This here is a follow up post ta me last post “What do you weigh…100 lbs?” Taday I feel like speekin’ pirate.
Me ship became a man o war when a weighed anchor were hoisted from the mizzen bi a crew o’ scurvy dogs. Unbeknownst ta them this wench be literate equipped wi wifi. Aye saw em try’n ta give chase.
Afore their riches wore procured, twas part o a run in wi’ a rig ta plunder me coffers. Aye dug deep inta Davey Jones’ locker an cleaved um ta the brisket- not ta worry, tis a matter o fictitious speech.
Captain Carouser wi’ his merry band o’ buccaneers singing their shanty, while tyin’ one plank ta’nother wi’ hemp, and claimin all’s ship shape.
Tis true ther main carouser guessed me weight and under ta last sun axed me age, as I thought ‘e wood. Aye’s no fresh hatched chick, nay, aye’s a salty old dog an aye bite. Aye were on the lookout wi’ me spy glass. Aye saw what aye saw an tis all what aye saw. Heave to! Tis no keelhole yer crewmen ta be pillagen.
“Hands off me booty, all ye scabby sea bass, hell bent on plundering me coffers!” Aye bellowed.“No prey, no pay, til all aye sea be ship shape, er no doubloons fer y’a ta fill yer coin purse.” I sed.
Dead men tell no tales, but this here wench can shout from the crows nest fer every privateer ta hear. There’ll be no horns waggle at present. “Blimey,” they cried an’ “hanged the jib.”
Yelp fer me, me hearties, thar’ll be no letters o’ marque or piracy here. They’ll batten down the hatches er be walkin the plank an’ swim’n wi fishes, but first me captn’ quarters’ll be ship shape as the crow flies.
Shiver me timbers, the squiffies agreed ta me terms, ta bring a spring upon me. Mi mind’s in a gutter lads and lasses… fer aye’ll get me gutters as promised. Now we wait ta sea if they do wut thay sed.