Sponge Drydock

Rain pattered against the glass, but a sailor needs a seaworthy craft! I marched straight up to the kitchen counter to inspect the fleet. Near the faucet, a thick yellow dish sponge sat soaked in a puddle. It had no mast, no steering, nothing! Unacceptable. I grabbed a wooden toothpick from an open shaker, clenched my teeth, and drove it straight into the porous back of that yellow block. It wobbled like a coward, so I rammed it deeper until it stood rigid. A proper mast! I hoisted a discarded paper tea tag onto the splinter, gave the hull a fierce shove toward the metal drying rack, and docked it safe from the flood.