George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Not that this mattered to George.
George knew lots of good pirates, and a few great ones, too.
Many of them were dead.
None of them spent their last moments wishing that they’d been better pirates.
Maybe a few wished that they’d been better swordsmen so they could have blocked the slash or thrust that eventually killed them.
And the ones who drowned, they probably wished they’d learned to swim.
“So what if I’m a lousy pirate?” thought George. “I’m alive.”
He smiled happily as he swabbed the deck.