I cursed my luck again as I slid down the monkey's throat. Have my dreams of guzzling grog and plundering galleons been reduced to this?
"Three small trials and you're a pirate like us," they said. Fair enough. If only I could stomach the foul brew these scurvy seadogs swilled, the rest would be easy.
How could I have known I'd meet a powerful and beautiful woman with a jealous suitor too stupid to realize he'd been dead for years? And how can I crawl through this great stone monkey to find a man who walks three inches above the ground and sets fire to his beard every morning?
—Excerpted from "The Memoirs of Guybrush Threepwood, the Monkey Island Years."
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