(Lookin' fer the latest installement? Click here...)
It all began with this, dated July 12, Year of Our Lord 2003:
Dear Sir,
Having just perused your site I would like to express my displeasure at your perpetuation of such an outdated, stereotypical image of the pirate community. You may not be aware that there are those of us who still choose to earn our living through the ancient and noble profession of buckaneering, (as we prefer to call it) and I strongly object to the clichéd image you seek to portray.
I am a bucaneer but I do not blurt out 'Aaaaar' at every opportunity, (Actually the correct spelling is AHHHHaaaargh!; the gutteral rgh is all important and the stress is on the first syllable) but then, of course, in your arrogant disregard of the feelings of an oppressed minority, you wouldn't be interested in such grammatical niceties. I do not wear a frilly shirt, or an eye patch nor do I have a wooden leg or a hook for a hand. And my parrot - Cap'n Redbeard - sits calmly on his own perch just like anyone else's. The modern pirate often wears a tie to work (albeit a looted or pillaged one naturally)and will be just as at home in sensible brogues as a pair of knee-length buckskin fighting sea- boots.
I come from a long line of buckaneers - my father was a buckaneer, so was his father afore him and his father afore him, and so on, right back to old Black-Hearted, One-Eared Jake - the Terror of old Cadiz. And he wasn't half as bad as they said he was, by the way.
The problems facing the modern buccaneering community are many fold. Namely:
Many buccaneers now have to scratch a living by dressing up in the outdated trappings of piratism; eye patches and joke parrots - and undergo the humiliation of ferrying tourists between islands to search for 'buried treasure'. The very lubbers they would have once put to the sword or flayed before the mast without a second thought.
'Talk Like a Pirate Day,' indeed. For some of us it's a year-round struggle to makes ends meet, to evade capture and to stop people sniggering when you say "Avast behind me beauties and pull on me spinnaker!"; which is a perfectly genuine and quite vital nautical term.
So Beware! all ye ... .sorry, all you who dare to poke fun at a disadvantaged section of the community. You will face your day of reckoning. I still have Grandaddy's old plank, you know. And I'm prepared to use it.
Yours,
- Captain Sir Nigel de Pomfrit Coeur de Noir;
Houghlihan of old Cadiz.
The Saucy Trollop Tavern
Portsmouth England
Arrrr (and aye, I DO mean "Arrrr" <growl understood)
Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the mizzenmast today, didn't he? Wait a second, "Sir" Nigel de Pomfrit Coeur de Noir?" Ye wouldn't be any relation to Rolf de Pomfrit Coeur de Noir, would ye? Arrr, now I remember ye. Last time I saw ye, lad, ye were a little wisp of a boy. Are ye still mad that I stole yer father's ship and made him cry? Look, it was business! Yer father knew that!
And if ye really WERE a "buckaneer" ye would settle on a spelling of "buccaneer" and be done with it!
But let's not be cross. While I agree with yer major points in principle, yer strict "do it my way" attitude I find "off-putting" as yer grandpappy would say. The whole point of being a pirate, lad, is doing it YER OWN WAY! Be FREE of the past. Be FREE of the rules! Be flexible with the truth!
So, give us a hug and let's be friends!
Oh, and give Three-Tooth Meg at the Saucy Trollop a good bum-grope fer me!
- Cap'n Slappy
Sir,
In reply to our earlier correspondence,
Firstly me old mucker,
I have no connection with that scurvy rapscallion Rolf who dares to call himself a de Pomfrit Couer de Noir O'Houlighan. Everyone knows he was conceived on the wrong side of the hammock to a randy old goat of a worthless second cousin on me mother's side. Now he swans around the Caribbean in a shiny motor cruiser calling himself Pinkbeard the Terrifying. Hah, I've seen more terrifying things in me own breeches.
Secondly, I'll spell Buckaneer however I damn well please, damn your eyes. Don't ye know that's how they spelt it back in the 16th Century? Isn't it inscribed on old Black-Hearted Jake's own gravestone? And I quote:
Here Lies the Terror of old Cadiz;
Black-Hearted, One-Eared, Cut-throat Jake Wastrel, Gadabout, BUCKANEER, (my capitals) and Rake He could get pretty irate Even for a Pirate But he was a pretty good bloke Who liked to have his little joke If you offered him a beer He'd say: No thanks, I've got one ear. He took all of life's hard knocks But died ignominiously of the pox.
He will be sorely missed
A true de Pomfrit Couer de Noir O 'Houlighan I think you'll agree.
By the way, due to giving Three Tooth Meg a hearty grope for you I have now been unceremoniously ejected from the Saucy Trollope Tavern, thanks very much. I have now taken rooms at the Slovenly Slattern - a far less salubrious watering hole. (And after our little altercation, Meg is now down to just the one tooth by the way). Also I believe she prefers just plain Meg these days in any case. Just Plain Meg; never was a name more profoundly deserved.
p.s. Once our little difference are sorted out I agree we should be friends. I am presuming, of course, that when you say "Give us a hug" you mean a hearty, back slapping, manly sort of hug - like a couple of Viking blood brothers a-rollicking and a-roistering over a flagon of mead. If so, that's OK. But anything else would be decidedly unpiratical, even these days. If you get my drift. What I'm trying to say is: "Ye wouldn't be off sailing on the Good Ship Dorothy would ye?" as the French say. No offence intended of course. But it pays to be sure - men have tasted the crack of my whip for less.
Anyway Cap'n, they're hauling up the Jolly Roger on me old barnacle bucket across the bay so I've just got time to give Daisy the Dockside Doxy a damn good swaggling too and I'll be off with the next tide. My bumboat awaits.
HOI HUP AND AWAY!
Yours,
- Captain Sir Nigel de Pomfrit Coeur de Noir O'Houghlihan.
The Strumpet Suite
The Slovenly Slattern
Ahoy Sir Nigel, Me Newest, Bestest Ol' Chum!
First things first, I was relieved to hear that ye weren't Ol' Goat Buggerin' Rolf's lad. I thought yer writing style to be far superior to Rolf's. But then, I've known chimpanzees who wrote better than, "Ol' Pinkbeard the Terrifying." The only thing "Terrifying" about Rolf is his LIFE ... as a "cautionary tale." Now, THAT be terrifying. Let that be a lesson to ye, lad, give drinks with umbrellas in 'em a wide berth.
Now, on to yer spelling ... Good on ye, lad! Way to stick to yer guns! Ye've done or made up the research. Either way, it's absolutely brilliant and I salute ye! I think we should set our "old school vs. new school" pirate style conflict aside. If not for ourselves, we should consider the effect it has on the wee ones. Ye know, the "smaller" pirates. They look at us with their bright, hopeful eyes and hope that we can settle our differences and focus our rage, not on each other, but on our nameless rabble of potential victims.
Speaking of victims ... Sorry about Meg. When ye told me ye were staying at Saucy Trollope, I couldn't resist. When I first met her, we called her "Smiley." Then, I saw what happened when one of the lads gave her a grope. Now, thar be a wench who's not afraid to use her WHOLE FACE in a head butt. Ye have to respect that! But all the "face butting" has turned Sweet Meg into a bit of a Butt Face and the loss of teeth hasn't improved the picture. Still, she's got a great ass fer grabbin' and after a few pints of rum, she's a pretty good sport.
So give us a hug! And when I say, "give us a hug," I don't mean one of those soft, caressing, "gosh, what hair conditioner do you use, it smells divine," "let's play hide the goat" kinds of hugs, but a, "My god! Those manly men are going to kill each other with this ferocious display of aggression! Call the constable! There's an assault in the offing and someone is likely to put out an eye!" kind of hug.
Or, we could just shake hands and slap Plain Meg on the rump and be done with it.
- Cap'n Slappy
Dear old Cap'n Slappy,
I need your assistance. Last night, a terrible, terrible fight broke out aboard me ship, The Yew Anchor - and four of me crew now lay stone dead: Dastardy Dan Dagget (Sprits'l slack jammer's mate), Jack 'Jack' O'Tipperary (Mizzen top jack foremast hand lad), Wild-eyed Peg Leg McGrew (bottle washer's assistant and PR) and Norman Simpkins (not quite sure what he was doing here to be honest, he never seemed quite'one of us')
It all started after the grog ration had been passed around on the lower decks. The conversation turned to women, loose women; and also the other sort too. But mainly loose ones. Soon an argument broke out, delicate sensibilities were offended, voices were raised and finally, daggers and dirks were drawn. I tried to add my two penn'orth to the argument but this only seemed to fan the flames.
Being a wise old sea dog of many years drinking I would appreciate yer opinion so we can settle this argument once and for all before any further disembowelments occur. I don't want to be tipping any more of me crew over the side, worthless, pox-ridden, malodorous slack-a-muffins though they may be.
The questions is this: What is the difference between a Strumpet and a Trollop?
I say, a Strumpet will happily let you ******* her ******s without a second thought whilst a Trollop would ***** your ********s if you so much as ********ed her ********s. You gotta watch them Trollops.
There's others who, shall we say, "beg to differ." I've tried flogging the mutinous dogs to within an inch of their lives to emphasise my point but there's still a-rumblings and a-stirrings atween the decks.
It's all the more tragic because earlier in the day we'd reached a broad consensus on the age old Hussy/Slattern argument.
I tried soothing the crew with the wise words of me old uncle "Soft Hands" O'Houlighan:
"Remember" he used to say "There's them as'd never do nought to no-one that'd be hornswoggled if ye were to go flouncing around with yer doozy out on the bulwarks but ye can always hoist up your own petard. And no mistake."
This left them thoughtful but restive.
Desperately awaiting your wise words
Yours,
- Captain Sir Nigel etc etc.
The Yew Anchor, In the sea,
Somehere off the Azores,
I think. Not really been concentrating.
Ahoy Sir Nigel (etc., etc)!
Good to hear from ye, lad! I was saddened to hear about Dastardly Dan. He sailed with me two years ago and while he was a smelly bugger, he did the work of two men when he was properly flogged and berated. He never did, however, understand the whole Strumpet/Trollop debate, the more fool he.
Stick to your thesis on the subject! Ye know of what ye speak. Still, I might add that another difference between Strumpets and Trollops would be about three quid. It's a little-known fact, though, that the cost of a Strumpet drops dramatically if ye have had a bath in the last year.
But this is, and always will be a debate that defies the flogging and disemboweling remedy that has proven so effective in other debates over the years. To settle this once and for all, ye may have to hold a "wench-in." What ye'll need is to have some Strumpets and Trollops simply take up residence but resist the pirates' overtures until they can tell one from the other. This will take considerable self-control on the Trollops part, but if ye have some Hussy overseers, things should go smoothly.
And thanks for quoting ol' Soft Hands. He had a way with the ladies and a way with words that has left its mark on wenching, piracy as well as the philosophy department at Harvard. Brilliant!
Now, lad. Focus on the navigation and get the men off women and back on botany!
Yours,
- Cap'n Slappy
Cap'n Slappy,
Bad news I'm afraid; since me last communication me ungrateful rabble of a scurvy crew have mutinied! They marooned me on the sunny isle of Tenerife with only a barrel of rum, a goat, yesterdays paper and a few faithful followers who have remained loyal to their old captain. "Yew Anchor!" I cried, shaking me fist in heartfelt despair as the ship departed but reply came there none.
My crew list now consists of only the very dregs of the barrel-scrapings of the scrofulous, worthless and misbegotten:
Nary a one them any use to man nor beast.
Would you be knowing of any ships which may be passing the Canary Isles? I can pay well; don't I have the Queen of Spain's own diamond encrusted thong sewn into me waistcoat? Mind you, life's not all bad here, aside from me worthless scum sucking, slop bucket of a crew the beach seems to be inhabited by scantly clad maidens of easy virtue. With me rum ration, a bit of chat and few tales of derring-do on the high seas I could be soon be rogering me nights away in endless bliss. It's not as if I'd have much competition; the rest of me crew of no-good ne-er do wells are already cutting cards for the goat's favours. But first a good scrub down I think; I remember your advice - just like me old ship, I needs a good careening to get the barnacles off me bottom.
