blog like a pirate

alrighty. Apparently I didn't read the fyne print on BW's rules. But for what its worth, here's my post for blog like a Pirate day. Talk like a pirate day is tomorrow, though. Which is why I got confused. Too much rum, I guess. Anyhow. Enjoy the story. . .



Avast! Me hearties-


Pull up a plank and pour a tankard of grog, for I am goin’ to tell ya the story o’ Dirty Grace Kidd, the most keelhaulen, rum lovin’, booty chasin’ plank walkin’ pirate wench that e’er sailed the high seas! (Arrr!) For she be me, and none can tell a pirate tale better than Dirty Grace!

From a young age I knew ‘twas the sea life for me. I was raised on a farm, ye see, but always heard the call o’ the merpeople. Nigh on my 16th birthday, the eve afore I was supposed ta be marryin’ Smelly Alastair O’ Banion, I pillaged a pair o’ me brothers trews and another brother’s best sark, and off I ran into the night, in the direction o’ the sea. Left me mammy cryin’ over her cackle-fruit I did, but ne’er have I been sorry.
Makin’ my way toward’s the Barbary Coast was not easy, but I met some friends along the way, the same matey’s that sail with me today. Celtic Rose, who was awanderin’, and pickin’ flowers, singing a happy sea-chantey was the first I came across. I knew a red-head would come in handy, so I invited her along.
Then came the Temptress Cami. She’s family, and if ye can’t trust family, then who can ye trust!
Bubblewench floated on by as well, and she had the added attraction of having a hook where her hand used to be, and is a formidable weapon all by herself!
And Naughty Sybil Law, ye ask? She was a runnin’ from the law (Mr. Law, that is).
Together, we decided we were unbeatable, and resolved to be gettin’ ships of our own, usin’ any method of acquisition availiable to us.
Happens one fair e’en we found ourselves at a tavern, The Horned Sheep. We were gettin’ loaded to the gunwhales when I overheard Captain Jock McMurphy (the blasted hornswaggling scoundrel) bragging about all the booty he had sitting on his ship, right in the harbor. Well, and I ask ye? What’s a wench and her wench friends to do? McMurphy’s ship was a beauty, a brigantine, and I had dreams to capture her, paint her black, and name her “The Black Belle”. Making sure our blackjack’s were full of rum, the lasses and I concocted our plan. . .
The Temptress Cami did a fine job seducing the pegleg set ta watch the ship, happens he had the name o’ Kaos. Before I could say “yo ho ho!” Bubblewench was in the crow’s nest, hangin’ by her hook, singin’ some song about Scarlet Begonia’s. (Begonia’s on a ship, I say? N’er!) Naughty Sybil was trimmin’ the sails, Celtic Rose took o;er the galley, and I was commanding “Weigh Anchor!” Crafty Cami scurried up the mooring lines as we were casting off, blowin’ kisses in the direction of Kaos as she went. Huzzah! The Black Belle was ours!
Once in possession of one ship, we were the scourge of the seven seas. No ship was safe from our pillagin’, and we quickly amassed a fleet of our own. The Temptress Cami sailed back and married Peg-leg Kaos, and made him Captain of their ship, “The Black Thyme”. (She declared herself Admiral, she did). Celtic Rose met up with a lisping Spaniard tamed Martin somewhere off the coast of Trinidad, and together, they rode on “The Black Rose”.
(What was a lisping Spaniard doing in Trinidad, you ask? Celtic Rose will be havin’ to tell THAT story). The feared and hooked Bubblewench and her cabin boy HM (his majesty, ahem) rode her own barque, “The Black Bubble”. And Naughty Sybil Law? The long arm of the Law (her man) finally caught up with her, and found he liked her Naughty. Together, they rode on the ship “The Black Powder”. And me? I was still on the Black Belle, with a crew of my own, including my very capable and trusted ally, the feared Pirate who’s name is known only to me. (They call him ‘mystery man’)
After a brutal storm in the tropic’s, we were layin’ low in Tortuga, burying treasure, sinking bilge rats, swabbing our decks, and buying new Cat o’ nine tails when the Dread Pirate Roberts sailed in with his band of foul smelling, toothless, scurvy ridden excuses for a crew.
“Run a shot across the bow!” hollers I to Celtic Rose, who obliges from the deck of the Black Rose. But the Dread Pirate Roberts had not come to parley. It seems he wanted the head of Mystery Man on a jeweled plate. O’ course I took exception to this, as I had grown rather partial to mystery man o’er the past days gone by, and so a battle to the death ensued.
Naughty Sybil Law acquitted herself well with her sharp, deadly Cutlass, and the Temptress Cami Kaos was firin’ bombs off right and left from the Black Thyme. Bubblewench and HM, crying their battle cry of “Dead Men Tell No Tales” swung from the masts, and dropped onto the bow of the corsair sailed by the Dread Pirate Roberts, and cut down his Jolly Roger for him. About that time, I fired a Chain shot and took out both mast’s and the riggings, crippling the corsair, and half her crew! The blood ran freely that day, me hearties, it did.
Mr. Law, bein’ now the law o’ the land on Tortuga, captured the Dread Pirate Roberts, and made sure he danced the hempen jig at sunset. We fed the rest o’ his crew to the sharks, and Davy Jones, and burned the crippled corsair whilst it still rode in the water. As we watched the old corsair burn, and observed the Dread Pirate Roberts body swayin’ in the wind, we raised our tankards of lovely, rum concoctions in tribute to our Pirate Ways, and proceeded to get, once again, loaded to the gunwhales.