Category: My stories

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
They say the worst and bloodiest of the pirates were possessed by The Devil himself.
George, being not very good, and only bloody when he tripped and skinned his knees, was likely possessed by some minor spirit or supernatural presence.
I suspect it was a part-time accountant for a small family business.
One that was replaced easily by Quickbooks, and still somewhat sore about it.
Unlike that kid who levitated her bed and vomited green pea soup, George had a slight facial tic.
Nothing really worthy of an exorcism.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Being a pirate was enough for Tinkerbell to harass George constantly.
One day, George managed to swat Tinkerbell with his cutlass, and he damaged her wing.
The stricken fairy fell to the ground.
George stuck her in a teapot and closed the lid.
Tinkerbell sprinkled fairy dust on the teapot so it could fly, and she smacked George with it over and over.
George filled the teapot with water, held it to the stove, and waited until Tinkerbell’s screams were drowned out by its whistle.
Then he made tea.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
So, he gave up being a pirate for a while.
People still called him “George The Pirate” though.
Even when he finished his medical degree and took up dentistry.
He put an old treasure chest in the office for the kids to pick out a prize after their cleaning.
But only if they were good.
The bad kids are forced to walk the plank.
Which really isn’t so bad, since George’s office is on the first floor.
Not that he tells them that, as he puts the blindfold on.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
The other pirates bossed him around a lot, and made him do humiliating tasks for them.
Lefty McGee, the pirate with a hook for a hand, would order George to pick his nose for him.
“But you’ve still got your right hand,” said George. “Can’t you do that yourself?”
“That, indeed, I do,” said Lefty. “But it’s kind of awkward to dig into my left nostril with it.”
George winced and refused, and he also drew the line at giving Lefty foot-rubs. “That gnarly peg leg gives me splinters.”

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He bought a labelmaker to mark everything with its name so he could learn the proper pirate terminology.
The captain drew the line at putting a label on his hat.
“But it’s okay for me to put one on your lapel that says CAPTAIN, right?” asked George.
“No,” said the captain. “In fact, get rid of these stupid labels right now.”
George went around the ship removing all of the white label stickers.
It took him a while to reach the one marked GEORGE off of his own back.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He sent away for everything he could find in the ads in the back of magazines that might make him a better pirate.
Strength pills, sea monkeys, lucky boxes… you name it, George ordered it.
The first thing that arrived was a pair of hypnotic glasses.
George wore them and tried to hypnotize his enemies.
That didn’t work so well.
When George got out of the hospital, the captain wore the glasses to hypnotize George into being a better pirate.
The doctor at the hospital said “Back so soon?”

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
When he’d try to blow open a safe, he had a habit of using too much gunpowder and destroying the contents of the safe.
This made sense.
George bombed the safe that contained his annual employee reviews, but it wasn’t a good thing when it came to annihilating a safe full of money.
Well, the Gold and Silver survived the blast. George just needed to pick through the wreckage for it all.
Or pry it out of any unlucky bastards who happened to be standing around at the time.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
“Sweet Pirate of the Heart, Not Pirate of the Sea,” Emily Dickinson called him.
He spent a lot of time reading the latest verses she’d given him.
He’d read them over and over, wondering when he could travel to Amherst for more.
So absorbed in reading, he didn’t notice the rocks ahead.
No, not some spice’s mutiny. Nor some Altar’s Perfidy.
Rocks. Large rocks in the water.
That’s what the ship wrecked on.
George crawled ashore and looked around. Boston Harbor.
George smiled and hired a carriage to Amherst.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
None of the other pirates respected him.
Blackbeard, Redbeard, and Yellowbeard thought George was a clown.
On the other hand, Frank Beard, the drummer for ZZ Top, respected George.
He liked George, and invited him to join the band on every tour.
George would sit up in the light rigging.
It reminded him of a ship’s rigging. With lights.
When Frank sprained his wrist, he asked George to fill in for him.
George was elated… until he actually tried to perform.
George wasn’t very good at the drums, either.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He was fascinated with the storm glass on the captain’s desk.
Turning the tube full of liquid crystals in the light, looking at the dazzling patterns.
Like a snow globe, but without the plastic Alamo or Eiffel Towel or whatever local landmark.
George shook the tube, and it fell out of his hand, shattering on the deck.
“Oops,” said George. “I’ll just get a new one when we get back to land.”
George told the captain, and they tracked a course to the nearest port.
Straight into the storm.