"Ahoy, mateys! Surgeon General be shoutin’ warnings ‘bout cancer in yer grog! Drink at yer own peril, ye scallywags!”
2025-01-03
Arrr, mateys! The Surgeon General be sayin’ that ye grog oughta bear a warning—drinkin’ too much might send ye to Davy Jones’ locker with a cancer curse! So raise yer tankards, but beware the dark tidin’s o’ the rum! Avast, drink smart or face the scallywag fate!
Arrr mateys! Gather 'round, for I bring ye tidings from the Surgeon General, a scallywag of a doctor who be warnin' us about the drink that fills our tankards! Aye, it be said that the bubbly rum and fine grog we cherish so dearly might just be leadin' us to Davy Jones' locker a wee bit sooner than we thought!On the day of Friday, the good doc proclaimed that all ye hearty souls imbibin' the sweet nectar of the vine ought to be heedful. He be suggestin’ that a warning label be slapped on those devilish potions, cautionin' us about the risk of cancer. Aye, it be like puttin’ a skull and crossbones on a treasure map; it might deter a few landlubbers, but those of us with the spirit of the sea shall carry on!
So, what be the moral of this tale? While we toast to our health and sail the vast oceans, it seems we might need to ponder our pints and tankards more wisely. Raise yer glass, me hearties, but keep a weathered eye on the horizon—and perhaps a touch of caution in yer cup! For the Surgeon General be lookin' out for us, and we’d hate to meet the grim reaper at the bottom of a bottle! Arrr!