Weekly Challenge #230 – Drabble Like A Pirate Day

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Twenty-Thirty, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was… was…. um…
It’s DRABBLE LIKE A PIRATE DAY!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
TJ
Freereed
Tom
Zackmann
Steven
Abigail
Norval Joe
The Dread Pirate of Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):


TJ

My investigation into the financial disaster of 2008 had turned up a lot
of dead ends. Wreckage doesn’t begin to describe it. Forensic
accounting is just words when entire trading floors lie smoldering in
ruins. Hostile takeovers left smaller investors at sea, desperate to
stay afloat. I caught a lead in a darkened boardroom, where the
hollow-eyed shell of a CFO cowered under a table. “Hats,” he
breathed. “We’re not wearing enough hats.” That and an unexploded
portfolio, I knew my quarry. Such is the reign of terror left in the
wake of the Crimson Permanent Assurance. Yo. Ho. Ho.

Freereed

CaptainSqueakSears was missing half his right-middle-finger. He’d sneak behind a sailor, jab the stump hard-between-their-ribs and growl, “Arrggg, there’s no swimmin back!”
Every six months TheOnyx would put-sail-to-home. From deck Squeak could see his four-storey-clapboard-monstrosity looming over NewBedfordHarbor.
He’d stomp into the sitting-room shouting “Abigail@!Abby@” And out would run the FulsomeAbby and her ScrawnySisterFern.
After supping-drinking-smoking-slobbering-snoring-swearing, he’d steer to the vast-billowy-ocean of their marriage-bed and plough-through-the-waves of his plump wife’s flesh.
Then in the wee-hours, he’d sneak up the-old-stairway to enjoy the ScrawnySister. While teetering back down to his wife… “Damn@! That stair@!” and that’s how Squeak got his name.

Tom

Welcome to Pirate as a second language. I’m your instructor R L Stevenson. I known many of yee r new to Belize and hope immersing yourself in r colorful and reductive language will speed your assimilation into r hyper profiteering culture. Remember: Rome wasn’t sacked in day. Little pirate humor.
Let’s begin with pirate Epistemology
Y-I-R?
C-I-R.
B-I-R!
Y-U-R?
R-U-B?
We-B-R!
Now for a bit of rancorous, but common pirate exchange
I-C-T.
We-C-U-P.
Remember R can be used as a verb, possessive, and agreement

Zackmann

Welcome to our ship “The Wobegon.” Have some of that there hot dish and lefsa. We are here
to make the bug bucks, ya sure you bet ya. If ya live, becoming rich as a troll is pretty much a
dun deal then.
Say that captain doesn’t really talk like a pirate? He sounds more Keillor than Keelhaul.
Sure the captain comes from a long line of pirates who have been raiding these waters since Leaf
Erickson discover the new world. The captain and most of the crew are from Minnesota don’t
you know. That is except TJ

Steven

The first defendant wore a “home taping is killing the music industry”
shirt. “Plea?” I asked.
“Not guilty! Information wants to be free! ”
“Innocent by reason of insanity.” I said. “Ideological idiots. Next!”
The man had candles in his black beard. “Yarrr, me letter of mark
from the Queen here says – ”
“Dry him out in the drunk tank. He reeks of rum. Next!”
The third defendant wore a suit and tie. “I don’t understand. I just
ran the subprime CDO desk at an investment bank.”
I leapt up. “Hang him. Hang him by the neck until he’s dead, dead, dead!”

Abigail

When I first started playing tennis with him I wasn’t so bad. The trick they say is to get out of your head. I did. He had beautiful tan calves and his socks were pristine white. I plotted.
Later we played in earnest never actually keeping score but sometimes we’d paste a bullet, or body shot. I liked playing rough with him. But then he sliced. The back spin and warp on the ball pissed me off. I hit it.”Arg!” “Arg? Pirate Tennis?” he laughed slicing again. I tried to slice back, hard, The bruise lasted for weeks.
Love hurts.

Norval Joe

“Welcome to Mc Donalds, may I take yer order”
“Yes. I would like a ten peice, number ten, with a medium sprite.”
“Would ye like a Coke and barbeque sauce with those nuggets?”
“No. I would like a sprite and hot mustard sauce. Can I have three?”
“We only give two suaces with a ten peice. A third will cost ye two bits.”
“Fine.”
“Would ye like two hot apple pies for a dollar?”
“No, that’s all, thanks, and by the way, where’s the regular staff that works here?”
“Harr. They be sleepin in Davy Jones locker, the scurvy dogs.”

Planet Z

Susie brought her pet rabbit to Show And Tell.
Abdul brought a beautifully-painted flowerpot.
Billy brought a pirate.
Sure, it was just a homeless drunk in a pirate costume, but he growled and slurred and waved his plastic cutlass like a real pirate.
Later, the principal asked the teacher why she let the bum into the room in the first place.
She thought it was his grandfather or an actor he hired. and tried to laugh about it: “Taking off his eyepatch was somewhat educational about disabilities, right?”
“Yes, but taking off his pants and crapping in the flowerpot wasn’t.”

