Joe270
Banned
Arrr, ya little dog, a pirate cap'n fears nothin', save the noose. D.H. and OFG are lovely lasses, to be sure, and RG, too. Stand tall, say I, and belay the territory markin', it ain't pirate-like.
Don't forget...Sept. 19 is Talk Like a Pirate Day!
- Thread starter Christine N.
- Start date
Arrr, ya little dog, a pirate cap'n fears nothin', save the noose. D.H. and OFG are lovely lasses, to be sure, and RG, too. Stand tall, say I, and belay the territory markin', it ain't pirate-like.
Joe270
Banned
Lads, lasses, buccanneers, swashbucklers, tars, and salts, we still have almost an hour under our letter of marque! Time to blast and slash!
Ahoy? Mateys?
Ahoy? Mateys?
)
Joe270
Banned
Arrr. Too much rum. Alas, even me bottle's a dead man now.
Sixteen men on a dead man's chest, nay, I say so many more in a cargo hold of dead man bottles, those once full rum chests bare now.
Huggis and Muse there lie, like slain from a cannon ball, together in arms. There lies the Poet Pirate, still in his hat, burried in the bodies of P.H., OFG, and Train. Scoundrel, to the last, him.
Lo, there lie Killer Katie, Christine, Robiae, succumbed to the strains of rescuing PeeDee from the fishes and sharks of the deep. Perhaps rum lay them low, me hearties, but I'm not to say.
BenPanced found his pantaloons at the last, lies crumpled on the fore deck in the mooring lines, but still he hais pridy hiar.
Angie, Siddow, Joe Ester, Dawno, and Soccer Pirate lay their noggins on the table surrounding a plattered carcase of Turkey Lurkey, mere picked bones now.
I cast me weary eyes aloft to find Thunder, Kadea, and Ben B., a-hangin' like bats from the riggin'.
On the morrow, the lot will feel the cannon ball in their own skulls, and know all were swashbucklin' buccaneer pirates for one glorious day, arrrr, me hearties.
Sixteen men on a dead man's chest, nay, I say so many more in a cargo hold of dead man bottles, those once full rum chests bare now.
Huggis and Muse there lie, like slain from a cannon ball, together in arms. There lies the Poet Pirate, still in his hat, burried in the bodies of P.H., OFG, and Train. Scoundrel, to the last, him.
Lo, there lie Killer Katie, Christine, Robiae, succumbed to the strains of rescuing PeeDee from the fishes and sharks of the deep. Perhaps rum lay them low, me hearties, but I'm not to say.
BenPanced found his pantaloons at the last, lies crumpled on the fore deck in the mooring lines, but still he hais pridy hiar.
Angie, Siddow, Joe Ester, Dawno, and Soccer Pirate lay their noggins on the table surrounding a plattered carcase of Turkey Lurkey, mere picked bones now.
I cast me weary eyes aloft to find Thunder, Kadea, and Ben B., a-hangin' like bats from the riggin'.
On the morrow, the lot will feel the cannon ball in their own skulls, and know all were swashbucklin' buccaneer pirates for one glorious day, arrrr, me hearties.
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Oh. My.
Now I remember why I forget the year before when Talk Like a Pirate Day rolls around. Thank goodness I'll forget again before next time!
Anyone got any aspirin?
HEY! I just noticed this. In reference to women of loose moral character, eh? I'll show you loose moral character.
Here's a swearing rant:
@#$$#&*^^%$#$#$@#$@#$#%$$#%$%$%#$$@%$%^$**&^&^%$$####%$%$%$$%$%##$@#@#@!!!@@@##!!!$$####