Maybe today she'll run into Arrrrr!
posted by 4th Dwarf
Avast me hearties, 'tis a glorious nineteenth of September!
Yesterday, the wee she-demon had a mysterious force guidin' her steps to take her out of the path of that scurvy dog B.
But the powers o' good are doin' little fer her obsession with M. That bilge rat has made an indelible impression on her mind and there's no laser will remove it. Reminds me of a problem I've had. Fer what seemed like good reasons at the time, I had a fella tattoo the name "Abigail" on me forearm. Two days later, didn't the heartless wench run off with an infantry man!
I can tell ye, having a lassie's name tattooed on yer forearm makes it hard to win the affections of another maid. So I went to another fella. This one, much more skilled with th' ink an th' needle. He turned the name of that disloyal Abigail into a fine portrait of me true love, the good ship Vendetta.
The moral o' this story? If ye're covering up one tattoo with another, ye need a skilled artist t' do the new tattoo.
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10 comments:
Shiver me timbers, it's pirate day. And a top of the day to all me fellow buccanneers. And arrrrr, arrrrr, arrrrr.
Oh, what the hell: Arrrr-oooo!
Arr, Nate, don't be hoisting yer sails before the wind starts a-blowing.
posted by 5th Muse @ Saturday, September 17, 2005: I guess I shouldn't be going out at all.
And are ye sayin' yer vow of chastity were thrust upon ye?
Ahh, 'tis nothin' like Pirate Day to put the arrr in the Independent Observ-arrr! Batten down the hatches, maties, we's in fer a most glorious time in raisin' our mugs to the three most important things t' any plunderer worth 'is sea salt: drinkin', pillagin' and sensible footwear! Arrr!
I'm waiting to join that pirate ship, maties. Come collect me.
The winds are picking up . . . Ahhh, I can't speak pirate talk, I'm so sick, all this grog and rocking on the Vendetta. Ohhh, groan. I'm sea sick, and the Dwarf keeps trying to rip off my shell, and Agatha is no use whatsoever, I don't know where she is. Muttering on about Bob probably. Oh, oh, oh, these waves are too much. Coyote keeps howling . . . oh man. . . I'm going to jump.
Arr, calm down lassies, tis just a wee blow.
I be goin below to catch a few winks.
Keep a weather eye on the compass and the wind guage, Coyote.
Okay, Dwarf. But d'you know how hard it is to find your sea legs when you've got twice as many as everybody else? And, hey, why did the cook stagger down into the scuppers after he catered the canapes?
So... Dwarf? Where the hell are ya? What does it mean when the compass thingy is dizzier than I am, and that wind gauge doodad has blown outta the rigging? Dwarf? Short guy? You awake? You even there?
Lo, upon the horizon... Methinks I spot Siren. Let us chart a course towards her!
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