I'll keep you posted. That's if I can keep me poor old bleached bones from bein' picked clean by the buzzards. But that probably won't happen. I've already drawn up a shortlist of those to be eaten if times get tough.
- Captain Sir Nigel,
ex-captain of The Yew
Anchor, A beach, Tenerife.
footnote: *Dennis the Rapscallion - a disgraced privateer whose galleon was wrested from him in the English Channel by a boatful of girl guides out to earn a badge. Ever after earning him the nickname; Dennis The Rapscallion Whose Galleon Was Wrested From Him By A Boatful Of Girl Guides - The Big Jesse. He died in agony in 1721 after slipping on a yam.
p.s. here's a list a humorous nautical words that always gets the girlies giggling. Feel free to litter your conversation with 'em, - never fails fer me:
Bulwarks Spanker Ramrod Yam
Ahoy Me Ol' Pal, Sir Nigel!
Glad to hear from ye, even under the circumstances which may not, as yet, be dire, but certainly limit yer flexibility. As I read, I my first thought was, "save the goat!" Then, upon yer description of "Dubious John" I thought, Eat the goat, Save Dubious John! Then, when ye wrote about the "maidens" I exclaimed, "Use the Goat as a Decoy, Eat Dubious John and enjoy the hospitality of the locals!" But ye were already thar! That's what gives me such confidence in ye, lad!
Ol' Chumbucket will be by in his back-up ship, "The Montezuma's Revenge." Hopefully it will have "aired out" some by the time they reach ye. He'll be wantin' Fancy Frank Filigree to make him some doilies for the chumbuckets to add that genteel flavor to The Montezuma's Revenge, but it seems a small price to pay to rescue you and the lads from the loneliness of life on a tropical island surrounded by a bevy of local "delights."
If I run across The Yew Anchor, I will give them such a thrashing with me fists and forehead. Mind you, we will do our best not to damage her, but you know how these things go. We don't take the care of property damage prevention that the Girl Guides do. However, we're not as ruthless with our prisoners as they tend to be.
At any rate, hunker down, establish an international liaison with the flower of local womanhood and keep an eye to the horizon for The Montezuma's Revenge!
- Cap'n Slappy
Great news Cap'n,
Using all the skulduggery and underhandedness at me disposal I've found meself another ship! Me and me crew was out a-frolicking in the waves (I know it's unpiratical to frolic, especially in water, but we've been trying to cope with our predicament by thinking of it as more of a beach holiday than a marooning.) Anyway, along comes this dainty little galleon - the Scourge of the Seas, captained by a lady buccaneer by the name of Saucy Sheila the Tasty Temptress. She spots me manly torso a-sporting in the briny, gives me a wink and invites me aboard for 'flagon or two.' Out of politeness she also asks the crew too, even though we was all larking about as nature intended (all except Dubious 'John' who said he was too shy).
Well, to cut a long story short, at a signal from me we overpowered the crew - they was terrified of us when we went at 'em with tackle akimbo - and took over the ship. I take back all I said about 'em, they fought likes dogs. Battle over, I heaved that Saucy Sheila hussy over the side meself, the little tease wasn't nearly as saucy as she claimed to be in any case. I suspect she made that name up herself. I've a good mind to report her to the Pirate Trade Descriptions Board, if there is one.
I regret to report one death - 'Undesirable' Corky Hawkins (One-handed Deckhand and chronic onanist). He survived the battle but expired of unnatural causes during the night. Discretion prevents me from telling you what he was up to in his hammock when his heart finally gave out. Let's just say that our old friend 'Seaman Staines' was involved. Poor old Undesirable, I think he missed his natural home - the Yew Anchor. He was a good pirate - he always used to tell us that his mother told him he came from a long line of pirates. But I think she meant the crew of the 'Squealing Hog' who used to queue outside her door Saturday nights. We committed him to Davy Jones locker but even the sharks were turning their noses up. I mean you would wouldn't you? even if you was a mean and hungry shark.
p.s. if the Montezuma's Revenge is still on course for Tenerife ye voyage won't be completely wasted. There's a-plenty going on at the beach to keep you and your crew entertained (we took the goat with us but the local lovelies should do just as well).
Yours,
- Brave Cap'n Sir Nigel de Pomfrit Coeur de Noir O'Houghlihan,
The Scourge of the Seas,
The Atlantic Ocean,
17"08'N, 36"29'W.
Ahoy Brave, Brave Sir Nigel!
Well done, me lad! This so-called "Saucy Shiela" is no other than, Frightful Frida Fellabender from Fort Lauderdale, Florida! Or, as her few survivors have come to know her, "Venus d'Mantrap." Ye were lucky to escape that meeting with your "tackle" in tact. As a matter of fact, I am dispatching letters of your "tackle akimbo" maneuver to the Council of the Seven (major pirate captains) both singing your praise and making them aware of the effectiveness of this particular military strategy on Frightful Frida. My ships clerk, Wistful William, is taking great care to provide illustrations of the attack for those members of The Council of Seven who are reading-impaired. Willie is a sensitive fancy lad with an active imagination and a propensity at embellishment so if anyone asks you "Did you really tie them up with ... you know ... ?" I suggest ye just smile knowingly and invite the next question.
Yes, lad, ye were very fortunate to survive the skirmish, the actual crew of "The Scourge of the Seas" were found floating tackle-free on the corpse of a dead whale. Every man jack of them--dead as Bronson Pinchot's acting career.
Good news/Bad news on the fate of the Yew Anchor. First, the good news. Yer mutinous crew was found only days after marooning you and the lads. They were quickly dispatched and their testicles have been dried and sold in a Bolivian Market as "Clicky-Clunks" which, to the best of my understanding is some sort of children's toy or snack.
Now the bad news. The Yew Anchor is feared lost at sea. When Barnacle Bob Brashbottom, the Badgery Bastard of Barcelona dispatched the crew, he ordered his first mate, Rolly Rothslinger, better known as "Wrong Way Rolly," to take command and bring her safely home to port. After giving such a decisive order, Ol' Barnacle Bob took a nap for three days, when he woke up, he went up on deck for some fresh air and who should be swabbing the decks but Wrong Way Rolly. He said, "Rolly! Why aren't you on The Yew Anchor?" To which Rolly replied, "This IS The Yew Anchor." When Bill walked him over to the side of the ship and pointed out that the name on the ship was "Mad Sally's Thingy," Rolly slapped his forehead and said that he had wondered for three days who Bill had left to crew his own ship home. But this is the sort of thing you can expect from Ol' Barnacle Bill and his crew. Good fighters, bad logisticians.
So, The Yew Anchor is adrift somewhere in the Atlantic. Too bad it's not a horse, then ye could just whistle and she'd come runnin'.
Sad news about "Undesirable" Corky Hawkins. The loss is felt as if he were me own boy, which, is only a .07% possibility. He was a bad seaman and a bit of a git, but he always meant well. I can only imagine that he is stroking toward that hammock in the sky.
And don't ye worry about Ol' Chumbucket and the crew of The Montezuma's Revenge. They will just consider this an exploratory mission and give our Clerk Willie some more stories to illustrate.
Well done, lad! Set the Scourge of the Seas toward the horizon and keep me posted as to yer further adventures! Willie waits in anticipation!
- Cap'n Slappy
Ahoy Cap'n,
I'm seeking your advice. Now that I'm settled into me new ship and I've had some time for reflection I've been a-thinking about changing me name - I'm a little concerned that I don't sound villainous enough for the bloodthirsty cut throat that I am. After being on the wrong end of a mutiny I think I need a name that sounds like I'd slit their gizzards soon as look at 'em. (And I would you know). I believe they calls it re-branding. This should put a stop to any further uppityness by me crew. I was glad to hear all them scurvy dogs on the Yew Anchor came to a bad end by the way, although I've been a sitting very unpiratically with me legs crossed ever since I heard the news.
Me family tree is as gnarled, twisted and impenetrable as Old Wheezy Morgan's underbreeches and I've got a lot o' names to me name. But first off, in the interests of economy and political expediency and because nobody likes the Frenchies, I'm dropping the de Pomfrit part - the French side of the family was all a bunch of gutless, garlic-sniffing snail-suckers in any case. The Coeur de Noirs wasn't Frenchies at all - that was only an affectation on their part - they was as mongrel as you and me. But they was a cut above the O'Houlighans who was from the lower orders and no better than they should be. I believe they had only just dropped down from the trees when me great, great, great Aunt Daisy married one of 'em. (She wasn't an ancestor by the way, just a really great aunt - one o' the best).
I oughta hang on to the 'Sir' part - after all wasn't me dashing, handsome, brave forebear Cap'n Errol 'The Ladykiller' Blackheart knighted by Good Queen Bess herself? By the way, he wasn't called 'The Ladykiller' cos he ran 'em through with his broadsword (unless you're speakin' metaphorically of course, which I'm not.) Although if I was, his sword was reputed to be very broad and impressive indeed so the story goes. And he lopped off the heads of many a Frenchman with it too (now I'm back to not speakin' metaphorically, I hope you can follow this). They do say that his reputation for swordsmanship (take it any way you will) went before him and he was so handsome that the ladies would either swoon or drop 'em at the very sight of him. Either way Cap'n Errol always got his oats, him not bein' too picky whether they was awake or not. Queen Bess excepted of course - although it wasn't for want of trying on his part.
So, I've been running a few ideas up me flagpole and I would welcome your esteemed opinion on the matter.
I quite fancy 'The Crimson Scourge' but it sounds like something you'd catch in a Portsmouth Poxhouse.
What do you think?
Yours,
- Cap'n tbc
The Scourge of the Seas,
The Atlantic Ocean,
Ahoy Sir Nigel (a fine name for friends and friendship's sake)
I have been musing over this missive and have attempted to ascertain an appropriate alias through aliteration. I asked myself, what "N" word could convey Sir Nigel's deadly nature and act as surrogate for his many surnames? Then, it struck me, like a belaying pin from Blind Bob's aerobic juggling act.
<piratical fanfare
Sir Nigel Nightshade! Always present, deadly potent and well nigh impossible to destroy! (Ask any gardener!) And it leaves the ladies with this humorous pun, "Sir Nigel Nightshag!"
But while the Cap'n Slappy site is having technical difficulties, here's what we'll do. Let's have a contest! You will be the judge. I am soliciting Names for Sir Nigel! Just send your name suggestions and why you think it would be a good name and I will compile what I think are some of the best and post them on this site. From there, Sir Nigel can pick his own pirate name.
Arrr! I love a good contest!
Just click the Cap'n Slappy icon on our "contact us" page and write, "Names for Sir Nigel" in the subject line.
Remember, Cap'n Slappy maintains a strict editorial control, so if ye send any "stupid" names, the least that will happen is that it will go in me trash bin.
Keeps those e-mails comin' and we will push our server to get us back on line a soon as possible.
- Cap'n Slappy
Which prompted the following exchange:
Dear Cap'n,
Sir Nigel ran away. Bravely ran away, away. When evil reared it's ugly head, he simply turned his tail and fled. Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Nigel ...
I think he should be called Naughty Nigel the Nimble Knight of Nantucket or "Nimbles" for short.
- Saucy Wench
Ahoy my Little Saucy d'Wench,
Sometimes those seemingly swishified names like "Nimbles" can be made Pirate Chic on a strapping lad like our Nigel. I am sure that he would take issue with your Pythonesque allusion but the "Nimble Knight" raises more questions than it answers ... How DO you "know" Sir Nigel, exactly???
- Cap'n Slappy
Dear Cap'n Slappy,
I know "Sir" Nigel from a naughty night of niggling. 'Nuff said.
Naughty, naughty Nigel!
- Wenchy
Dear Wenchy,
'Nuff said, indeed. Unless you have some etchings you'd like to share .
- Cap'n Slappy
Enter Cap'n Maximilian and "friends" ...
Ahoy! Permission to Come Aboard!
Cap’n Slappy, you know full well that the sea is a giver o’ many a wond’rous thing, by thunder. Mesself an’ me “Brethren of the Coast” comrades became recipients o’ one o’ these gifts a mere fortnight ago.
We had been mere buccaneers, lying in wait on the coast with long boats waitin’ fer some poor bloke to come sailin’ in too close, and then, by Lord we’d take the lot. Imagine our surprise an’ wonderment when ‘round the point of our humble island, comes a full three masted galleon , a shimmerin’ in the moonlight.
“To arms, you scum”, I shouted to my inebriated brethren who were enjoyin’ too much the company of the herd of goats we had just captured. Well, me hearty, we lit the torches, and come up upon her, an’ blow me down, there was not a soul livin’ upon her decks.
I called for a light o’er the side so’s I could make out the name of this fine vessel. By thunder, it be the old “Yew Anchor” missing since old Barnacle Bob lost her at sea after that unfortunate mutiny! With Brave Captain Sir Nigel’s Jolly Roger still run up, no less! By God, what fortune! Well, we packed our belongings and set sail forthwith.
Now, the crew havin’ elected me Captain, I’m ready to scour the seas in search of booty. We are few but brave; my first mate, Passy Fist, my Boson, Jacque LePlank, our moral leader, and Chaplain, Captain Salty Pete, our cabin boy Samuel Morgan, and our master gunner, Andrew D. Jonas.
I most humbly ask the permission of Brave Sir Nigel to rechristen the “Yew Anchor” as the “Maynard’s Comeuppance” (Lieutenant Maynard being the scalawag what killed Blackbeard), and in respect fer his brilliant career o' piracy on board her decks, we ask also to keep his glorious colors fluttering o’er our mast.
We mean no disrespect takin’ the old “Yew”, on the contrary! We are desperate fer a ship, and any smalltime buccaneer knows there was none finer to set sail than the “Yew”. We formally submit our request to the Council, Sir Nigel, and you Cap’n, to set sail. I look fo’ward to a career o’ me own, and if I ever come upon the “Montezuma’s Revenge” or Sir Nigel’s “Scourge Of the Seas”, the long nines will be fired in salute, and I don’t mean the cannon. Arr! Death to mutineers, says I!
Most Humbly, I Thankee,
- Captain Maximilian Danforth De LaFarce
Ahoy Captain Max!
I am posting this on your behalf and that of the council. We will await Sir Nigel's thoughts on the matter, though what you state sounds as though it safely falls into the "salvage" rules of seafaring.
Sir Nigel, what say ye?
- Cap'n Slappy
(on behalf of the Council of Seven)
"Cap'n" Slappy,
I take pen in hand to warn you of your impending doom. You, sir, and your riotous, murderous, rapist band of miscreants have a date with the hangman, and I, by God, shall see it come to pass.
Since the hospitalization of Admiral Wobblebottom, myself and some comrades have split command of the Fleet. Your days of seafaring in search of valuable booty and wenches, and drinking rum and grog shall cease henceforth. His Majesty's fleet lies in wait, and is scouring every inch of ocean in search of ships like Montezuma's Revenge and the likes of you, Captain Chumbucket, Sir Nigel, that joke of a buccaneer Captain De LaFarce, and the rest of you rapscallions. You all shall swing from the highest yard in the fleet, which belongs to my flagship, Warrant.
The cannon are loaded, and you, sir, are their primary target. I shall, by the graces, see an ocean that does not bear the scourge of piracy.
- Commodore Sir Oliver Whitmore Jansen II
Of His Majesty's Frigate "Warrant"Ahoy! Sir Oily of His Majesty's Tub, "War Rant"
Now this be a sight gag so stay with me:
Picture me fumbling with a fake tie and getting all weepy faced and then hear me say, "Oh, Olly! Whatever are we going to do?"
And imagine Ol' Chumbucket's surprise when you made him a "Cap'n!" He was wondering if he would get an extra helping of squid with that!
Your name DOES ring a bell, though. Are you the same "Oliver Witmore Jansen II" who soiled himself during the Battle of Bacon Beach (which was not so much a battle as an accidental cannon discharge that killed an unfortunate pig that had wandered onto a stretch of beach near St. Kitts)? Yes, I think that's right! The other lads at the Naval Academy and I started calling your "Midshitman Brownbritches."
Good to hear from you, lad! How have those sphincter exercises been going?
As for this "date with the hangman," it has been so long since Ol' Cap'n Slappy has been on ANY kind of date, I am at a loss as to what to wear. Well, the least I can do is polish me hook.
When you're done giving Ol' Wobblebottom a nose enema, come and find me. But make sure you bring an extra pair of clean trousers.
Yours,
- Cap'n Slappy
The Festering Boil, Tortugas
Cap'n,
Ye may have no fear of Commodore Jansen II, Cap'n. Hmph! The only second he be is the second bastard child I left in Port Royal with a certian lady plying her avocation, as it were. Aye, Cap'n, you must remember ol' Sally Leechbottom! Anyhoo, he must seem to have trouble with me no payin' his ruddy child support and ran off and got hisself a commission. Seems His Majesty's Navy'll let any bastardly salt in now. You did remember him from the old Bacon Beach incident, by thunder! Have no fear, Cap'n, I'm making it a special errand of mine to send this whelp to the bottom. The Maynard's Comeuppance is sailing from Charels Town tomorrow, and we'll come home with our ship or on it. Wait, blast it, that's not how it goes. Arr ... . Avast!
Most Humbly, I thankee,
- Captain Maximilian Danforth De LaFarce
Ahoy Cap'n Max!
Ye were bred to be a Spartan, ye old Salt! But since he be blood, be sure to send the "Commode Door" to Davy Jones' Locker nice and gentle! I did notice that the boy had yer nose, but unfortunately, he also had his mother's child-bearing hips.
As fer ol' Sally Leechbottom and her hips-o-pleny, I do remember her. The lads and I used to call her "The Pirate's Dream" as she was always eager, inexpensive and perpetually three months "with child ... .someone else's child." She was a good lass and had a great sense of humor. And I was told that she still has her tooth! Now that shows me some real determination ... on the part of the tooth.
Slap the lads on their backs for me! Happy Hunting!
- Cap'n Slappy
Ahoy me old chum,
Aha, so ye thought I was dead did ye? No? Well anyway, me and me crew has been taking a well earned pirate break. We was holidaying at Club Pirate on the uncharted island hideaway of Piratia, in the Piratagos isles, which are 'somewhere in the Caribbean', as you well know. Consequently, I was temporarily incommunicado, as they say in the Antipodes.
We had a fine old time, thanks for asking. I passed me days swinging in a beach hammock, sipping the local coconut and rum-based beverage and reading a fascinating book called 'How to make Lovely Doilies and Decorate Nice Cakes.' Ahharr - only jokin' - it was actually called 'How to slit people from gizzard to navel without so much as a twinge of conscience - then laugh about it afterwards' by Captain Jake 'No friends' Dunwoody.
Oh and I came across another interesting book: 'Me and My Steinway - How to get about when one of yer legs is solid mahogany' by Piano-leg Blakey. I'll lend it you if you like, I believe you only has the one. I know old Piano-leg is notoriously touchy about his legs - "Don't call me 'one-legged' he insists, "I has TWO - but only one of 'em is real." He was as happy as a lark when he found that old piano leg and jigged about about as nimble as a ship's cat (once he remembered to take the friggin' wheel off it).
Listen - about me name, I know I said I'd leave the choice of me new name in your capable pirate hands, or should I say hand, but I've decided to make an executive captain's decision and call meself Captain Sir Nigel Blackheart. There. It contains all the necessary elements - I'm the Captain of a ship, a knight of the realm and me heart is as black as a lump of coal down the bottom of the deepest mineshaft at midnight on the 21st of December. What has been put there by a blind man also. In the middle of a power cut.
See you anon,
- Captain Sir Nigel Blackheart
The Scourge of the Seas,
somewhere in the Caribbean
Ahoy Sir Nigel Blackheart! (Well-chosen, Lad!)
Arrr. I love Piratia in late summer. Is Blind Bess Badong-ka-botty still serving up her "Split Hairy Balls on the Beach?" Sure, it's a fancy-lad drink, but it will knock out a race horse and teach a flounder to speak Chinese! Ye probably missed the Victorian Ladies Volleyballfest in July, but trust me, it be a slug-fest o' loveliness and thar be little in the way of "Ladies" (Victorian, Edwardian or Other) or "Real Volleyball" but it certainly is a "fest" in every sense of the word. Lots of bouncing, and I likes the bouncing.
By the by, I enjoyed your summer reading list. I know that ol' bastard, Jake Dunwoody, and while there are myriad reasons the man has no friends, my complaint is with his book. Oh, his slitting technique is very professional, top drawer to be sure, but his laugh afterward is so forced it sounds like he spent time taking laughing lessons on Drury Lane. There is no internal malice or joy in his laugh. No honest glee. But he can take a beating, and ye have to respect the man for that, however unlikable he may be.
I look forward to reading "Me and My Steinway" by Piano-leg Blakey. Have you read, "The Chairbum of the Boards" by Jules "I've got a chair for a bottom" Ringlets? He was a pirate who met with misfortune while bending over in front of his cannon. While his arse was completely blown off, he still had working legs, so he had a stool attached to his posterior, which makes walking a bit tiring, but he can always have a sit-down when he needs it.
Well, Sir Nigel, I've got a full day of flogging and pillaging ahead of me. Give me regards to the lads and if ye see Blind Bess, give her a grope fer me.
- Cap'n Slappy
Dear Capn' Slappy,
Well, it's a funny old world Cap'n and no mistake - remember I told you about Dubious 'John' me curiously curvaceous ship's cook? Well it turns he isn't a bloke after all! - he's really a .... wait for it ..... A WOMAN! and not a bad lookin' one either once 'e puts a nice frock on. It all came to light when 'e fell overboard and what with me being short of crew, I reluctantly dives in to haul 'im out. Back in me cabin, whilst pouring a half pint o' medicinal brandy down his throat, I noticed that his clothing had become disturbingly transparent and was clinging most provocatively to the contours of...... well I'll spare your blushes and draw a discreet veil over the rest of that episode if you don't mind. Lets just say me grateful shipmate's core temperature is now back to what it should be and Not-so-dubious Joanne is has been installed as Captain's 'first mate'. So that's brightened up me day a bit. I've asked Fancy Frank Filigree to make her something nice, I knew a ship's lace maker would come in handy one day.
A word to the wise - it might be worth your while to have a quick check of your own crew to see if there's any ladies a-hiding amongst 'em - they can be pretty cunning, those ladies. Wheedling 'em out might save you some red faces later on - what I means is, if any of yer crew are the sort that likes to go prancing around comparing bum boils or who's got the most pungent case of the clap - that sort of thing. I'll leave it up to you how you goes about this task - you might have to be a bit more subtle than just giving the order 'Tackle Out!' - perhaps a dip in the briny might flush 'em out or tell 'em you're practising the new 'tackle akimbo' manoeuvre. But be careful not to overdo it - you don't want to get a reputation as 'That Sort of Ship'.
On the subject of ladies, whilst stopping off in Jamaica I happened to kidnap the Governor's daughter. I don't suppose you knows the going rate for Governor's daughters these days? its been a while since I ransomed one. Poxy Pete has since told me that the bottom had dropped out of the Governor's daughter market so it looks like I might be stuck with her. She's a bit of a skinny, plain old thing unfortunately - Poxy Pete said he thought she looked a bit like Olivia de Havilland but that's just wishful thinkin' on his part. She'd only look like Olivia de Havilland if you was to put her in a longboat and tow her half a league astern at twilight and was lookin' through the wrong end of a telescope after having first drained half a barrel of rum. And it was getting on to be quite foggy at that point, also. Nope, long gone are the days when Governor's daughters looked like Olivia de Havilland - but I think she might take to the pirate life if the old Governor won't pay up. Unless you wants to take her off me hands? - see if the market picks up later? I'll give you a good price.
p.s. Regarding your pal with the wooden posterior, I know fella called Fatty Dobson who can work wonders with a bit of canvas and leather - he did a lovely job constructing a lifesize sheep for the crew to practice their gymnastics on. I sure he'd make old Jules "I've got a chair for a bottom" Ringlets a soft new behind. Only trouble is I suppose, below decks, would the combination of an inevitable new nickname and some supple, malleable, calfskin upholstery change his life for the better? By the way, what happened to all the great pirate nicknames eh? Fatty Dobson indeed.
Excuse me now - I has to go and purge the old scuppers.
- Captain Sir Nigel Blackheart
The Scourge of the Seas,
still somewhere in the Caribbean
Ahoy Again, Sir Nigel!
Not a bit surprised to hear that ol' Dubious John/Joanne. In me early days of pirate life, we had a lad named Hansel who made half me crew think they'd gone all fancy on themselves. One day, I found young Hansel dancing nekkid on the poopdeck in the moonlight. A small group of the lads had gathered and our Hansel seemed to be unaware of his growing audience. Then, with a flourish, he turned and as he turned he turned into a "she." The lads were so relieved they let out more of a sigh than a cheer. Then, they went right back to Kevin the sheep.
I, on the other hand, married the beautiful tall blonde - Gretel was her name - and we had many exciting adventures together until the fateful day I made notice of her Adam's apple. All of a sudden the pieces fell into place; the many times she groped a barmaid's arse and called her "Liebchen," her obsession with sports of all kinds, her fondness for apple strudel but her inability to bake it, her towering air of superiority and unmitigated arrogance. Truly, there was no other conclusion to come to but that she was, in fact, or at least had been ... German. Well, I was having none of it, I tell you and I dropped her off on an island of marooned trans-sexuals called Nopen Island. Which is better known to those in the specialty amusement park industry as "No Penis Land." Oddly enough, she kissed me and thanked me as she walked down the gang plank to meet her new isle mates.
Since then, every crew member gets the "Mad Sally" treatment. Before signing on, each man must submit to Mad Sally smelling his neck. She has a way of sniffing out a pretender and can tell as she breathes in the natural musk of a person's neck which gender they might be. Ye should see her work, Sir Nigel, first, she wipes her face with a dead cat to "clear the smeller" as she puts it, then, she does this sort of stomping jig, in front of her subject. Once this ritual is complete, she moves in close and begins to delicately "breathe in" the neck of the would-be pirate. Then, suddenly, she grips the groin of the unsuspecting soul and gives it a good hard squeeze. Then she yells, "Franks and Beans! Franks and Beans! Whistle or loose it, Nimrod!" Then, a team of men pry her loose from the poor lad and off he goes to the ship and back she goes to, wherever it is she goes when she is not crushing genitalia with her bare hands.
When she does find a woman trying to sneak on board, she simply turns away and says, "No Franks and Beans for Ol' Sally. Poor Sally, won't somebody buy her a whiskey?" Then, she hits herself in the head seven times with the dead cat while singing, "Oops, Me Dingle Dangle Didn't Do the Deed!"
Otherwise, thanks for the offer of the Governor's Daughter, but I got out of that racquet while the getting was still good. I knew that the market was going south when I saw a Governor's Daughter in Louisiana with a sign around her neck that read, "Will Be Kidnapped and Ransomed for Food." Ol' Chumbucket said they were selling Governor's Daughters by the six pack down at Barnacle Bob's Day and Night Bodega. Truly, these are hard economic times. Still, we have our looting, pillaging and the odd treasure map, so I'm not one to complain.
Thanks for the offer of Fatty Dobson's services. I think I have a lamp he made out of tanned pirate hunter skins. Very nice work. Unfortunately, six months after finishing his book, Jules "I've got a chair for a bottom" Ringlets succumbed to carnivorous termites. What "mad cow" is to the cattle industry, termites that go carnivorous are to wooden prosthetic users - like myself. Still, this can all be avoided if one keeps a daily hygiene regimen that includes several coats of varnish.
Well, lad, I best be about me business. I have got to visit the carver and get in me new masthead order for The Festering Boil. Thanks to yer letter, I'm having him carve the likeness of Olivia de Havilland giving "the finger" to the horizon. What do ye think? (And frankly, Olivia de Havilland didn't even look like Olivia de Havilland.)
- Cap'n Slappy
Cap'n,
Sorry to hear that old Jules "I've got a chair for a bottom" Ringlets has kicked the bucket. I'm sure he was a sad loss to yer crew. Although .... given his deeply unlikely and impractical choice of prosthetical posteriory attachments, I has to confess I had me doubts as to whether he was even a real person at all or just a made up figment of yer wicked, deranged imagination. I suspect you was just pulling me plonker and he was no more genuine than Willie-Boy "My brain is a large Rhode Island Chicken" Doolittle or Yehudi "Look, I've got a 24 pounder carronade for a p*n*s" Fotheringay. Of course, if he did exist then please accept my apologies and pass on my profound commiserations and the name of a good termite exterminator to his poor widow.
I'm also a little bamboozled by your assertion that Olivia de Havilland doesn't look like Olivia de Havilland. Surely if Olivia de Havilland doesn't look like Olivia de Havilland, then who does? Not Knock-kneed Wheezy Morgan that's for sure, nor the ship's goat. And if nobody looks like her, not even her, how are ye going to carve her likeness on your topmast? Eh? You must be thinking of that other one - the one with the long hair.
I'll be a-heading Nor'-Nor'west now, if anyone asks.
Yours, not a man to be trifled with,
- Captain Sir Nigel Blackheart
The Scourge of the Seas,
heading NNW now.
Ahoy Sir Nigel,
Now see here, lad! Willie-Boy "My brain is a large Rhode Island Chicken" Doolittle or Yehudi "Look, I've got a 24 pounder carronade for a p*n*s" Fotheringay are as real as me good friends, the always entertaining Clive "Thar be a Punch and Judy Puppet Show in me belly instead of me Intestines" Nyquist and Chuckie "Yes, my chin is a ticker-tape of useful information" Instructionbooklet. These were Titans, lad. And when the last of their kind - Jules - left, the good Lord broke the rather flexible mold and we are the poorer for it.
But if ye need more proof, here be a little haiku that Jule's lovely wife, Suki "I've got a spittoon for a left breast" Yamahashi-Ringlets, wrote on the occasion of his burial at sea.
I see you sit there
"Get me a tankard of ale!"
Get it yerself, Gimp.
I tell ye, Sir Nigel, thar whar not a dry eye to be found aboard The Festering Boil at that moment. As the lads moved past Jules' body, seated on the port side and weighted with two cannonballs, they gave Suki a hug and a tobacco-juice-spit in her left breast - every man-jack of 'em! If that's not respect, Lad, I don't know what be!
As for good Olivia de Havilland likeness, me own personal carver, Blind Billy Meier, is using his interpretive skills to create a likeness of Olivia de Havilland that will look even MORE like Olivia de Havilland than Olivia de Havilland on her best, most accurate Olivia de Havilland-looking day. He is spending a week with the world famous Olivia de Havilland look-alike, Maggie McCorkle, and says he should have the project done by December.
So, thar ye be, my young friend. Answers to yer question, as advertised! Continue on yer NNW course and may ye find a few characters as colorful as all the dead ones I have known.
- Cap'n Slappy
Ahoy there, Cap'n Slappy!
Seein' as you give such good advice and all, I be havin' a question for ye...
A bunch o' us office wenches be gettin' tired of pushing paper at a non-profit (aye, a NON-PROFIT, shiver me timbers) and decided to declare ourselves FOR-PROFIT and go a-piratin'. (We tried for a letter of marque, but our blasted ED wasn't having any unless we wrote a grant for it, so I s'pose it must be mutiny. Sad, it is, for she were a right fine ED, apart from her scruples.) We've got the guts, we've got the blousy shirts ... one of us even got a hat. Aye, we're a fine lot, chesty, lusty, and foul-mouthed to boot!
Only problem is, it's dead hard to commandeer a ship in a land-locked valley. So, here's me question - how can we go about puttin' masts atop our building? We figure we'll caulk her with Wite-Out, grease the bottom of the foundation with Palm-Olive from the kitchen so she'll slide easy over the ground, and set sail for the Pacific. Oh, we'll have to tack against the wind to do it, bein' inland and all, but once we've got masts, I'd call our problem solved. Ye've got to admit, it's a right fearless plan. What do you say to it?
Thank ye, Cap'n, yer the star we steer by!
- Cracked Carrie, Terror o' the...er...well, 'o the Valley. For now.
Ahoy Me Proud Beauties!
Ye sound like the kinds of lasses I'd take to sea and no two ways about it! "Chesty?" "Lusty?" "Foul-mouthed to boot?" Sweet Neptune's Britches, Wench! Ye make me miss me sainted departed Granny McCafferty! But let me save that line of thought fer me analyst.
Let's take a calm look at yer goals;
Problem: Ye haven't a boat. Solution: Turn yer building into a boat.
Problem: It's a building and it's clearly anchored to the land...in a valley...with a woman who wants to write grants. All of the Palm-Olive in the world wouldn't provide enough glide distribution to facilitate wholesale relocation. Hell, Love, there isn't enough Weasel Grease to do it, either. Solution: Make your ED write a grant for a boat. Tell her it will "Improve Productivity" and "Address Longstanding Safety Concerns Thus Mitigating Rising Liability Costs" (Don't worry that it doesn't make sense ... if it is a Federal Grant it is best that it doesn't make any sense whatsoever)
Problem: But ye really want the Building/Boat Plan to work! Solution: Steal the blueprints for the building and have a bona fide ship builder build you a ship to those specifications. When your ED asks why the building is "tossing and sloshing" tell her, "It's an earthquake. How's that grant for new blousy shirts coming?"
Problem: Thar be so many of you and only the one Cap'n Slappy. Solution: Take turns. Work in teams of two or three. Work in rotating shifts. Problem: Cap'n Slappy says, "Oh, lasses, it's not necessary. I do it for the love of helping others. Solution: Ignore Cap'n Slappy when he talks like that and have the ED woman write a grant to make sure that Cap'n Slappy lives in style for the rest of his natural (and unnatural) days.
But seriously, no "thanks" is necessary. Cap'n Slappy does it for the love of helping others.- Cap'n Slappy
Great News, Cap'n!
When, I tell ye the gory details of the savage battle fought, ye won't believe yer ears! About a fortnight ago, we recieved word through the usual channels (Scurvy Mae's House o' Pleasure) that me bastard kin Commodore Sir Oliver Whitmore Jansen's tub "Warrant" was floatin' offa the shore of Portobello. Well we hoist on high the mizzenmast and colors, and run out the sweeps to make time, and in three day's time we make it from Tortuga across the Spanish Main. We come up on her at dark, the moon undercover of clouds, and when surprise is right in me grasp, Billy "Leaky Nose" Houghinton lets out a mighty sneeze! Arrr!!! The "Warrant" broadsides me ship, and we break off, with holes in our side the size of Jamaica! I had to watch, held in the arms o' me first mate Passy Fist, as the "Maynard's Comeuppance", the old "Yew Anchor" merged with the infinate in Davy Jones' locker.
Bound fer revenge, with me blood up an' boilin', I let an old buccaneer style raid. But this time, we be givin no quarter. We shanghai'd a few o' the local women from a house, but mind ye not one o' the expensive ones, I refer to the kind that even a respectable sailor stays away from. Well we put hankerchiefs around our mouths, fer the stench of the syphlis was more'n we could bear. We put 'em in the long johns, and row out to the "Warrant" under cover of darkness. While all his Majesty's men are right good and drunk, gloatin' over their victory the night before, we throw on grapp'lin hooks, and hoist the infect'ous ladies aboard.
Now a man like the Commodore, I reconed, will be require'in a certain amount of celibacy while on the hunt, and I figgured his men would be randy as a rabbit in heat, and by thunder, I was right! There was debauchery and sin on those decks that caused even this old salt to blush! By nightfall the next day, them lads had more vernereal diseases than we got names fer! The scabies finally caused em all to abandon ship, and even that rats in the bilges got crabs.
Well, me hearty, the last we saw of old "Oly Jansen", he was rowin' fer London, bein' given chase by some ghonorrea ridden flying fish. Well, me bucko, after beaching the "Warrant", repairing her, and most importantly, fumigatin' her from all the legions of diseases livin on her, we stoke the British colors, hoisted the Jolly Roger, and renamed her "The Clap".