The Mermaid Feast

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Old Captain Jack was a friend to all creatures of the sea, so when he died, they took his boat out thirty miles from shore and cast him into the briny deep.
Six mermaids caught his shrouded body and escorted him over the horizon.
The crew set course for port, but winds blew them back out, and they came across the mermaids.
They were feasting on Jack’s corpse, hands drenched in gore and blood.
The crew wanted to fire their cannon to scatter the mermaids, but instead they just watched.
Watching half-naked cannibal women are better than nothing, I suppose.

High-Five

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Grampa only had one last bit of advice for me before he died: “Never high-five a pirate.”
Then, he died.
Grampa was always good for stupid, useless advice.
According to him, you should never cook sea urchins on a Thursday. As if I’d cook them on any day of the week? They’re disgusting!
He also said that Van Gogh was smart. Cutting off your ear to impress a chick is a lot smarter than cutting off his balls like Picasso did.
“But Picasso never castrated himself,” I said.
Grampa just lit his pipe, blew a cloud of smoke, and winked.

Clown Pirates

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Long ago, I sailed the seven seas, and the winds flew through my hair.
I wasn’t much of a sailor and neither was my crew. We became shipwrecked on The Island Of The Clown Pirates.
It would have been paradise if it hadn’t have been for the balloon animal parrots, big floppy peglegs, and a crazy rowboat that almost a hundred of them climbed out of, one by one.
They had no swords, but every one of them could hurl a wicked custard pie.
So, we decided to join them.
The winds now fly through my gigantic red fright wig.

Wine

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A wine tells the story of an entire countryside.
With a touch of the seal, you can feel rough hands of the farmer as he ties down vines.
With a sniff, you can smell the rich soil the grapes grew in.
With a taste, you can see the seasons pass… the sunshine… the rain…
With a glance at the bottle, you can see where the blood from the rebel colonists has soaked the label.
Captain Drog smiled and ordered the entire colony’s production to be loaded on to the ship.
“Then set a course for cheese and crackers!” he shouts.

I was a pirate

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I had a dream I was a pirate.
We sailed the seven seas, although I think we may have sailed one sea twice. And that last one may have been a municipal pool.
I’m not that good with maps and charts. And I tend to look down the wrong end of a spyglass. Oh, and I get seasick in the bathtub.
But this is my dream, okay? And I was a pirate in my dream.
I didn’t have a hook for a hand. Or a pegleg. Or even an eyepatch.
Just a pirate, sailing the seven seas of my dreams.

The Island

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The island isn’t on any maps.
Well, okay. It appears on one map: mine.
It’s off the trade routes. I only found it because of a freak storm that blew me ashore here.
It doesn’t even have a name.
Want to name it?
No rush. We won’t be here long, anyway.
Just long enough to bury the treasure and the prisoners.
That’s right – bury them.
Remember when I gave orders to take no prisoners?
This is why.
Just be sure to give ’em each a sip of whiskey before… you know.
I may be a pirate, but I’m no Savage.

Happy Pirate Day

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Jimmy’s turning seven. I asked him what he wanted for his birthday, and he said he wanted a clown at his party.
I couldn’t find a birthday clown, so I settled for a birthday pirate.
Snarling and growling, his peg leg was caught in a gopher hole in the lawn.
Then he ran the piñata through with his cutlass.
Just when you thought it couldn’t be any more of a disaster, the hook on his hand kept popping the balloon animals.
Oh, and he threatened to keel-haul the birthday boy.
The kids loved it. Now they all want birthday pirates.

Career Move

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I put my thumb on the scanner and hold it there for two minutes.
*BING*
“You are a Pirate,” said the Career-o-matic kiosk. “Congratulations.”
Earlier today, this thing told me I was a Surgeon.
“Please return items from previous Career,” said the machine.
I stuffed the bloody surgical scrubs and malpractice lawsuit documents into the disposal slot.
Whirring. A slight warm breeze.
“Please remove new Career items,” said the machine.
Reaching into the slot, I pulled out an eyepatch, cutlass, and a parrot.
“What’s the eyepatch for?” I asked.
The parrot flapped his wings and hit me in the eye.

The Meaty Brigands

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When the ship’s crew sang “You ho ho, and a bottle of A1 Steak Sauce!” I began to worry.
I thought I was signing on to a crew that would search for gold and treasure, but all we’ve done is search the Spanish Main for steaks, burger patties, and all-beef sausages.
“What kind of pirates are we, anyway?” I asked Captain Greasybeard.
“Yarrrrr, we be meat pirates!” he chortled, and the entire crew raised a mighty cheer.
I looked around, shrugged, and cheered along.
It’s been a good life on the ship, but walking the grill hurts like a motherfucker.