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September 19, 2005

Volume 6, Issue 19

We have had a theme about piracy once before, so what. In honor of Talk Like A Pirate Day, you must actually use some saucy pirate lingo within your 100 words today. Oh, and it has to be include at least three speakers.

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“Whar be the new recruits?” Captain Jackal, Scourge of the Indies, asked his bosun’s mate.

A thin dandy, dressed in frilly cotton and shimmering satin, skipped over to the table and twittered, “Ooooh. Me first! I simply could not resist your advertisement.”

The mate glared at the preening fop. “What be your sailing experience?”

“Oh, dear me,” the dandy replied. “I’m not a sailor. Though I’ve had a few.”

“Let’s see that ad,” Captain Jackal grabbed the newspaper scrap from the swish’s delicate hand. “You scurvy ass,” he growled at the mate. “We were supposed to be interviewing BUFF pirates!”

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at September 19, 2005 11:41 AM · Permalink

The next three candidates entered and, without looking up, Bert said, "Okay, give me your best pirate line."

"Avast, mateys!" the first voice boomed.

"Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum," the second growled.

"Yoo hoo, captain-poo!" the third, higher-pitched voice squealed.

Bert's head snapped up and he glowered at what he saw - button slippers, tight leotard pantaloons with an exaggerated codpiece, frock coat with ruffled shirtsleeves and ruffles at the throat, tricorn hat with a huge plume of feathers. "Aw, shit," he bellowed. "The casting call for Pirates of Penzance is down the hall and to the right."

Posted by: hnumpah at September 19, 2005 1:18 PM · Permalink

"All right, I want to know who's responsible for putting a sea chanty about alcohol in our automobile ads."

"Is it a chanty or a shanty?"

"Sounds more like a Chianti to me. Cheers."

"Ahem."

"Couldn'ta been me, Cap'n. I did be swabbin' the decks that week."

"Hmmm."

"That's an interesting accent you have, Mister... Greenbeard, yes?"

"The HR rascals made me shave it off. Maybe them were the scurvy dogs what done it."

"Excellent! Witherbotham, fire the HR department. Yes, all of them."

"But sir, he's..."

"...the only one here in the spirit of the Day. Arr!"

"...Arr, sir,"

Posted by: Jeff R. at September 19, 2005 3:53 PM · Permalink

"Arr, wench, a cup of grog for me," he said.

"What kind of beer do you want?" she asked. "And don't call me wench."

"My apologies, lass, 'tis 'Talk Like a Pirate Day,' don't ya' know. Arr."

"Should I come back?"

"No, thanks, I'll have a pitcher of Summit Seasonal. Two glasses."

"Okay."

His friends arrived a bit later.

"Arrr," he said.

"Arrr," one replied.

"Shiver me timbers," said the other.

They sat down at the table.

"Another glass, wench," said the glassless one. "Arr."

"You don't know any more pirate phrases, do you?"

"Nope."

"Me neither."

"Arr."

"Arr."

"Arr."

Posted by: cranky-d at September 19, 2005 4:35 PM · Permalink

The waitress sashayed over. “Another?”

“Yes, thanks.”

And I turned back to face my new friend. She stroked her hair, raising her chin, exposing her neck. Her fingers caressed the stem of her wineglass, moistening the tips against the condensation, and brought them to her mouth. Not kissing them, just touching the cool pads to her crimson lips.

Interruption over, I asked her again. She smiled, and her throaty voice ambled forth: “What do I do? Nothing, really. My husband’s out of town a lot. He flies to Memphis and back.”

Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A Pilot’s Wife for Me!

Posted by: Mr. Parx at September 19, 2005 9:19 PM · Permalink