Category: Talk Like A Pirate Day

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He wasn’t very good at reading maps or compasses, so when he thought he was heading to Barbados, he was actually heading North.
“Is it getting cold or what?” said George, shivering.
The crew dodged ice floes as they attempted to steer South.
Sleet tore at the sails, and they barely survived a fierce blizzard.
Enough snow accumulated on the deck for a snowball fight and to make a snowman.
The crew bound and gagged George, and packed snow around him.
And they put George’s hat on its head.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Other pirates had cool names, like Blackbeard and Captain Hook.
George was just George the Pirate.
He tried out a lot of names, but his shipmates refused to use any of them.
“You’ll always be George the Pirate to us,” they said.
Everywhere he went, he was George the Pirate.
Except for one.
George walked in to the Red Cross and rolled up his sleeve.
“I’m back,” he said. “Ready to give more.”
“Welcome aboard, Captain Blood!” said the nurse. “Your usual cot?”
George eased back, and he smiled.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
People had a hard time believing that George was a real pirate.
Even at the Loebner Prize competition, where programmers build intelligent systems to beat the Turing Test, George still had a hard time.
“I’m sitting right in front of you!” screamed George at the judges. “I’m a freaking pirate! PirateBot 3000 and AutoPirate are computers!”
The competition’s judges conferred. “No self-respecting pirate would act in that manner,” they said, making marks on their clipboards.
In a huff, George went home.
CaptainBot 3000 told him to swab the deck.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Unlike other pirates, who had parrots, George had a pet rat.
He called it Bilgey.
“It’s a bilge rat,” said George. “Purebred and everything, he’s even got papers.”
“That damn thing has the plague,” said the captain. “Throw it overboard.”
George pulled out the papers. “One of these says that he’s an Emotional Support Animal. That means you have to let me keep him.”
The captain killed the rat and fed it to a mangy wharf dog.
“Wait a day,” said the captain. “You can keep what comes out.”

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He spent a lot of time on the bow, feeling the wind blow through his long flowing hair.
So, the captain ordered his men to hold George down while he used his sword to shave George bald.
George rubbed his hand against his bare scalp.
“This feels kinda neat,” he said.
And he stood on the bow and felt the wind blow across his head.
“This is so much cooler,” said George. “I totally dig this. Thank you, Captain.”
The captain threatened to remove George’s head with a cannon.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Most pirates aren’t interested in science and technology, unless it has something to do with swords and weapons and sailing.
George was interested in telephones and communication technology.
In fact, he was the reason why Alexander Graham Bell said “Watson, come here, I need you.”
George had burst into Bell’s lab, all excited to have found his hero.
Bell was surprised by the sight of a pirate breaking into his lab, so he called for Watson.
They drove off George, who shrugged and went away, looking for Thomas Edison.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He wished he was a good pirate.
He blew out all the candles on his birthday cake and made a wish.
Nope.
He carried around a birthday cake and shouted if it was anybody’s birthday.
When someone said “Yes” he’d light the candles and demand that they blew them out and wish that George was a good pirate.
“Say it out loud,” he’d say. “Or I’ll have ye guts for garters.”
Nope. Still didn’t work.
But he did make some good money as a novelty birthday telegram that way.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
You know that pirate in the “Whiskey in the Jar” song?
In that song, a pirate stole a bunch of money from some other pirate, brought it home to his chick, and then she got him drunk and set up a murder scheme that left her rich, the other pirate dead, and the guy in prison?
Well, that wasn’t George.
George wasn’t the guy in prison, the dead guy, or even the chick who set them both up.
And he sings that song way off key in karaoke bars.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
If he had a hammer, he wouldn’t hammer in the morning, evening, or all over this land.
Nor would he hammer out love between his brothers and sisters.
Imagine, for a moment, George waving a hammer in your face, ordering you to love your brothers and sisters.
Because, if you take that literally, it’s kinda sick. Almost like incest.
No, just no.
It’s just plain wrong.
Thank goodness that George doesn’t have a hammer.
Or a bell. Or a song.
He just has a sword.
Because he’s a pirate.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He was a good friend, though. I could always count on George.
Whenever I felt tired, or sad, or lonely, George was there.
He’d sit by my bed, telling adventure stories while drinking from his jug of whiskey.
I’d close my eyes and imagine the faraway places George had seen.
All the treasure he’d held, pieces of eight running through his fingers.
Whispering “Good night” he’d turn off the lamp.
Climbing out the window, leaving behind his whiskey jug.
By the time I was twelve, I was in rehab.