A Jar That Has Caught A Strange Illness Herefore Unamed To Science, So They Named It The Strange Illness”.

Brookeira spotted a jar that was filled with golden light, and she raced towards it. The label said, “A Cure For Alter-Egos That Don't Listen To You.” WinterFirefly saw the label too, and started racing towards it as well. The two girls collided with each other just as they reached the jar, and they fell on top it. It rolled off the shelf and onto the floor, and cracked in two. Everyone gasped dramatically. The room filled with a golden light and the faint smell of pickles. Suddenly, Masked Piester fought her way to the surface and subdued Brookeira, chaining her into the darkest recesses of their brain, and throwing pies all over the room! The Blaster was not so fortunate, and exploded just before she gained control of WinterFirefly's brain. The whole room was in chaos, and then out of the chaos The Blaster and Masked Piester had replaced Brookeira and Winter. Who knows how long this will last . . . forever?

“Let's explore somewhere else!” MP yelled, and the CBers ran out of the room and into the hallway, and were promptly run over by a dump truck. No! Such an unfortunate accident, that brought the end to such an opportunistic career! How could they die so young? Such fame and fortune that could have been theirs, if not for that horrible accident! How could that dump truck driver have not been looking where he was going? What a horrible person! Wherever that driver goes, he will always regret that he did not stop! Oh, woe is I!

END OF DAY 3, PART 1 

PART 2 OF DAY 3:

Wait, never mind. It looks like they survived after all. The dump truck was just the ghost of a dump truck, and it didn't hurt them at all. How dull.

Anyways, the CBers continued exploring, and they eventually found themselves in front of a couple of paintings. One painting was of Shakespeare, and his ridiculous Elizabethan ruff, and the other painting was of Hamlet. The CBers only knew that he was Hamlet because he was holding a skull in one hand and there was a silver plate underneath the paintings that said “Hamlet”. Forrest stopped and looked at the paintings. “They're very lifelike, aren't they?”

“Oh yes, apart from being completely insane, the painter who painted me was very good at her job, you know!” the painting of Shakespeare said in Old English, which was just confusing enough to be understandable.

Air, who was wearing a bright red shirt, commented, “Hello, Shakespeare! Did you know, Hamlet was never my favourite character. Everyone died in that play...”

Shakespeare frowned. “How rude! Hamlet was my greatest masterpiece! And you're wrong, not everyone died. Ophelia somehow survived drowning. She did paint us well, don't you think?”

The painting of Hamlet sighed. “Oh, fairest Ophelia! Why did she have to completely bonkers? Also, Horatio lived. I never liked him, no matter that Shakey here decided he was my best friend.”

Shakespeare frowned at Hamlet. “I created you! Quit complaining, he had to be your best friend. It was for the good of the play!”

"Good of the play, my foot! Not that I have any feet in this painting, but that's not the point. You used that excuse when you decided to drown one of Macbeth's witches, and you nearly had a riot on your hands!” Hamlet gestured wildly, his hands disappearing off the edges of the painting.

“But you have to admit, my excuse did come in useful against that horde of cabbage-throwing villagers,” Shakespeare pointed out.

“They weren't cabbages, they were carrots! You always did jumble up your stories. Remember the time you forgot to tell the priest about Romeo coming back, and then both of them died? That wasn't supposed to happen, you know.”

Before Shakespeare could reply, Everinne interrupted. “Actually, I think that you're both wrong!” She smiled winningly, and continued. “Due to the extensive droughts in Middle Earth, and the fact that Smeagol liked carrots at the time, I think the most likely fruit that would have been thrown at you would have been watermelons, because of their long-standing resistance to Prince Humperdink's rule!”

Shakespere and Hamlet both glared at her, and were about to say something threatening when Maplesyrup interrupted. “I think you're making that up, Everinne! Pancakes and waffles would have been much easier for the villagers to make and throw, so that is what they would have thrown at Shakespeare!”

The two paintings shifted their disbelieving gazes to Maplesyrup, but were interrupted yet again, this time by MP. “You're all wrong! Neither waffles nor watermelons nor carrots have the same satisfying splut that pies have, and pies can be made from absolutely anything, so obviously pies would be the firepower of choice for those enraged villagers!”

“What? How dare you! None of you have any business in this conversation!” yelled Hamlet and Shakespeare at once.

From there on in it was utter chaos. Hamlet and Shakespeare started yelling their heads off (literally, Hamlet pulled his head off, swapped it for the skull in his hand, and tried to throw it through the painting's frame into Shakespeare's painting!) at each other about something called the “Murderous Old Ladies Institute” and “Mary's Unreliable Rug-knitting so-and-so”. The Cbers watched excitedly, cheering on one or the other of the paintings, until CaptainRead spotted a bowl of fruit under the two paintings. “Food fight!” yelled Bookbug, and everyone started pelting everyone else with grapes and bananas and apples. Food flew everywhere, and it was only inevitable that –

Please excuse this interruption for the daily News On The Deck! The News On The Deck for today is that the sun has come out, the ice has melted, and the green sofa just went skidding overboard on its bright purple skates. Isn't that just wizard? And now, back to the News Below Deck!

