I receive a call from the captain. Something about a mutiny. There is shouting in the background. I drop everything and head to the beach.

  The woman stationed at the beach access gate refuses to tell me what's going on, merely shaking her head and giving me a bemused smile.

  The white sandy beach is marred by spshes of red and the water looks like a hungry and irate shark got set loose. The ever-beached antique-style ship on the sandbar is even worse. I squelch through dilute crimson puddles and step over groaning bodies as I pick my way through the massacre within the wooden vessel's corridors. I find the captain sitting on a barrel in the corner of the cargo hold looking all too pleased with himself. Another skirmish won, another day wearing the captain's hat.

  Unlike me, he finds the fact that some clown had the "brilliant" idea to load up all the water guns with red dye "for authenticity" to be hirious. I let him know I'm not helping with the cleanup or the bill.