The Sea Monkees' Castle

The Sea Monkee Castle can be found at The Sea Floor after freeing little brother from a wriggling flytrap pellet.

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It contains:

• Little Brother
• Big Brother
• Grandpa
• Grandma

Notes

• Clicking on Grandpa's window used to yield the message:

You approach the window to Grandpa's room, and hear snoring. Looks like Grandpa's taking a nap.

• Asking Grandpa about "grandma" yields:

"No, whippersnapper, I'm Grandpa Sea Monkee. Look, if you can't tell the difference, I certainly ain't the one to teach you. Don't you have parents? Or pornography?

Oh, you want to know about Grandma Sea Monkee. She was a hot little number back in the summer of '23. That was the year there was that red tide that wiped out most of my friends -- Paddywagon kept trying to eat the algae, and eventually he went plumb crazy and jumped up out of the water so high that he suffocated before he landed. Then the Festering Twins, Stinky and Not-so-stinky, well, what happened to them was a shame. It shouldn't happen to someone that young, you know? I mean, I'm old now, and I don't much care if I live or if I die, but those Festering Twins . . . well, the less said about that, the better.

So anyway, it was the summer of '23 and me and Noodly Bob -- he survived the red tide, but he always had a migraine headache after that, for the rest of his life -- me and Noodly Bob went to one of those newfangled dance halls to see if we could pick us up some women. That's where I saw her, there on the dance floor, and I thought she was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. Now, mind you, she wasn't doing the dancing you kids do nowadays, where it looks like you're trying to roll in the hay right there on the dance floor. No, she was doing the Westboro, a flapper dance, and she was flappin' like nobody's business. I scooted in and we cut a rug for a while, and after they threw us out (apparently, it was a pretty expensive rug), I introduced myself. I knew we were meant to be when she told me her name was Grandma -- it just seemed like Kismet, which is some foreign speech for "we should get to suckin' face like a couple of barrrnacles." Before too long, we got ourselves half nelsoned. Wait, what do you kids call it these days? Going steady? Right. Back then, when you loved a girl, you would get down on one knee, and she would get down on all fours, and then you'd put her in a headlock, and if she couldn't get out of the headlock in thirty seconds, then you were half nelsoned.

Ah, she was quite the spunky little spitfire, was Grandma back in those days . . .

You know, come to think of it, I haven't seen her in at least a week. She was going to go play some Bingo over to the Our Lady of Perpetual Motion Church, but those games usually only go a day or two. I sure hope those dadblasted Mer-kin didn't get a hold of her. They've been coming closer and closer to our castle, and let me tell you, I'm not prejudiced against any of God's creatures, but I've never met a Mer-Kin who wasn't a no-good good-for-nothing punk. Grandma isn't the hotsie-totsie kitten she was in the summer of '23, but I'd still hate to think what a degenerate, genetically-inferior-to-me Mer-Kin would do to her, not that I'm a racist.

Now that I think about it, I'll bet those lousy Mer-kin up and kidnapped her. They probably took her to their outpost, which is way too close to the castle -- I mean, I'm no racist, but I've got to think about my property values, you know? I just wish people would be a little more discerning about who they let move in here." (unlocks The Mer-Kin Outpost)

• Asking Grandpa about "Note" , if you have grandmas note and yarns from the Mer-Kin outpost in inventory Yields you the following and drops Grandma's map

"Yup, that note's definitely Grandma Sea Monkee's handwriting. I'd recognize it anywhere; when I used to work in the fish mines, she'd put a little handwritten note in my lunch every day. You know, stuff like, "you're a worthless bum," "I'm leaving you for the milkman," and "try not to not choke on this." Leastways, those were the kind of notes she started leaving as the years went by. I could tell she loved me and was just having a laugh, though.

Anyway, this looks to be a crochet pattern. That woman's plumb crazy when she gets her hands on some yarn. She won't rest until every single object in this house has a little sweater on it. Looks like this pattern takes two colors of yarn -- oh, you've got them right there! Well, this is definitely Grandma Sea Monkee's yarn, because these are her two favorite colors. I think she's either colorblind, or her parents were circus folk.

Here, gimme that. See, the way the pattern works is you take this bit here, and you go underneath and above and weave it through, right, and then you tie this part off, and then you start the next row -- what? I'm retired, whippersnapper, and I've got to do something while I fill the empty hours waiting to die. Anyway, all finished -- here you go."