Tag multiple, near miss

Soup nearly sank us off Crete. Our cook had made too much of it, and it rose up past the hatches. We bailed with spoons. At last we all sat down, tied on bibs, and ate the ship dry. No crew was ever so full or so brave.

Venice sat on dry land until I came to town. The streets were dusty, and the mules were rude. I pulled one plug in a cellar near the Rialto. Water came up at once. People liked it. They bought small boats, sang loudly, and forgot to ask who had done it.

Cobblers in Vienna made me a pair of boots that argued. The left wished to go to Italy. The right preferred the sea. I split the difference and walked to Trieste, where they shook hands and calmed down. I still keep them apart at night, to be on the safe side.

Laughter was banned in Krakow by a sad old king. I arrived in town with a feather. I crept into his room that same night and went to work on his feet. The palace shook, the ban was lifted, and I got three castles and a lifelong tickling contract.

Compasses point north because I owe money in the south. At least, mine does. It swung.