Category: Talk Like A Pirate Day

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
This wasn’t in just skill, but also in discipline.
“I’m leaving the ship for a few days,” said the captain. “No parties while I’m gone, okay?”
“Aye aye, captain,” said George.
George broke out the rum and arranged music, games, dancing, and fencing matches.
Come dawn, the ship was everything but a wreck at the bottom of the bay when the captain came back.
“Are you mad I made a mess, sir?” said George.
“No,” said the captain. “I’m mad you threw a great party and I wasn’t invited,”

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He never checked the weather reports, so he frequently sailed into thunderstorms, hurricanes, and tsunamis.
Or he’d be sleeping at an inn, and a big wave would wash the building a mile inland.
“I paid for an oceanside view,” complained a sopping-wet George to an equally sopping-wet innkeeper. “Now it’s a mile walk to the docks?”
George wrung out his clothes and hiked the mile back to his ship.
Well, where he thought he’d left his ship.
He hiked back. It was on the other side of the inn.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
But the captain… now they weren’t good at all.
Every year, the captain sent out an anonymous survey.
The responses were dismal.
“I feel like my contributions are valued.” Negative.
“I feel like I have opportunities for career growth.” Negative.
“I feel like my work has meaning.” Extremely negative.
The captain fumed, threatening to make everyone walk the plank.
“Then who will hold the plank?” asked George.
George was the first forced to walk the plank.
“I’m going to remember this for next year’s survey,” grumbled George, treading water.

George was a pirate, but he was in a very good pirate.
If you asked him about that, I’d say don’t give a shit.
Even though people constantly gave him shit over it, he never gave them shit back.
Some would say that he couldn’t give two shits what you thought.
But it wasn’t that he would give two shits, because he never gave one.
One shit, two shits, it didn’t matter.
George didn’t give a shit about not being a very good pirate, and that’s all that mattered.
To tell you the truth, I don’t give a shit either

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Instead of taking hostages and ransoming them off, he usually ended up befriending his captives and traveling the world with them.
One was a young man from the French Navy who didn’t speak French very well.
He was whittling small sculptures out of wood and soapstone.
“These are pretty good,” said George. “Mind making one of me?”
So, he did, that’s how George wound up with an early Paul Gaugin sculpture.
It’s in a museum now.
Well, in their warehouse, not on display.
George wasn’t a particularly handsome man.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He lost his crew, he lost his ship, and he even lost his hat.
His reputation kept him from getting hired by other pirates for their ships.
He was reduced to stealing packages off of people’s porches.
But George wasn’t a very good porch pirate either.
His first heist was a trap, and the glitterbomb exploded in his face.
“Welcome, Glitterbeard!” shouted everyone at the pub, laughing.
The next heist was a delivery from Ikea.
Miraculously, it was a ship.
George struggled with instructions and Allen wrenches for days.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
When pirates tell each other secrets, they get really fancy with their expressions.
Like sinking something down in Davy Jones’ Locker.
Or the best way for three men to keep a secret is to kill two of them.
George liked to say “Keep this under your hat.”
Which is where he kept his most important secret. Literally under his hat.
So while he slept, his fellow pirates would take off his hat and read his secret.
Which consisted of a little slip of paper marked “Buy a new hat.”

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
His adventures took him far and wide, and once he went to China.
“This cave bat is delicious,” he told the street vendor. “Can I have another?”
That’s how George caught the Coronavirus.
He was feverish and coughing for days.
Spreading the disease like wildfire.
Authorities called for people to shelter in place, putting the world in a lockdown.
“Plenty of opportunities to loot and pillage,” wheezed the captain over the conference call.
“Sure,” said George, wrapped in his bathrobe.
He took a Mucinex and went back to bed.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He was a pretty good competitive eater, though.
Every Fourth of July, he’d sail to Coney Island to compete in Nathan’s Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest.
He’d soak the bun in water, chow it down, and then eat the meat.
Repeat a few dozen times.
The problem was, George would build a huge lead quickly, often breaking the record, only to vomit everything up and get disqualified.
He changed his strategy to vomit all over the other contestants, trying to make them vomit.
“At least I’ll tie,” said George.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
On his days off, he’d walk around the local cemeteries, looking for groups of people.
The bigger the group, the better.
“He was such a good man,” he’d say to the widow, or whatever was appropriate for the deceased. “We knew each other in high school.”
Then, he’d grab a free lunch from the reception, stuffing his pockets with shrimp and other goodies.
He’d also grab some flowers, because the ship needed some color, or to make a good impression with one of the prettier wenches at the tavern.