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To all the officers and crew of The Kreltonian Skull
Klumzel Greetings to one and all.
The festive season can be difficult for all those of us serving on active duty. We’re away from our loved ones, and we may feel we’re missing the traditional celebrations back on Andel. But here on The Skull, we have a few Klumzel traditions of our own, and this year, we hope to make the big day a memorable occasion. Indeed, we're lining up some events that will be even better than last year, and all being well, we expect the casualty rate to be lower.
The Klumzel Feast will be served in the newly refurbished cargo bay on level B three, and despite the rumors you may have heard in pod thirty-seven (and yes, I do know about the unofficial bar you have down there), there are no alien lifeforms stalking the corridors of B three, and the area has been completely stripped down and thoroughly sterilised. The place is now so clean that you could eat your dinner from the floor, and for some of you, that may well be the dining experience of choice, especially for all those who have enjoyed the traditional glass of mulled pizzle marrow sherry before the feast. Stimps tells me that this year’s batch of sherry is particularly potent, but he assures me that any loss of motor skills, vision, and/or body hair will only be temporary.
To avoid any confusion on the day, please note that the storage bays on level B three should be referred to by their official designations, and not by the light hearted alternatives that are circulating the lower decks, e.g. The Admiral Norph Memorial Suite or Meat Locker Alley, and if I find anyone altering the signs above the doors, the miscreants will be punished. While I have a reasonable tolerance for humor aboard ship, we have to draw the line somewhere, and over the last two weeks several crew members have gone missing on the lower levels because someone has been tampering with our health and safety signage. Yes, there are a lot of the new signs, and they may seem a little excessive, but they are mandatory, so the sign above the galley that reads May Contain Lethal Vegetables is there for a good reason, namely the presence of dried psychotic pumpkin cubes, so I don’t want to see that sign adorned with any more photos of the galley staff.
Moving on to the feast itself, we have decided to allocate seats according to a strict table plan this year, and Lieutenant Commander Zeb has been working hard on an algorithm that will allocate each crew member to a place, taking a number of factors into account including rank, dietary requirements, and individual pain thresholds. The crew of this ship is like one big family, so we’re expecting everyone to pitch into the inevitable fist fights with enthusiasm. Please note though, that in a longstanding tradition, the use of weapons is forbidden, at least until dessert is served.
After the feast, the traditional speeches and toasts will take place, and by common request we will be reviving the ancient Andelian custom of giving each speaker just forty-five seconds. Lieutenant Commander Dex has made sure that the speakers’ podium is in full working order, and when I checked on his progress this morning, I’ve never seem him so intent on a task as when he was oiling the hinges on that trapdoor.
I wish you all the best for Klumzel, and I look forward to raising a glass of black potato wine with you on the day.
There follows a few notes from your Chief Engineer, but I’ll sign off in the traditional way: