Category: Talk Like A Pirate Day

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He’d heard the legends of Atlantis, the island paradise that had sank beneath the waves.
“It’s still out there, son,” said a grizzled fisherman, pulling out a map. “I’m too old to seek it myself, but I could sell you this map.”
George bought the map, raised anchor, and sailed for Atlantis.
Except that he had the map upside-down, and ended up in the middle of Fenway Park in Boston.
Thankfully, the Red Sox were away in New York.
George found a bar, and watched the game on television.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Other pirates looted and plundered, while George spent a lot of time writing to his grandmother.
She’d send care packages, which contained cookies and brownies and socks and underwear.
His crewmates stole George’s socks, ran the underwear up the mast to fly with the Jolly Roger, and ate all of the cookies and brownies.
Clutching their stomachs, they vomited blood and died horrible, painful deaths.
George wrote his grandmother again to tell her that she really needs new glasses.
“Or put bigger labels on the vanilla and arsenic bottles.”

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
All the other pirates looked for buried treasure with their treasure maps.
George got an idea and made really cool-looking treasure maps.
Then he’d sell them to unsuspecting pirates.
He made a lot of money this way.
Too much to carry around.
So, he put it in an old tea chest and buried it in his back yard.
And drew up a map to remind him where it was.
He sold that map to someone by accident.
Sure enough, the next morning, there was a hole in the yard.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He was a fierce competitive eater though.
Won a few championships at county fairs and restaurant openings.
Hot dogs, pizzas, chicken wings… if you could eat it, George ate it.
A lot of it. And he ate it quickly.
Afterwards, he’d go off to an alley and throw it all up, but he’d kept it down long enough to pick up the trophy and the prize money.
But George didn’t mind it all that much, considering how many times he’d been seasick during his days on the high seas.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
But even a not-very-good pirate can see the evil in marketing consultants.
“You need to rebrand!” said the consultant. “You’re not pirates, you’re independent resellers.”
The consultant instituted standard uniforms, providing the hook-handed, peg-legged, and eye-patched crewmembers with realistic prostheses.
“And we’ve got to work on language skills. Your grammar and jargon are simply awful!”
Hostages became negotiating assets, booty became procured trading goods.
The crew held a meeting, then keel-hauled the landlubber.
“Oh, sorry,” said George. “We’re terminating your contract through a barnacle-scrubbing maintenance operation. Is that better?”

George was a pirate but he wasn’t a very good pirate. The problem was that the captain kept changing the ship’s operation manuals. He made procedures more and more complex, making it harder for any pirates to get any actual work done with consistency. And he changed the terminology and names of things. This confused the Pirates even more. Eventually, George held a meeting with all the other pirates on the ship. The captain woke up to George standing in front of him with a dagger to his throat. What’s the bullshit term you use for mutiny now? Asked George.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He was always leaving the ship’s portholes open, and one day a raven flew in and landed on George’s head.
“Nevermore,” said the raven.
“What the crap does that mean?” said George.
“Nevermore,” repeated the bird.
George swatted the raven away, got up, and looked up nevermore in a dictionary.
The definition further irritated him.
“Why would a raven say nevermore?” said George.
“Nevermore,” said the raven.
George drew his cutlass and killed the annoying bird.
He roasted it in the galley and ate it.
Quoth the pirate, “Delicious.”

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He was a loyal baseball fan, though.
No, he didn’t follow the Pittsburgh Pirates.
No self-respecting pirate would be caught dead in Pittsburgh.
He followed the Bradeton Marauders, a minor league club.
George went to every game, dressed up in his best pirate regalia, and he’d lead the cheers.
Waving his cutlass in the air, shouting for all nine innings.
The fans thought he was awesome.
“You’re the best pirate ever,” the kids would say.
And, with a happy tear in his eye, he shouted “ONE TWO THREE… YARRRRRRRRRRR!”

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
At least, that was what the captain said.
Truth was, George was a pretty good pirate.
The captain, on the other hand, was an awful pirate.
But you know the Peter Principle.
People rise in rank until they fully express their incompetence.
And the captain was supremely incompetent.
Terrified that someone would discover how incompetent he really was.
So, he constantly put down the pirates on his ship.
Pitting them against each other.
All the while, hoarding gold, hoping to retire. before his crew called him on his bullshit.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Still, he did his best for his ship, joining raiding parties and fending off rival pirates.
Until the captain sold to a German pirate consortium.
Which outsourced the work to cheaper Russian pirates.
George sat in port, stuck in endless planning meetings.
“When will we go out again?” asked George.
The owners told him to shut up and train.
A lot of his old crew mates got bored and quit for better challenges.
George trained their replacements.
Until one day, George left, too.
And sailed off to new lands.