Ahem. Let me start that sentence over again. My dear friend the fiendish typewriter just decided to be glitchy for a moment. I've talked him back to his sense, so let us proceed. It was only inevitable that something tragic would happen. An unripe cantaloupe, thrown by _____ – I'm sorry, someone just erased their name from my records. Let my try that again. A very unripe cantaloupe, hurled by _____. Oh bother, it's erased again. Well, we'll just have to continue, without knowing who this _____ is. Anyways, where was I? An extremely unripe cantaloupe, which had been thrown by _____, hurtled through the air. Everything was filmed in slow-motion, as if the security cameras knew that something dramatic was going to happen. Imagine, if you will, dramatic music in the background, as the cantaloupe, horribly, mistakenly unripe, fell, oh so slowly, towards a red-shirted CBer. Air had just enough time to scream, before there was a blinding light, a cracking sound as the cantaloupe broke open and fell to the floor, and then . . . nothing. No Air, just a cracked cantaloupe. My Emergency No-Mess Teleporters had transported Air's body to my coffin chamber.

The security cameras stopped their slow-motion and dramatic music, and the remaining CBers looked at each other nervously. An aura of suspicion swept through the room, even a small, scared Captcha holding a spoon in the corner looked like a nefarious villain brandishing their most terrible weapon. Who had thrown the cantaloupe? Why had they thrown the cantaloupe? And when would they throw the next one? Everyone dropped their fruit, and one thought raced through their minds – some not even knowing why it was there. The thought was, “Do they suspect me?”.

A cheerful, robotic voice suddenly echoed through the hallway. “Please proceed to the 500th floor for weeping and moaning lessons, and then to floor 0, for weapons mastery for the murderer. The more efficiently we get this over with, the sooner you can all go home to mourn your own deaths. If you wish to become a ghost after the cruise is over, please send a signed cheque of $500 to The Ominous, aboard the RMS Humbug. Rest In Peace, Air, Rest In Peace.” 

* * * * * * * * 

Remember, everyone, that this is just a game. You are free to begin guessing who the murderer is, but you haven't really got enough evidence yet, so just posting your view of the day is fine! Thanks for keeping this thread alive even though I took so long to write this day, and I hope its length makes up for my absence a little bit.

Danie: So, it seems like Air has been murdered... Eh, didn't know her that well anyway.

Squeak: Well, that's rude!

Danie: *holds snuggles, looking at Squeak evily* I will throw him at you, if you like.

Squeak: Okay, okay.

Danie: Actually, I'm going to throw him at you anyways. *throws snuggles at Squeak*

Squeak: *screams like a girl* AHHHHHHEEMEMEMEFLEAJ DJASLDJKFSA;LFJASSAFASFAFDLJSLKFJA;LFJLAKFJS;LJDLJSDLAJFL;JFS;LAF

Danie:...Was that really nessesary?

Squeak: *pulls snuggles off head* probably not, but I still did it... Why are you always the name, and why am I always the location?

Danie: Why did you just ask a random question?

Squeak: Why did you not answer my question that was totally random but so nessesary because I wanted to know the answer?

Danie: Why did- Okay I give up.

Squeak: Then answer!

Danie: You really want it? Fine. *turns Squeak into a unicorn*

Squeak: *neighs sadly* I don't even know how you are doing it without the machine.

Danie: Oh... You don't want to know. *giggles evily*

Squeak: Is that a raygun that is able to turn me into a unicorn?

Danie: Er... *stuffs raygun in pocket* Maybe?

Squeak: *sighs* Nevermind.

****LATER****

Danie: MOUNTAIN DEWWWWWWWW! SOLIDERS, DEFEAT THE UNWORTHY PEOPLE OF THIS SHIP!

Winter: Um, sir? Who are the unworthy people?

Danie: *sighs* The people who don't like mountain dew, of course.

Winter: Oh. FOR THE MOUNTAIN DEWWWW

Danie: HUZZAAAHHHH! WE NEED MOUNTAIN DEWWWW

Squeak: *sighs* I'm pretty sure the yells are not nessesary to throw pies at me.

Danie: Yes they are!

Squeak: why am I-

Danie: I know what you are going to ask, and you know the answer.

Squeak: Oh yeah. *in a mocking and bored voice* you are going to throw pies at me on this spinning wheel for practice.

Danie: Yes! And we need to practice yelling and arguing too! You are the prefect prisinor or war!

Squeak: Well, then, carry on. 

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*This is someone's dream, because I am apparently dead (whyyyyy! why meeeee!?!?). I don't care whose, so if you wish to claim this dream, please call 1-800-MINE. Going once, going twice... *

To Brookeira: Yes, I would be honored to accept your offer of a flash-freezing incineration funeral. If you would be so kind...? I will rest in peace knowing my remains probably went poof in a puff of steam.

To The Ominous: Do I have to send you a cheque for this dream? I better make it quick in case it's charging by the minutes.

To whoever is teaching the weeping/moaning lessons: Please do not feel obligated to weep/moan longer than 15 minutes. As Danie has observed, you did not know me that well in any case. 

To whoever threw that accursed canteloupe: WHY ME? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOUUUUUUU?????? And btw, why a canteloupe? I hate canteloupe. So orange and *shiver* deadly.

To anyone who, as Danie has observed, did not know me very well: Yes, I am a girl. No, I do not like canteloupe. And I find it funny that I was wearing a red shirt on the *ahem* day of my *ahem grrrrr* untimely, unjustified death, for the only red shirt I own reads "The boss is in". Very ironic, in my opinion. 

To Shakespeare (the painting): I do hate Hamlet. Sorry. 

To everyeone once again: Farewell, peoples! I will continue reading and evilly chuckling at every pie-in-the-face and dreadful murder. And maybe do some more dream visits. and wow, Ominous, you better not be charging by the word.

Your dearly (?) departed,

Air