"...all colors," Herman Toothrot finished proudly.
His companion, not one for extended basking in the light of knowledge, snapped his fingers. "All right, I've got one for you. WHY would the love of my life name a DOG after me? A DOG!"
Zen master Toothrot turned to regard Guybrush slowly, inscrutable glassy eyes unfocused. By the time he spoke his answer aloud, Guybrush Threepwood, mighty pirate, had absconded with his remaining earthly possessions (and his parrot, for good measure), and was safely underground being taunted by a zombie with a voodoo doll.
Hm, Guybrush thought. Perhaps I should ask LeChuck.