I hope ye approve.
Most Humbly, I Thankee,
- Captian Maximilian Danforth DeLa Farce
On the shores of Portobello, VenezuelaAhoy Cap'n Max!
Good on ye, Lad! And a nice use of the Trojan Horse technique. (Beware of wenches makin' a ship call in the middle o' the night). I calls that the "weapon of mass infection."
And let this be a lesson to ye newer pirates. Study yer military engagements. But don't be like Mad Mickey McBladder who read up on the Punic Wars and tried to load five hundred elephants onto his sloop. Oh, the elephants could swim, but most of his lads couldn't. From that day forward, his Jolly Roger showed an elephant dog paddlin' the Thames with a belayin' pin in his trunk. Not so much fierce as "distracting."
While I was saddened to hear about the Yew Anchor, I am glad that The Warrant has a new skipper and a new name. As fer yer Uncle Bumpy, I hope he gets up-ended by a swimming elephant.- Cap'n Slappy
Good day to ye.
I remember ye mentioned that you're the responsible sort that regularly varnishes yer pretend leg. Well some o' the peg legs amongst me own crew asked me to pass on a little tip - they always says that pirate leg varnish also works on the insides too. They swears by half a tot of varnish mixed with a tincture of best rum with a splash of Old Mother McWhirter's Preparatory Purgative Potion. They do say that, as well as promoting feelings of rapture, giddiness and lightness of being, it flushes out yer vitals like nobody's business and expedites expedient exitary expulsions like roundshot from an 18 pounder.
I can testify that it works - we used to have to cover our ears at the strainings of old Wheezy Morgan before he started taking it. The poor tortured old sod sounded like he was giving birth to a walrus - but now its more like the jolly tipping of a hogshead of raw liver into a jacuzzi and he's happy as a lark. Hope ye don't mind me frankness but as the old pirate saying goes:
Keep yerself regular then happy, gay and wealthy ye shall be, Sit there bunged up like an old cow in calf whilst a heavily laden Spanish treasure galleon sails merrily past unchallenged, And die a poor man - uncomfortable and alone.
Wise words and as true today as when they was first uttered a long time ago.
By the way, I think its only fair to tell ye, I once had me wicked way with that world famous Olivia de Havilland look-alike, Maggie McCorkle , so I considers meself something of an authority on the matter, having seen her from, if you'll excuse my French, a number of different perspectives. Despite her dressing up as Maid Marion, I still say she looks a lot more like Joan Fontaine than Olivia de Havilland. Still, good luck with yer carvings, they're both tasty wenches.
I was thinking of getting a new figurehead meself for the Scourge o' the Seas, I thought perhaps Ruby Keeler - that old one of Don Ameche is looking a little weatherworn. However, after reading some o' the ravings and fanoodlings of ye befuddled correspondents, I wonder if any of yer new chesty, lusty, foul-mouthed pirate-wench pals might want to come aboard and model for me new figurehead instead? They'd make an old sea-dog more than happy. All they has to do is sit still for a bit, draped in finery, whilst I goes to work with me chisel, after that, the rest of the day's their own. The only condition is they has to be more chesty, lusty and foul-mouthed than Ruby Keeler, I don't let just anybody onto me bowsprit.
Yours fanoodlingly,
- Captain Sir Nigel Blackheart
The Scourge of the Seas,
currently becalmed and hanging about, at a loose end. not much going on. These
bulwarks could do with a coat of paint
Ahoy Sir Nigel!
I've been drinking Old Mother McWhirter's Preparatory Purgative Potion for years, but always "neat" and at slightly below room temperature. And I, for one, am as regular as a German clockmaker who makes exactly seven clocks a day, opens his shop at seven in the morning and closes it precisely at seven in the evening then, does seven rounds of "Ach Du Lieber Augustine" with his seven daughters - all named "Gretchen" - while drinking seven pints of Old Mother McWhirter's Preparatory Purgative Potion. Yes, me young friend. I be THAT regular.
Still, I'm always on the lookout for a new elixir of longevity and I think yours may just do the trick if I mix a little black powder into it.
Arrr, Cap'n Slappy DOES have a "thing" for Joan Fontaine. A comely lass, that Joan Fontaine If ye are up to doing any Joan Fontaine carvings, I know just the lad who would love to have a Joan Fontaine figurehead. That's right, our own Ol' Chumbucket. He had a birthday this year, and I didn't get him anything...a Joan Fontaine figurehead would do him right. Also, our Webwench Jezebel called "dibs" on any discarded Don Ameche figureheads, weathered or no. (By the by, if ye didn't discover it, our Jezebel put a little added treat on our last "Olivia de Havilland" exchange on the website - just run a mouse over her names and see where they go)
I think ye ought to get to know me "chesty, lusty and foul-mouthed wenches" and see if they stack <pirate chortle up against yer precious Ruby Keeler...although, she be a tough act to follow.
But seriously, Sir Nigel, if ye don't get an adventure soon, yer going to have the Scourge of the Seas ship-shape and that will mean a lot of pressure for the rest of us. We'll start coining a new pirate phrase..."Keeping up with the Blackhearts!"
Yours for a "lived in" piratical look,
[At which point we ran a poll, asking our loyal fans to help choose a new figurehead for The Scourge of the Seas ... and prompting the following missive from Cracked Carrie:.]
Ah, now, Cap'n Slappy,
Thank ye so much for yer thoughty advice on us takin' our building to sea. Yer right, there be several problems w'the idea of transformin' our place o' business into a ship. For one, the Wite-Out's shaping up to be damned bad caulking. If we ever got to sea, we'd have to name our buildin' "The Leaky Budget." And we'd have ter name her fast, afore she took on water and hit bottom so hard that what were left with resembled the Alta California economy.
("The Leaky Budget." Hmm. Come to think on't...that weren't such a bad name...hold on while I write me a note...just a moment ...there.)
So, yer idea of the grant for a ship t'weren't a bad one, Cap'n, but you and I both know gettin' money from the government's harder'n squeezin' sweet delight from an old sailor's... well, we can just leave it at that. So, we chesty, lusty, foul-mouthed ladies had to figure a new scheme to win us a ship. (We discussed a few, one of 'em involving three young men, a tub of kippered fish, a knothole and a schnauzer, but that be beside the point...)
But then, in the midst of our travails, came rumour that the dreaded Sir Nigel Blackheart, Cap'n of the Scourge o' the Seas be lustin' (and I means this literally) for a new figurehead to adorn the salt-encrusted spot where once Dom Ameche clung fer dear life. And (rumour says), Sir Nigel thinks perhaps me 'n' me wenches be just the ones to grace his bowsprit--but ONLY if we be as chesty and lusty (not to mention as foul-mouthed) as ole Ruby Keeler.
Ruby Keeler? That tap-dancin' wee thing? We be four times the woman she were (seein' as there's four of us), and more than that of the woman she IS. And if you don't believe me, march yerself out to her grave, dig her up, prop her up on the poopdeck, and arrange me 'n' me wenches beside her:
Now, who be the chestier?
We're so chesty, Sir Nigel can stuff all his swag inside and there still be room for most of Tortuga.
Lusty?
We be so lusty that - well, come to think of it, that first metaphor might be workin' for this too, so we'll just leave it alone, seein' as this is a family site, an' all.
Contrariwise, poor ole Ruby lost most of her appeal in both areas by now. Bein' dead most often will do that to a girl. As for foul-mouthed, I must admit ole Ruby might win on that one, but her level of deceas'dness gives her an unfair advantage in the olfactory arena, I say.
Still, without a doubt, we are by far the best choice to adorn Sir Nigel's ship. So with that in mind, I be thinkin' to myself: "Myself," thinks I, "there be latitude here for negotiation." Sir Nigel, he wants himself a new figurehead. We four wenches be wantin' ourselves a good, seaworthy vessel to call our own. So, the deal is: we sit still for a bit, draped in finery, whilst he goes to work with his chisel, (arrr, that be a fine double-entendre of Nigel's, don't it?) and after that, he assists us poor damsels in distress by employing Scourge o' the Seas in running us down a good ship to call our own.
And you, Cap'n Slappy, in return for helping us negotiate this arrangement, get ten percent off our first capture and a fine new hook to boot.
What say ye, Cap'n, are ye willin' to turn diplomat on our behalfs?
- Cracked Carrie and her Putative Crew
Marooned somewhere in the Wine Country of Alta California (which ain't so bad, if you take my meanin')Ahoy Me Four Loverlies of the Apocalypse (If ye had been women of ill repute, I would have called ye the "Four Whoreses of the Apocalypse" which would have been very humorous, but under the circumstances, grossly inaccurate...but ol' Cap'n Slappy hates to let a pun slide by.)
It be a brave wench...and in yer cases, four brave wenches...that would tempt the fates by being alone with Sir Nigel Blackheart and his "chisel akimbo." But if I know ye like I think I know ye, ye be the saucy wenches to do it! I can see it now...it is a figurehead of legend! Four Muses casting their watchful gaze in all directions keeping The Scourge of the Sea from harm. 'twill be a sight to behold, sure. Much better than a decaying, albeit perky, dancer.
And to my good friend, Sir Nigel, I say, this be yer moment of greatness! Immortalize these loverlies in wood and let their heaving breasts of fortune take ye on adventures of which small children shall sing for generations to come! Grasp this with both hands, me bucko! Embrace their chesty, lusty foul-mouthedness and be the Pirate of Legend I knew ye would be! What will it cost ye? Nothing but time, work, the odd blister and a sea-worthy ship so they can sail out of yer life and into yer memory. But as yer figurehead, they'll be with you through every storm and triumph. Small price, great reward! Besides, I am pretty sure they'll throw in a barrel of Cabernet - won't ye girls?
As fer meself, I ask fer nothin' but the warm satisfaction of knowin' I brokered such an amicable arrangement between a dashing rogue and four chesty, lusty, foul-mouthed goddesses of the foam. A barrel of pinot noir and the usual fifteen percent "arrangement fee" for the first year of piracy and ten thereafter and to be "god-pirate" to all of yer first-borns...and nothing at all after that. (Except from the "god-children" who will have to work their summers aboard The Festering Boil in me, "internship" program and will of course, offer me "prezzies" on me birthday AND International Talk Like a Pirate Day...and Christmas.) And "why" you may ask, would an ol' crusty pirate such as meself be so generous? The answer is simple. I do it for the young people...to see them happy. That's the kind o' pirate I be.
But Jezebel, our webwench, has a little poll going as to whom Sir Nigel should select fer his figurehead. And while it's too late to add "The Four Chesty, Lusty, Foul-Mouthed Muses" to the list, there's always the "Other" category. So, faithful readers, if ye think the FCLF-MM would make the perfect figureheads, feel free ' write 'em in. It's up t' Sir Nigel whether t' follow the poll, of course; he may prefer to go ahead and affix yer lusty likenesses to the bow of The Scourge of the Seas forthwith.
Sir Nigel, the ladies and I await your reply.
- Cap'n Slappy
Cap'n,
You finds me in deepest mourning today after having discovered that poor old Ruby Keeler is no more. One of yer foul-mouthed wenches heartlessly dropped it out in her correspondence, leaving me sittin' here alone on the poop, shocked, heartbroken and despondent. Bein' away at sea for so long I gets a little out of touch with such matters. Still, at least dear old Ginger Rogers is still goin' strong. I'm touched that ye're so concerned about me figurehead and if it was within me sculptutatory powers I'd carve 'em all - a nice Hollywood hall of fame and yer four lusty, chesty, lovelies - and hang 'em all over the side as a tourist attraction. But unfortunately I only has the one pair of massive, gnarled, rough hewn but at the same time immensely skilful hands and much pirating to do.
However, after some deep consideration (and here I'm a-rubbing me scarred and be-whiskered chin in serious thought) I would be prepared to tackle all four lusty, bosomy, foul-mouthed wenches in one go and arrange 'em artfully on me prow. A single massive, symbolic sculpture of fine lusty, busty, entangled womanhood all draped in the very flimsiest and wispiest of finery (did I mention that flimsy, wispy part before? I thinks it's normally taken as read). After that, if I has understood the terms of the agreement correctly, I casts 'em adrift in an open boat of their very own. I'd have given 'em a good home but if that's what they wants.
It would be a physically challenging exercise, I realise. The chafings and blisterings would be many, and I expect me prow would be hanging pretty low in the water afterwards but I'm prepared to give it a go, weather permitting. You can tell 'em I've got an extra large column of timber all ready and waiting.
But for now, piracy awaits. Ships don't plunder themselves ye know.
- Captain Sir Nigel Blackheart,
The Scourge of the Seas,
Currently in mourning. although she was a bit on the skinny side I suppose
Ahoy Sir Nigel
I can truly sympathize with ye. Although Miss Keeler was not my particular cup o' grog, I always regret when any woman slips the surly bonds of this little "O" without ever having been "Slappisized." Still, thar be only so much one pirate can do, eh?
But you, Sir Nigel, are undertaking a task of Herculean proportions! This will be the Sphinx, nay, the Mt. Rushmore of figureheads! I can picture them lusty, chesty, foul-mouthed wenches now, draped all womanly-like in the flimsiest, wispiest - dare I say, "Flipsiest" - of finery. They will be a sight to behold!
I do have a "solution" for the bow weight concern ye have. Hollow 'em out. I have always hollowed out me figureheads. In one of me early ships, The Acid Reflux, I barely survived her complete destruction at the hands of the Dread Pirate Hunter Lucifer Beelzebub and along with me trusted mates, Ol' Chumbucket, "Cement Hands" McCormack and "Doc" Sawbones Burgess floated to Guyana in her hollowed-out figurehead of Aunt Bea.
Well, today's Interrogation Day aboard The Festering Boil. Somebody scrawled, "Cap'n Slappy is a git" on the mizzenmast and I'll be findin' out who it is and dealing with it in me own, life-affirming way. Now, whar did I put me leather apron.
Give the wenches a good grope fer me,
- Cap'n Slappy
And then, of course, the lawyers had to get into the act ...
The Quimby Papers
To: Mr. Captain Slappy
Re: Talk As a Pirate WouldMr. Captain Slappy,
I am an experienced lawyer in the employ of a very large and successful Los Angeles firm. I take great pride in my ability to communicate clearly with all of our clients, regardless of their nationality and/or background. Recently there have been some difficulties in which several of our newer clients have exhibited a most unusual manner of speaking. Their dialogue has contained abundant colloquialisms and some of the most extraordinary guttural sounds and exclamations, the likes of which I have never heard. In particular, the query, “Are?” and the term “A Hoy!” are uttered frequently.
My younger colleagues inform me that this is in honor of an imminent holiday in which everyone is required to speak in the manner of a pirate. As a consequence, I have been summarily persuaded to examine your amusing web site. Despite the crude manners within, I considered it advantageous to acquire some familiarity with your linguistic methods. Thus, I have examined the basics of the dialect and believe I have become proficient. Therefore, in the interest of superior communication, I wish to address you in the manner to which you seem to best understand.
Are? And A Hoy Mate E. It are come to the attention of our firm that Mr. Captain Slappy, in association with the persons promoting the website of International Talk Like a Pirate Day (ITLAPD), be making false and deceptive claims that are or may be misleading citizens into concluding that the governing bodies of the world be endorsing a day in which citizens are required to talk as a pirate would. Extensive research has shown that neither the UnitedStates Government, nor the United Nations has formally endorsed your, uh, event. Neither are their citizens required to alter their speech patterns. Our firm be concerned that ye may be targeted by such national entities in the absence of any legal claim to the title of your holiday. We therefore strongly recommend that ye acquire appropriate legal aid at the soonest possible convenience.
Ye shall be receiving my first bill for services in the mail. Please consider this a gesture of friendship. I look forward to a long and profitable venture with you. Er, ye.
Very Sincerely Yours,
- Lawrence R. Quimby,
Attorney at Law
Law offices of Quimby, Queeg, Quisp & SierraAhoy Mr. Lawrence R. Quimby, esquire, of the offices of Quimby, Queeg, Quisp & Sierra.
First, let me say how delighted I be at the thought of being represented by such a fine establishment such as yours. Contrary to most of the civilized world, I feel a kinship with those of the legal profession and have nothing but the utmost respect for the plunderin' ye do. I have had good fortune in me past forays into the halls of justice and, providing me own representation, have a 82% dismissal rate and all I have to do for that is to ascertain the whereabouts of the judge's domicile. I usually send meself a bill, but then, I do the same with that what I do with all me bills - use them as reading and wiping materials in the ship's head.
But things be more complicated these days and perhaps it is time that I look into procuring the services of a reputable law firm such as Quimby, Queeg, Quisp & Sierra. Sadly, gone are the days when an honest pirate can expect a positive outcome in the court by simply letting his fingers do the walkin' through the white pages or by beating a legal professional mercilessly with his fists and forehead.
As fer our holiday achieving Governmental Approval I only have this to say; If I had waited for the Queen's Navy to give me the Man O' War I now call The Festering Boil, I'd still be sailin' about in the harbor in me dinghy, Lil' Turd. I be a man o' action, lad. Violent, chaotic ACTION! And make no mistake, as much regard as I have for lawyers, I would not hesitate to beat one with me fists and forehead if they so much as failed to provide a proper notary public for me official documents which I will then take to the ships head and use for reading and wiping material.
I look forward to meeting ye, Mr. Lawrence R. Quimby, Attorney at Law, perhaps on me next visit to Los Angeles. Perhaps we could meet for grog and grub at Mad Sally's Swill Shoppe on Van Nuys - she's a good sport, that Mad Sally.
At any rate, send me yer bill. I'll know what to do with it!
- Cap'n Slappy
To: Mr. Captain Slappy
Re: File PreparationMr. Captain Slappy,
Are? And A Hoy, Mate E. I am pleased you have accepted my business proposal. And you will be pleased to learn that I have begun contemplating preparin’ the paperwork necessary to set in motion the actions required to pave the way toward considering the registration of International Talk Like a Pirate Day with the government of the city of Los Angeles. Actually, the initial registration will most likely be with the suburb of Van Nuys. As you are no doubt aware, it would not be in your best interest to submit applications with too many governing entities in the early phases of your, er, venture.
Please inform my secretary when you be in the area, and we can schedule a meeting. Mad Sally's Swill Shoppe on Van Nuys (is that the one near Oxnard St?) sounds like a very, er, colorful location in which to become acquainted. I shall have one of my subordinates speak with the proprietors and reserve a private room for the two of us upon your arrival.
My second bill for services rendered should be arriving within the week.
Yours,
- Lawrence R. Quimby, Attorney at Law
Law offices of Quimby, Queeg, Quisp & SierraAhoy, Lawrence R. Quimby, Attorney at Law,
Well, this is VERY exciting. Never in me wildest dreams did I imagine a government body of the esteem and power of the Van Nuys suburb thingy would lend its awesome recognizory power to International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Unfortunately, I have it on good authority from me friend, Sandy "Cement Hands" McCormack that Mad Sally's Swill Shoppe on Van Nuys near Oxnard St. is now a "Krispy Krime's." She has opened a new establishment in North Hollywood called, Mad Sally's Blinding Spirits and Mystery Meat Market. Besides, Cement Hands says "NoHo" is The Melrose of the New Millennium. Arrr, and when yer subordinate approaches her, be careful not to startle her in any way, she is very unpredictable and always heavily armed.
I look forward to receiving your second bill. Your first one was wonderfully imaginative, a good read and very absorbent.
Yours for an Officially Recognized International Talk Like a Pirate Day,
- Cap'n Slappy
To: Mr. Captain Slappy
Re: WritMr. Captain Slappy,
A vast ye old pirate you! I be thoroughly offended ye saw fit to erase my second public missage, which I had read earlier this morning but which is clearly absent from your web site this evening. I therefore have submitted a petition for a Writ of Mandamus with the Van Nuys Court of Law. Said petition demands ye re-instate my earlier letter onto your web site, pay me the monies which are now several hours past due with significant penalties for non-payment, and compensate me for severe emotional distress as well. I have also immediately halted all plans, contemplations, and considerations necessary to pave the way to legalize your ITLAP event.
This action saddens me, as I had considered us to be quite good friends ere now. I am currently negotiating the purchase of a rather elegant yacht, which shall permit me to swiftly and personally deliver the Writ to ye.
As always, I look forward to finally meeting you.
- Lawrence Quimby
Ahoy Lawrence the Lawyer!
Now, calm ye down and let me explain. Our own web-wench, Jezebel, works in mysterious ways and when she takes something off of our web site it is usually because she has given it to her cat, Mr. Hotflash, as a toy. I am sure that once she understands how snippy ye got that she will retrieve it from Mr. Hotflash, take the wrinkles out of it, tape up the claw marks and put it back in its rightful spot.
[The WebWench points out that Mr. Quimby's original and second missives remain right where they've always been, and urges Mr. Quimby to get one of his law clerks to show him how to operate the "scroll bar" on his Web browser. She further reminds Cap'n Slappy that Mr. Hotflash is a wee bit on the cranky side these days, and that the good Cap'n best not get sassy or he might find hisself wakin' up one o' these mornings with 15 pounds o'angry -- but no, the WebWench has better manners than that.]
Please keep sending me the bills, though, I find them very soothing. Does the paper contain aloe?
Yours for fiscal accountability and good hygiene,- Cap'n Slappy
Cap'n,
Despite having scanned the horizon from early morn 'til sunset I've seen no sign o' those four so-called wicked wanton trollopy chesty wenches o' yours.
I suspect they wasn't the roistering, a-rollicking good-time gals they claimed to be and was just using their womanly wiles to pull our plonkers for the fun of it. So I'm left standing 'ere in the crow's nest, clutching me telescope, forlorn, disenchanted, windblown and alone. Well, not quite alone, Daft Mick the ship's simpleton is up here too, keeping a lookout for sheep. News on the figurehead front is not good - poor old Don Ameche has finally dropped off, riddled, as he was, with rot worm, ring beetle and Danish slime wort. Luckily I discovered a brand new figurehead in the hold still in its original birthday wrapping paper so now I has an effigy of someone called Xavier Cugat (I had to look him up) staring out from me bows.
The previous owners of this ship had some funny tastes in popular culture.
It's a shame though - I was looking forward to standing proudly atop the only eight-bosomed prow in Christendom, instead of getting funny looks from other sailors. Such fine bosoms they would've been too - I woulda made 'em so, even if they wasn't really. Anyways, enough of this wood carving nonsense, I haven't run anyone through for a good three weeks now, so I'm off to Tortuga to start a fight!
Are ye with me lads?!!
Aye! AHHARRRGH!!
OK then.
ps. By the way, if ye be having trouble with that snivelling wastrel of a good-for-nothing lawyer dog, I has a fella - MUNGO who could deal with him. I keeps him chained up in the hold for his own good. But I could let him loose ashore if ye wants. His methods is simple but effective. We keeps him hungry for that very reason. There'd be nothing left of yer rascally, slack-a-muffin law-monger but a few gnawed bone fragments and his nice shiny shoes. Mungo loves shiny shoes he does. Remember - all it needs is a nod or a wink.
Yours, Bitter but not twisted.
- Captain Sir Nigel Blackheart
The Scourge of the Seas,
Aharrr ahahaaa ahah
DOWN MUNGO!
Ahoy Sir Nigel!
Xavier Cugat!?! King of the "Rhumba!?!" Ah, ye don't know how lucky ye are to find a Xavier Cugat figurehead in pristine condition. Jezebel the Webwench is going to be so jealous! Well, she'll be disappointed that she missed out on the Don Ameche figurehead, but she has a horrible allergy to Danish slime wort and ring beetles give her the "jibber-jeebies."
And do not tolerate the mockery of other pirates due to the "unorthodox" nature of your figurehead, but rather than confronting them with a broadside cannonade, my I suggest employing your very own Rhumba orchestra (a "nine-piece" ought to suffice) and when the laughs of derision come wafting over the waves at ye, stand firm with yer feet apace, fists planted firmly on your waste, toss yer head back in a defiant laugh and yell, "Everybody Rhumba!" At this point, yer orchestra - which remains in a state of constant readiness, under threat of Mungo attack - will strike up a hot latin tune and yer own crew will drop what they are doing and dance like they've never danced before!
