Category: Talk Like A Pirate Day

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He found himself marooned on a dessert island.
That’s dessert with two S’s, not one.
It was an island made out of dessert.
Sugary sand, marzipan palm trees, chocolate rocks, and peppermint twigs.
There was a marshmallow mountain in the center of the island.
And it had caves full of gummi bears.
George cut down the trees and made a raft, using the gummi bears as glue.
It took two days at sea to find land.
George thanked God, and then he realized he was marooned on another island.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
In spite of this, George had a lot of merchandising deals.
George teddy bears filled the gift shops in Port Royal.
Kids wore officially-licensed George eyepatches, even though George didn’t wear an eyepatch.
The bandanas practically flew off of the shelves.
When George came back to port, usually by rowboat because his ship had been sunk, people crowded around him and asked him for his autograph on things.
George signed everything. For a price, of course.
So he could buy a new ship and get the hell away again.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
But he had name recognition among pirates, so he figured he should use that to run for a public office.
“Mayor sounds good,” said George. “Mayor George.”
“Port Royal has a Governor, not a Mayor,” said the captain. “And the Governor is appointed by the King.”
“Well, no wonder why things are so awful,” said George.
George began his campaign in earnest, putting up posters and holding rallies.
He won easily, having run unopposed.
“Congratulations,” said the captain. “Now what?”
George shrugged and went back to swabbing the deck.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
It made him very unhappy.
“If you’re so damned unhappy, why don’t you just quit?” the captain said. He pointed to the plank. “Exit’s that-a-way.”
So, George got up and walked the plank, and he fell into the water.
It really wasn’t so bad. The ocean was warm, but not too warm. And there was a gentle breeze.
Treading water wasn’t so hard, and when he needed a break, he floated on his back.
The gentle waves were very relaxing and soothing.
On the other hand, the sharks weren’t.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Every time he came home, people spat on him and called him murderer or babykiller.
Every bone in his body, every scar on his skin ached.
George had never killed a baby.
And the only times he’d killed, he’d killed other pirates, and in self-defense, too.
He remembered every man he’d killed, looking into their eyes as life left them.
Every night, they haunted him in his dreams.
George stopped thinking of his home as home.
His home was the sea, and he never wanted to leave it again.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He suffered from an overactive imagination.
“Is there anything you can do?” he asked his doctor.
“You could have it taken out,” said the doctor. “But it’s expensive.”
George agreed, and they set an appointment with a surgeon.
“Now count to ten,” said the anesthesiologist as he put a gas mask on George’s face.
When George woke up, he felt the bandage on his head.
The doctor gave George a simple imagination test, and George failed it with flying colors.
He proudly keeps the empty jar on a shelf.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
When he was a young boy, he liked to go exploring caves.
Until he got trapped in a cave because the rain flooded the tunnel.
One team of rescuers tried to dig into the cave, while another team worked out diving plans.
It took weeks to rescue him, because the news media were getting incredible ratings from their coverage of the event, and they kept sabotaging the rescue equipment.
After George was rescued, he learned his lesson: he made a point to kill any reporters among hostages he took.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
His captain was annoyed at the fact he’d tell George to do something, and then. days later, he’d find out that George had screwed it up.
“I’m tired of waiting to find out that you’ve screwed up my orders!” yelled the captain. “I want this nonsense to stop!”
The captain hoped that George would stop making so many mistakes.
Instead, George learned how to screw up quicker. And louder.
That way, the captain didn’t have to wait so long.
“On second thought, I’d rather not know,” said the captain.

Surrounded by treasure and the ghosts of the men who he killed for it.
George lay in bed, sweating and pale from a high fever.
“The good pirates don’t die in their beds,” said George’s old captain.
George reached for a pitcher on the nightstand, but his fingers slipped on the handle.
“You weren’t so clumsy when you killed me.”
The pitcher fell to the floor.
George hit the floor with a grunt and a long, painful moan.
Servants came in to put George back to bed.
Towels to mop up George’s sweat.
And a fresh pitcher on the nightstand.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He spent a lot of time below decks with jigsaw puzzles.
No, not those simple Playskool wooden puzzles with 6 or 7 pieces.
These were serious ones, with 5,000 pieces.
And he worked hard to solve them before the cardboard pieces swelled with the moist sea air.
The captain complained that the hold was filling up with jigsaw puzzle boxes and leaving little room for cargo.
He had George toss them overboard.
But, still, at every port, George would pick up a new puzzle.
And work on it diligently.