The foxboy had had little time to utter the question before he was roughly pushed aside to make room for another stranger to crawl up through, looking frantic as his bulky frame hauled itself out and off of the ship. His face as dirty and weathered, making it hard to exactly determine his age, especially as he lurched over the side to vomit over the side of the gummi ship. The man wiped his mouth with a groan, spitting the remaining bile to follow the rest into the water.

"God Almighty, people fly in those things all the time?" He asked, looking back toward Donald and Goofy. Now that he was still, it was easier to get a look at him. His face was ruddy and dirty, probably in his mid-twenties by the look of him, his hair a messy mop of rust red and an impressive horseshoe mustache matching it. His clothing was just as worn as he was, the denim vest and jeans faded and somewhat tattered, and the red flannel shirt now looking more brown with age and dirt. He almost rolled off of the gummi ship into the sand, letting out an long sigh of relief as he felt ground underneath him again. 

"Oh...oh my God if feels good to be on the ground again. I ain't never flyin' with those lunatics again..."