I defy any pirate - as cold hearted as he or she may be - to withstand the temptation to "Rhumba 'til ye drop!" Once they are exhausted, ye may board their ship and beat them soundly with yer fists and forehead until they either join ye or dance their next Rhumba in Davy Jones' locker. I know what ye be thinking, but this is a fool-proof plan and bound to work better than Mad Stanley McTool's "Macarena" plan.
I cannot explain the failure of the Chesty, Lusty, Foul-mouthed Wenches to show for their sitting. They seemed so eager and so willing and so in need of Sir Nigel's masterful touch - what could have happened? Perhaps they managed to work out the kinks in their "let's turn our building into a ship" plan. I know of only one cure for the disappointment ye must feel. "Everybody Rhumba!"
As for my newest ol' chum, Larry the Lawyer, let's hold Mungo back for now. If this guy turns out to be the next Perry Mason, he may come in handy. In the mean time, his bills are soft, absorbent and moisturizing.
Have fun storming Tortuga!
Yer Ol' Chum who's a failure at match-making,
- Cap'n Slappy
Now now now, Cap'n Slappy...Cap'n Nigel,
I were shocked, that's why I sent no reply at the first ... shocked and saddened by the contents of yer missives. To think you were planning on takin' advantage of such young, sweet, and inexperienced ladies as ourselves; it fair brought tears to me eyes. (Aye, well ... forget the lusty, foul-mouthed part, I'm tryin' fer a new tack, as it were. Just runnin' it up the mast and seein' if anyone salutes ...) Now that I've used my little lacy hankie to dry the corners o' my eyes, let's review the contents of our earlier proposition: You, Cap'n Slappy, broker a deal where we, the Wenches, pose for Cap'n Nigel's agile chisel in exchange for his assistance in commandeering us a ship.
(Now, you be notin' I used the word "ship." T'wasn't chosen by mistake, see? "Ship.")
And what be we offered in return?
Ah, we be offered the noble Sir Nigel's long BOAT.
Please take heed o' the difference: Ship. Boat. There be a subtle distinction between a TALL ship and a l-o-n-g boat, y'see. And it's not just in the spellin', although that's a dead giveaway. Ship. Not boat. Ship.
AND ME 'N' ME LADIES DIDN'T FALL OFF THE TOP O' THE MIZZEN YESTERDAY, NOW DID WE? WE DIDN'T CAULK OUR BUILDIN' W' WITE-OUT, GET OUR HANDS SLIPP'RY WITH PALM OLIVE, AND RESORT TO NEGOTIATIN' ONLY TO BE CAST ADRIFT IN A WEE LITTLE TUB SOMEWHERES IN THE CARIBBEAN!
(Ah now, gentlemen, you made me forget I tryin' for the sweet and inexperienced angle, and now look at what I said! And me comin' from a kind and gentle non-profit background, I'm shocked at what phraseology I've been driven to by ye rogues and scoundrels. Please excuse me while I compose meself...
Ah. There we go. Hair patted back. Cheeks pinched for that sweet glow. Now...as I was sayin' ...)
Aid in commandeering a ship. For that, we wenches be right proud to display our multitudinous assets on the deck o' the Scourge, right there where Sir Nigel and his tool can go to work. For that, we be content to leave them assets jutting dramatically forward from Cap'n Nigel's bowsprit.
And for that, we be happy to offer you, Cap'n Slappy, our brave and grizzled broker, 15% o' our first prize. In fact, our gratitude would be such that we'd ask ye to be godfather to at least ONE of our firstborns, for later entry into yer apprenticeship program aboard the Boil. Mother's Milk, we'd even be willing to throw in a little karoake aboard the Scourge for all o' that.
So, what say ye, gentlemen? Are ye willing to come to our aid, or no?
(Oh, and Cap'n Nigel, I'm right sorry about breakin' the news to ye about Ruby Keeler that way. T'were a dead awful shock, I warrant, and the image o' you, adrift in a sea of sorrows on the poop deck, is a piteous thought indeed. Mayhap a good brawl in Tortuga'll lift yer spirits.)
- Cracked Carrie,
Negotiatin' for all her Assets are Worth
Somewhere on the Shores of the South SeaAhoy Me Little Orchid of ComBUSTability,
Thar be one thing ye don't know about our Sir Nigel. Wheras most pirates are prone to the vice of exaggeration, Sir Nigel is one who succumbs all too often to "inaggeration." Fer instance, for those of us who have known Sir Nigel's family for some time, we know that they live on a palatial estate of 238 rooms on over a thousand acres in The Lake District. He, of course, refers to the ancestral home as "my little shotgun shack." So, when he says he'll acquire a boat for ye, he is talking of at least a three-masted schooner with all the trimmings and probably a crew of highly suggestionable, excruciatingly handsome, strong, young island men.
I feel sure that if ye showed up on his deck he would be ever the gallante' and mind his p's as well as his q's.
As for me small token of a broker's fee, ye know right well, I do this for the love, however, a Cap'n has a reputation to maintain. What ye offer is more than fair, but I would like to substitute the karaoke for a nice garden salad. (A horrible, freak karaoke accident in '98 left me without the use of me left ear-drum and the nightmares continue to haunt me.)
Be patient, me delicate flowers of womanhood. Ye will all be immortalized either in wood or in the stories his sailors make up about ye!
So, what say ye, Sir Nigel? Does this sound like a deal or does it just sound like Lucy wants Charlie Brown to take another run at kicking the football?
- Cap'n Slappy
In which our pal Larry Quimby is set straight ...
My Dear WebWench (may I call you Jezzie?),
[The Webwench replies: No.]
Thank you most graciously for those exquisite instructions in the manner of operating a “scroll bar.” I must confess, some of these highly technical gizmos are far beyond me. Perhaps you could come to my office and personally instruct me further? Unfortunately, my negotiations for the purchase of a fine new yacht have been unsuccessful so far, and I can not come to you at this time. I’d be happy to assist in any travel plans you need.
As for the good Cap’n, I suppose I should apologize. My hasty actions have nearly lost me a valuable client, er, friend. I shall have the court nullify the writ immediately (although you still owe me monies) and return to ruminating about the best way to support your mission. And send you several more bills, as you seem most appreciative of them.
Yours,
- Larry Quimby
Ahoy Larry,
Now ye've gone and done it. Ye had to call the WebWench "Jezzie" now didn't ye. Oh, sure, ye can get away with that from the safety of yer Los Angeles office which I am sure is well appointed as well as air conditioned and has a distinct "feng shui" to it. Oh, ye'll be spared the wrath of Tsunami Jezebel. Thanks a lot, counselor!
[The Webwench interjects: "Arrrrrrrrr..."]
But please, don't stop sending those bills.
- Cap'n Slappy
Cap'n,
I'm feelin' a little pallid and weak of knee this mornin'. Those four rollicking wenches of the apocolypse, Cracking Carrie and her pals, finally turned up yesterday to model for me new figurehead and the encounter has left me somewhat drained and weary. They arrived early morn, drunk as bishops but keen to get on with it and was out o' their frocks and cardigans and a-frolicking merrily about the decks like Spring lambs afore I could say "Cover yer eyes Salty wee Joe Macgillykelly ye pervy wretch".
I tried 'em out in a number o' different postures and locations - fore, then aft, up aloft but finally settled on athwartships. Then I was at it from morning 'til sundown, hour after hour, a-hammering, a-chiselling, a-banging and a-heaving until I thought me poor old bulwarks would give way. "She cannae take any more Cap'n!" the bosun 'Scotchie' McTavish cried out desperately from below, fearing no doubt for the ship's straining timbers, but, like a true Blackheart, I was determined to persevere and finish the job.
Eventually, after many backbreaking hours of sweat and toil, and all thoughts of Ruby Keeler cast from me mind, I finally rested me chisel, let the crew back on deck (I'd ordered 'em below in case of flying splinters) and both the ladies and meself lay back, cheeks aglow, and pronounced ourselves well satisfied with the day's work.
So now the lusty, busty wenches, immortalised in timber, stand proudly upon the bow, where they will spend the rest of eternity (or at least until they succumbs to rot worm) pointing pertly at the horizon. The finished work makes a fine objet d'art, even if I says so meself, not to mention bein' a good luck charm, conversation piece and will probably make a damned effective battering ram too, I'll wager.
I gave 'em a ship without a drop o' blood bein' spilt - its a neat little sloop I keeps anchored off Tobago - the Happy Haddock. It's a bit leaky and needs some new curtains but its still a good little runabout. What with them bein' new to the buccaneering game I also kitted 'em out in some thigh length sea boots, skin tight buckskin breeches and stressed the need to keep their frilly shirts gaping open piratically to the waist at all times if they wants to keep the respect o' the crew. And absolutley NO CARDIGANS. I also gave them a few basic tips on standing hands on hips, throwing their heads back and laughing piratically but they was pretty hopeless at that, bein' mere lubbers. But then we all has to start somewhere.
They was gone when I awoke this mornin', off to their new lives as Pirate Queens, but each had left me a lock of their hair as a token of their esteem - which I has already fed to the ships goat, the ungrateful harlots - what do they think I'm going to do with all that hair? Still, it was a good day's work by all.
The crew is now queueing up on the fo'csle, takin it in turns to rub me buxom new figurehead for luck, "LEAVE SOME VARNISH ON IT YE LASCIVIOUS VARMINTS!" They was never this with Xavier Cugat.
Yours, somewhat pale and wan,
- Captain Sir Nigel Blackheart,
recuperating aboard The Scourge of the Seas,
Somebody bring me a restorative elixir.
Ahoy Sir Nigel!
I cannot tell ye how warm in the cockles of me heart it makes me to have had some small part in facilitatin' what I am sure was an adventure within and adventure wrapped, as it were, in adventure with wee bits o' adventure sprinkles on top. I'd have given me left ... no, make that me right arm to see them prancing about like little lambs, and not for the same reason Salty wee Joe Macgillykelly would want to see 'em - but because they represent the freeness of LIFE and what joy that brings to an old Salt such as meself. So, how soon do ye think they'll be deliverin' on that 15% they owe me - not to mention me godchild?
So, now we'll hope to hear of their adventures on their sloop of dreams. Well done, Sir Nigel, well done indeed!
And thanks for advisin' the lasses on Pirate Style. When they sail into harbor with their tight britches and blousy open shirts with sun-baked, heaving breasts, we'll all have ye to thank.
But what will become of Xavier Cugat?
- Cap'n Slappy
Dear Cap'n,
Well, me hearty, I can gladly report to ye, we've taken tree ships, laden with silk, rum, and a shipment of ladies' corsets which, I might add, make fine hammocks when slung correctly. But, Cap'n, something's troublin' me heart of late, however.
Roamin' the sea is a fine occupation te be sure, but in the back o' me mind, somethin's missin'. Somethin' only a lass can provide. I don't mean a wench; wenches I can find anytime. No, I refer to a lass I can call me own; one that'll make this old salt a "one lass man". It's been many a day since I went a courtin', Cap'n, and I don't know the waters, if ye can follow me.
Perhaps could ye send up some colors on my behalf for the fine young piratess lasses about these parts? I'd be obliged, te be sure. Make sure it's a lass who don't mind the fact I got a peg leg. (But fer special occasions, mind ye, I got an ivory one!)
Most Humbly, Cap'n, I Thankee,
- Captian Maximilian Danforth De LaFarce
Anchored Off St. Kitts, and making repairs to the bilgesAhoy Captain Max!
Well, I tell ye, it makes Ol' Cap'n Slappy all soft in the eyes to see the young people feelin' the gooey-chested feelin's what leaves 'em all squishy on the inside. Ye be a fine pirate, Max, and the sea would be the poorer without ye but if the love of a fine lass be what ye need, well, who is Ol' Cap'n Slappy to stand in the way o' Cupid?
