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“This is yer pirate speakin’, we have reached cruisin’ latitude and we have extinguished th’ ‘no smokin’ and no rowdy drinkin’ sign;’ ye are now free t’ move aroun’ th’ ship; in a few hours th’ wenches will be servin’ grog and yer choice o’ skewered rat or th’ vegetarian offerin’, moldy bread; our travelin’ time t’ Canton will be three months, give or take a few weeks as th’ national weather service (that albatross ye saw afore) has predicted heavy winds; if ye feel sick, please use th’ bag hangin’ from th’ hammock in front o’ ye; in th’ event o’ a water evacuation, it’s been nice knowin’ ye.”
September 18, 2006 at 10:46 PM ::
Cap’n Dread-Boot thrusts her quaffing mug down on the table and beams at First-mate Neck-Snapper ‘Mouse and exclaims “Matey, that’s the stuff! Yargh!”.
[to which the rest of the crew break into drunken song and cheers]
boot on 09/18/06 at 10:50 PM ::
Heh, heh. Pirate day.
boot on 09/19/07 at 06:01 PM ::
Whoa! I’d utterly forgotten that sentence. Of course it’s unseemly to pat myself on the back for it, but I’d be patting someone else on the back for it had they written it, so good-on-you, long-forgotten ‘mouse of yesteryear.
'mouse on 09/19/07 at 07:40 PM ::