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CAPTAIN ISABELLA "IRON FIST" FERRETTI, a woman whose glare could curdle milk, slammed a croissant onto her plate, crumbs scattering across the polished mahogany table. "Bertram," she growled, her voice as rough as the Aegean Sea in a storm, "explain to me why our resident bard, Joseph, is serenading the breakfast crowd with a rendition of 'Born in the USA' while sporting a 'Make America Great Again' hat?"
Bertram Evans, the staff manager whose perpetually furrowed brow rivaled a topographical map, dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "Well, Captain," he sighed, "Mr. Joseph has a very… unique approach to entertainment."
"Unique?" Iron Fist scoffed. "Unique is finding a black flamingo on the Lido deck. This is more like a tone-deaf bald eagle trapped in a karaoke bar!"
"There's also the matter of the missing towels incident, Captain," Bertram mumbled.
"Missing towels? He told me they were his 'authentic 82nd Airborne Division battle flags'."
"When we caught him stealing the towels he claimed he needed them for… Military exercise obstacle course in his cabin."
The Captain raised an eyebrow, a feat that rivaled raising the anchor itself. "Military exercises, Bertram? The man served nine months guarding a potato field in Kansas during the Carter administration, according to his personnel file!"
Bertram shifted uncomfortably. "There's more. His teeth seem to be undergoing a surprise farewell tour, one bridge at a time. Last night, he clogged the sink in the staff restroom with an entire porcelain crown."
A snort escaped the captain's nose. "Bertram, are you suggesting we fire the man because of… dental issues? Where's the compassion?"
"Compassion, Captain, is running thin when he uses his daughter's Facebook account to rant about… well, everything. Apparently, Europe is full of socialist sheep who need liberating."
Captain Ferretti raised an eyebrow. "Daughter? Didn't he tell me he had four kids, all serving in the Navy SEALs?"
"Captain, that might be his online persona. The daughter, his only child, is a zit faced teenager with a penchant for sparkly unicorns. There's also the phone bill issue. Apparently, the calls to his 'world famous brother' in North or South Carolina have racked up an unpaid roaming bill that rivals what he calls the #BidenNationalDebt.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Captain Iron Fist's face. "Bertram, I believe we have a solution to our little Joseph problem."
"A solution, Captain?" Bertram perked up, a glimmer of hope flickering in his normally worried eyes.
"Indeed," Isabella declared. "We dock in Palermo tomorrow. A beautiful city, full of… charm. Charm that Joseph, with his polyester patriotism and questionable hygiene, may find… irresistibly inviting."
"irresistibly inviting, you say?" Bertram repeated, a mischievous glint entering his own eyes.
"Precisely, Bertram. We'll 'accidentally' misplace his staff ID during the shore excursion. He won't be able to board without it, and with his phone bill the size of a small island nation, he won't be flying home anytime soon."
"A brilliant plan, Captain!" Bertram exclaimed, clapping his hands together with a glee he hadn't felt in weeks. "No firing, no paperwork, just a taste of European socialist bureaucracy for our… shall we say, misunderstood patriot."
Isabella Ferretti laughed, the sound like thunder rolling across the waves. "Let's just hope the good people of Palermo have a strong stomach for… Sons of Anarchy cosplay."
The Captain and the Staff Manager shared a look, a silent agreement forged in shared exasperation and a touch of cruel amusement. Joseph's days on the high seas seemed to be numbered, and the cruise staff, for the first time in weeks, looked forward to a future filled with slightly less off-key "Sweet Caroline" and a lot more peace and quiet.
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Thank you, google language model bot.