So, lasses, Captain Max is on the market! He be a good fellow and stout heart! And I think ye'll find that as pirates go, he has more than adequate personal hygiene. Have at 'im, me girls! But play nice - it's been a while for our Captain Max.
- Cap'n Slappy
Cap'n,
I thought I'd better bring ye up to date on how things has been going with meself. Well, I arrived in Tortuga a couple o' days ago with the crew all briefed for our ransacking of the town - Remember - its pillage first THEN burn to the ground. (Some of 'em still has to have it written down.) But then I finds the place full of old pals, in town for the annual Piratefest and Roistabout, which I'd completely forgotten about. So we was left feeling a little shame-faced.
I bumped into Cap'n Ugly-Mug McBall in the back room of the Weeping Wang - an oriental establishment I frequents in downtown Tortuga Town. He's always been a man with a dangerously short fuse and is prone to lash out wildly with his razor-sharp cutlass when he's peeved - as the scars and disfigurements on his crew bear witness to. Fortunately I discovered that Ugly-Mug is a lot less ill-tempered you call him by his given name - Walter and buy him a drink, so whilst he was in a good mood I managed to scrounge three new crew members from him: Paddy "Three fingers but can still play the fiddle" Muldoon, Sam "Scarface, half-an-ear, limps a bit" McCrumble and Jimmy "One Knacker" O' Reilly. All of 'em dead keen, if a little incapacitated
Cap'n Fancypants Diabolo was in town too and asked after you . He sends you a big wave and a hug and says Yoo Hoo by the way. I entrusted him with the task of delivering Xavier Cugat to you as I know you and your good lady wench have fondness for for the old rhumba meister. Although I has to say, rhumbaring is for jessies if you asks me - an unseemly dance for ruthless professional cutthroats and fit only for fancy-danglers, mimsy-prancers and dandy-waverers. Not that I is averse to cutting a caper - I often likes to indulge in a wild pirate dance of me own devising which involves a lot of riotous leaping about, shouting, breaking bottles and kicking over furniture. There's no partner involved, of course, as ladies will only tut and leave the room when it begins, but it's a grand way to fill that awkward couple of hours between having drunk the barrel dry and finally passing out face down in the street.
Me new eight breasted prow is causing quite a stir and is the talk of all the taverns and the establishments of sordid gratification. I'm told that I now holds the record for most bosoms on a prow and was awarded the prestigious Most Bosoms on a Prow Trophy in a touching quayside ceremony yesterday. Wresting it from the previous recipient - Cap'n Larry 'Sabre-toothed Tiger Teeth' Dunderdale who has The Three Degrees carved in a state of careless disrobement on his. Many o' the folks present recalled the dream of the late Cap'n Cosmo Strayhands to win the trophy. He commissioned a magnificent figurehead of the 'St Cuthberts Cathedral Ladies Chorus, startled whilst taking a skinny dip in a lake'. Unfortunately, once affixed, the weight of the 27 strong ensemble capsized his ship at the very first gust of wind with the loss of all hands, and bosoms. A lesson for all those who seek to combine over-reaching ambition with a taste for lechery and voyeurism.
Unfortunately, a lot of the captains here don't take the award very seriously and thinks they can win by getting a bunch o' the local wenches drunk and then perching 'em astride their bowsprit for a lark - bosoms, as it were, all akimbo. They doesn't twig that the bosoms in question has to be wood, not real, to win the trophy. Although why anyone would want a wooden pair when there's a fine selection o' real ones hanging around I don't know. But that's what the award is for and now it stands on a shelf in me cabin.
Funnily enough, me ship is now short of real ones after both not-so-dubious Joanne and the Governor of Jamaica's daughter jumped ship as we dropped anchor. The word is they were never very happy with the standards of hygiene or food presentation on board anyway. Poxy Pete claims they was a couple of Libyans but I don't reckon they've ever been near that part of the world.
- Captain Sir Nigel Blackheart,
The Scourge of the Seas
Now with only wooden ones for company.
Ahoy Sir Nigel!
Much has happened o' late which I must get to updatin' ye on one of these weeks, however, let me begin by defending the Rhumba. Now, nobody respects yer skill as a critic of The Dance likes I do - make no mistake. When ye told the Dread Pirate Aristotle "Man-Breasts" Popadopolis that his "Zorba-style" Greek dancin' looked like, a huge man-cow shakin' off the biting flies from his huge man-udder and teats, I defended ye from the Greek Pirate Anti-defamation League and Gyro Sandwich Society. When ye told famed Russian ballet dancer-turned-pirate, Vladimir Pokofmi, that his dancin' reminded ye of a whoopsie-boy gazelle what's bein' givin' the Carthaginian Thumb by a REAL Carthaginian who can get the most out of his thumb, I bit the ear off a Russian assassin what was sent by the Bolshoi Mob to "whackski" ye.
But I tell ye, lad, when I dance the Rumba, tis a sight to behold! And when I yell, "EVERYBODY RHUMBA" and me hot latin nine-piece orchestra strikes up, thar be not a man-jack among the living what doesn't feel the beat and realize that resistance be futile! That said, I just want to point out that the Xavier Cugat is fer Jezebel - not fer me. I likes me figureheads with the woman breasts - not so much the man's.
Speaking of which, I want to congratulate ye on winning the prestigious, Most Bosoms on a Prow Trophy. Tis a coveted cup indeed. The closest I ever came to winning was with me third ship, The Sally Field, which featured the young, pert actress on the prow in full, "Flying Nun" regalia. I gots the "More Than A Mouthful" certificate on the wall o' me cabin to this day. By Gar! I miss Sister Batrille.
Oh, and if ye run into Cap'n Fancypants Diabolo again, knee him directly in the groinal region and remind him that "Cap'n Slappy is not a 'hugger.'" Then, buy him a rum toddy and offer me sincerest apologies.
Well, I'm off to an appointment in St. Kitts. Cementhands McCormack has a cousin who is building us a Cream Corn Cannon what fires cans of creamed corn at enemies we wish to annoy and not destroy.
Sorry to hear about yer Libyans. They are an illusive and beguiling lot.
Yours,
- Cap'n Slappy
Ohh Cap'n,
I'm a-laid up under the weather today - a-groaning and a-suffering in me sick-hammock. I think I must have picked up a little something in Tortuga the other day. I can barely even raise me poor head to sup from the grog barrel. The ship's sawbones says its a touch of the East Indies bilge fever, a highly contagious crab rash and, worst of all, as bad a case of The Phlange as he's ever witnessed. He didn't say what's caused it all but then he wouldn't would he? What with him bein' an unmitigated quack and complete charlatan. But he did warn me to lay off loose women, fast women, low women, all other sorts of women (though I rarely meets them sort anyway) and spicy oriental food. He says there's a bit of an epidemic of The Phlange going about so ye may want to warn ye pals. Of course, in the old days they used to issue a Phlange Warning at the first smell of it and torch every ship, sheep, house and lubber within a hundred leagues. Now they frowns upon that sort of thing and look what 'appens.
If ye knows of any remedies to make the noxious swellings go down - be they pharmacutical, pathological, old wives tales, conjurors spells or even ye dear old mother's own homemade potion specially made up in a bucket, I'd be grateful t' hear.
The sawbones says I has to warn everyone I has had close contact with over the last few weeks in case they goes down with it too:
So, let me see - thats: the four rollicking wenches o' the apocolypse, those two Lybians, the girls at Madame Fifi's House of Splendidness, the Barmaid at the Weeping Wang, the barmaid at the Perky Parrot, the barmaid and landlady at the Seven Seas, ..... possibly some other barmaids whose names and faces never really registered, the waitress at Sam Crookshanks Steak and Kidney Pie Emporium (and her friend) - no, wait that was just wishful thinkin', sundry dockside doxies, that funny-looking girl with the green eyes, and er...somebody's aunty, I think she was.
In the meantime, if the Phlange reaches ye, ye may want to place the following notice in a prominent place in yer neighbourhood:
WARNING - This is a Phlange infested area - No coughing, sneezing or handling of Phlange be-riddled extremities. Rubber Gloves must be worn (although strong leather gauntlets will do). And remember to wipe your feet afterwards.
Yours,
- Captain Sir Nigel Blackheart,
Damn near belly up
The Scourge of the Seas
Moaning piteously ("ohhhh" - like that)
Ahoy Sir Nigel,
Me under-the-weather ol' chum. Sorry to hear about yer Phlange outbreak. It doesn't seem to have as great an effect on me probably due to the daily applications of weasel grease that Sawbones Burgess has had me on ever since I "broke out with the heebie jeebies" as he put it the last time we had The Phlange aboard The Festering Boil. My most disconcerting symptom these days is the itching and flaking and the occasional lump the size of a chamber pot.
I am sending ye a barrel or two of weasel grease along with Ol' Chumbucket's squid-eye stew. He swears it's good for what ails ye - even though a medical professional like Sawbones Burgess says thar be nothing that internal medicine can do that topical treatments of weasel grease can't do better. That'll teach me to have a bleedin' Dermatologist as me ship's Doctor.
Other than that, we're all fine on The Festering Boil. Cementhands McCormack has the vertigo, but what o' that? I likes to send him up the crows nest and watch the net team positioning themselves on deck beneath him at every wobble. It passes the time and keeps the lads alert.
Get well soon, me friend! And don't spare the weasel grease...thar be more whar that came from!
- Cap'n Slappy
Dear Mr. Captain Slappy,
Ahoy there, Mate E! I be truly a pirate now, I be! After many fruitless efforts to acquire a seaworthy yacht, I have given up and simply hoisted (“hist”?) ye olde Jolly Roger onto my fine black BMW. It be making quite a difference in attitudes, it do! E’en yesterday, I were glaring at some poor soul what wanted to sue a client of mine. But after one glance at the cutlass in me teeth, his demands were suddenly fair few.
Are!
(Darned blade hurt like the dickens, though! I may have to file a lawsuit against the manufacturer. Hm. Something to think about for later.)
Wall, I contemplated a full week for ye, but decided that it be no use lobbying the representatives of Van Nuys on behalf of ITLAPD. It may come as a shock to ye, but there BE no House of Representatives in the fair city of Van Nuys. Drat it all. Still, I shall send you a fine final bill, totaling the entire billable hours for my efforts. In triplicate. Perhaps I shall renew my attempts for next year’s event. It takes a few months to grease the right palms, ye know.
As for that fellow Henry Crun of Whacklow, Futtle & Crun, ye have no worries. A mate o’ mine at the office happens to know that most classical gurglings and utterances originated, in fact, with a certain Mr. Samuel Clemens who apparently lived several years ago. It be true, too! He showed (“shew?”) me a book o’ his’n and there were some of the most incredible utterances in’t I ever did see! Ha’ ye ever read it? I think it be called Hummingberry Fin. Something like that.
And now I ha’ a question for ye. Does my piratical type language be shaping up goodly, or what? I really want to impress some wenches in the office downstairs.
Yours truly,
- Larry the Legal,
aka Lawrence R. Quimby of Quimby, Queeg, Quisp & SierraAhoy Counselor!
By GAR! I am glad ye are on our side! I would hate to be that plagerisn' Henry Crun Clemens of Hummingberry Fin right now! Arrr! Just leave me alone with the lubber and I'll Hummingberry HIS Fin, I tell ye that straight!
As fer yer progress in the pirate talkin', ye know, farbeit from Ol' Cap'n Slappy to be "critical" but yer off to a slow start in gaining REAL "pirattitude" and "Pimpressing" the gals in the office downstairs. Perhaps ye should start with something a little closer to home but a tad wilder than yer' used to...like "Talk Like an Certified Public Accountant Day?"
In a couple of years, we'll let ye try "Talk Like a Junior Executive Day."
Cap'n,
I'm feelin' meself again today after me short illness, your weasel grease did the trick (although next time could you strain it all little more first - I was still pickin' lumps of pulverized weasel out o' me beard this mornin'). In fact, I was feelin' so chipper that last night that I was up and a-pirate-dancin' on deck to Paddy "Three fingers but can still play the fiddle" Muldoon's fiddle. Of course, I knew old Paddy back when he was stil
