Category: Talk Like A Pirate Day

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He didn’t get along with the ship’s crew.
He thought them to be violent and uncultured, while they considered him a worthless bookworm.
George admitted that he liked books, but he didn’t think he was worthless.
After all, he’d learned a lot from all the books he’d read.
For instance, he learned that good fences make good neighbors from Robert Frost’s poetry.
So, he build a fence around his bunk.
Unfortunately, the only building material was the wood from the ship.
“George, why are we sinking?” asked the captain.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He’d escaped from so many hopeless situations, but there was one he couldn’t get out of.
“Jury duty?” said George, reading the court summons.
George was pretty sure that he could get out of it, considering that piracy was felony enough to strip him of his voting rights.
So, George went down to the courthouse, read a magazine while waiting for the selection process, and stated clearly for the record that he was a pirate.
The prosecution, defense, and judge laughed.
George sighed, and wished he’d brought more magazines.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
So, he changed his name to Brad.
“I’m Brad now,” said George… I mean Brad.
Brad was a pirate, but…
Well, does everything George did as George apply to Brad?
Can you wipe the slate and start again?
The captain decided to put this to the test.
“Brad, swab the deck,” he said.
Brad just stood there.
“SWAB THE DECK, BRAD!” shouted the captain. “BRAD! BRAD!”
“Why are you shouting at me?” asked Brad. “Oh. Wait. Right.”
George changed his name back to George, and he swabbed the deck.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
After watching a movie where the hero had a laser on his gun to help him aim, George mounted a laser to his cutlass.
“It will help me aim,” said George.
“Why not mount it on your flintlock pistol?” asked the captain.
“I can fire it once, and then I have to reload,” said George. “In the time it takes me to reload, I can use my cutlass five or six times.”
George then wiggled the laser’s red dot on the deck, and the ship’s cat chased it around.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He’d shot sailors. He’s shot women and children.
He’d shot fellow pirates in the back.
(Although, if you shoot someone in the back, it’s kinda hard to call them “fellow.”)
But he could never shoot a dog.
He’d get this strange, faraway look on his face, almost sad, and he’d lower his gun arm.
Or he’d drop to a knee, pull some dog biscuits out of his pocket, and offer them to the dog.
The first mate thought this was peculiar, and he asked George why.
George shot him.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Whenever he failed, he’d quote inventor Elon Musk:
“Failure is an option here. If things are not failing, you are not innovating enough.”
The captain would point out that George had failed to make his bunk, cook breakfast for the crew, swab the deck, and raise the alarm that the British Navy was rapidly approaching from starboard.
George picked up a mop and began to swab the deck.
“Oh, good,” said the captain. “It’ll be nice and clean when they execute us for piracy.”
That made George feel accomplished.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
As for finding the nightlife, well, that was something George knew.
After a hard night in the library looking up new designs for ships and sails and cannon, he’d stop by the Church of Hot Wax.
Mistress Suzanne would walk down the aisle, clad in skintight leather and a mask, tapping her worshippers on the chest with the butt of her whip.
“You,” she said to George.
When people asked George about the bruises and scars, he’d say “You should see the other guy.”
And he’d just barely smile.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
People accused George of being lazy, but George always felt tired.
Maybe it was an iron deficiency? Or some sort of hormonal issue?
Perhaps George’s immune system was weak?
And then there was the constant stress of other pirates bullying George and calling him lazy.
This caused George to worry, causing even more stress.
It was a vicious cycle. George became worse and worse of a pirate.
The depression turned suicidal, and he tried to walk the plank.
Right on to the ship.
He couldn’t even get that right.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Instead of sailing the seven seas, plundering and looting, he spent a lot of time with his realtor, looking at houses.
There was always something wrong with the property… too much noise, poor school system, a seedy neighborhood.
There was always an excuse to keep looking.
One day, after a long walkthrough, George was happy.
Nothing was wrong with the house. The owners were looking to move out and sell quickly.
“It’s perfect,” said George. The long-frustrated realtor was delighted.
Until George’s shipmates showed up and looted the place.