I scuttled as fast as I could to the hang-out of such disreputable types as Barnacle Bill -- a run-down tavern called The Golden Doubloon almost hidden by weed-covered rocks in the slummy part of the beach.
Of course I was stopped at the door by the bouncer--a tough looking squid with a patch over one eye and several salty tattoos.
"'Ear thare, Crab! Where does ya think yer-a goin' to?" said the squid--blocking the door with all eight tentacles.
"I plan to interview my old pal Barnacle Bill, friend." I replied.
"Oh, yeah?" burbled the squid, "You and WHO ELSE?"