By the time Guybrush meandered back
downstairs, all of the upset patrons had left, all except for Herman, Goodsoup,
and Madame Eczema (“Xima!” she hollered). Guybrush leaned against the
“I know you can’t make any Rumbusters, but what can I get to drink around
Griswold set down the glass he was polishing and rested his hands on the
“Well let me see, my boy. We’ve got the Blue Lagoon, the Scurvy Seamate,
Captain’s Cognac, Grog-Lite, Rhapsody in Mermaid, no wait, that has mangos.
And of course, near-grog for all the not quite manly pirates.” Guybrush bit
his lip. A near-grog would have really hit the spot, but pride came first.
“I guess I’ll take a Grog-Lite.”
Griswold thumped the sizzling drink down on the counter. It might have
been watered down, and missing a few ingredients, but the spilled drops still
burned through the hardwood counter. Guybrush eyed it cautiously.
“What, no festive Tiki umbrella?”
“Well, no, it’s been a busy week,” explained Goodsoup, “and the pantless
guy over there got the last full size one.” Herman was humming an old
sea faring tune, while balancing on the unfolded umbrella. Guybrush
wasn’t sure whether or not it would be safe to disturb him, but the drink
wouldn’t be any less exciting without the accessory, so…
When Guybrush regained consciousness, he found Goodsoup leaning over the bar
“Thank Heavens.” said the hotel entrepreneur. “I was afraid you were
going to die again.”
Guybrush left the hotel and wandered around towards the cemetery. Stan no
longer ran his life insurance office, instead…
“Welcome to Stan’s Previously Owned Heads! And today is your lucky day,
because we’re having a closeout sale. Everything must go. We’ve got
deals up to half off.”
Guybrush surveyed his surroundings.
“I like what you’ve down with the place. It’s actually kind of
Stan wiped an invisible speck of dust from the shelf holding the head of a dog
and a rabbit.
“Yes, well, I do what I can. But enough about me, I know you’re dying to get
your hands on this merchandise. They’re all the rage at the cocktail parties
this year. And they make great Honey-I’m-sorry-I-forgot-our-anniversary gifts.
Much more meaningful than flowers. So what can I show you today? Over here
we have our famous pirate and celebrity heads…” Guybrush allowed himself to
be propelled from shelf to shelf while Stan pitched his deal.
“Here we come to my personal favorite, the wonderfully preserved peak of that
perilous pirate, Bucktooth John!” He beamed, waiting for Guybrush’s
“Well?” he prompted.
“Well what?” asked Guybrush.
“Aren’t you the least bit overwhelmed by the magnanimity of who you’re
“I do have a slight feeling of nausea, but that could be from staring
at a shriveled head on a pedestal.”
Stan shook his head, his hands covering his face.
“My dear boy, where have you been all your life? Don’t tell me you’ve
never heard of Bucktooth John.”
“I’ve never heard of Bucktooth John.”
Stan stared in disbelief.
“Why, he’s just the first and only man to have ever found the Secret of
“Why don’t I know about this? And when did he do this anyway?” He
“Stan, that’s really gross. Besides, how do you know he found it?”
“Why, he told me of course.”
Guybrush scrutinized the head skeptically.
“Then how come he’s dead, Stan? Why don’t you know the Secret of Monkey
Island as well?”
Stan picked some assorted files from his desk, and shoved them into a crypt
drawer, stuffed to capacity with similar papers.
“He was about to tell me, but the cannibals caught up with him. That’s
why I only have the head.”
“Stan, I’m leaving. You’ve succeeded in making me ill.” Guybrush hurried
outside, thankful for the fresh night air.
“Psst….” said a voice from the shadows. Guybrush wasn’t too sure
he wanted to go behind a crypt in a semilighted area when there were threats on
his life. But this was why he carried mace.
“Hello?” he said cautiously.
“Password.” came the voice. Guybrush peered about him, unable to
discern who or where the voice came from.
“Password.” it insisted. Guybrush shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
“I don’t know the password.” he said. From the shadows stepped
the short man, one of the men of low moral fibre (pirates).
“That’s okay.” He said. “I don’t know it either. I was just hoping you
Guybrush stepped back defensively.
“I’m not looking for a fight,” he started.
“Neither am I. I actually need your help.”
“I don’t understand.” Guybrush said.
“Then don’t interrupt and I’ll explain.” Guybrush shut his mouth.
“I’m in the service of LeChuck.” Guybrush kept his mouth shut, but his
“I’ve been hired to track you down and kill you.” Guybrush’s lip began
“Frank and Joe have the same assignment.” His legs threatened to
“LeChuck has destroyed all the edible vegetation to force the cannibals into
turning you in, or eating you. LeChuck wants you, Dead, or Baked Alive.”
Guybrush’s eyes started to bulge.
“LeChuck has also taken your plush Evil Purple Tentacle ™ doll.”
Guybrush broke down.
“Not my Purple Tentacle ™! I had to eat four boxes of Toasty Puffs to get
He stopped. “But why are you telling me all of this?” Sam
shook his head, a tear submitting to gravity flinging itself off the end of his
“He took my rat.” He whispered. “You’ve got to finish him off,
once and for all. I just want the little guy back safe and sound.
And he took Frank’s pegleg, and NO ONE is brave enough to make another, for
fear of the wrath of LeChuck. And he took Joe’s last barrel of
“Isn’t that poisonous?” Guybrush asked confused.
“Yeah, but it’s the only way Joe will drink it. So now we have no
circus, no boat, no grog, no leg, and no raaat!!!” Sam sunk to the
“There, there,” comforted Guybrush. He waited. Sam still cried.
“Sam?” No response.
Guybrush wandered off towards Mt Acidophilus.
The cannibal village was surprisingly empty. No decorative platters
overloaded the tables like before. Not one lump of tofu was in sight.
Instead, spears, shields, and fondue sticks leaned against the table, as if in
preparation for an attack.
“Well this doesn’t look good.” said Guybrush. Sounds of people
talking wafted out of the Tribal Elder’s hut, and Guybrush went to
investigate. His noisy entrance into the hut caught everyone’s
attention, and they turned as one body, a very hungry one, to stare at him.
Judging by the graphs and colorful models of the island, the cannibals were in a
meeting to plan first attacking the resort, and then eating its occupants.
Hundreds of eyes bore into Guybrush. He tensed involuntarily, but that
only better defined his muscles. A few of the cannibals actually licked
“Hi.” He said weakly. “I’m selling these fine leather jackets.”
“Leather,” they murmured. Behind Guybrush, the door slammed.
“Oh monkey bladders.” he said. “I’ve done it this time.”