Blogarama
Name:
Location: the waves, the ocean

Hoist the sails, raise yer bloody goblets, ahoy & onward me laddies!

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Those What've Seen the Tail End of the Plank

To live & lose & endure it in the name of copious bounty, aye, that is the motto aboard me ship. Aplenty of men have been driven shoreward under the waves or plunged in steel shackles to their watery grave & god bless them, aye. One of our own laddies was carried aloft upon a whale's back with his tallywhacker plugged in the spume-hole, like a wart growing on the back of that leviathan's gargantuan head. Let it be a lesson to ye. Plenty of our kind meet with the reaper early & with e'erlasting stupidity as the curse. Say what ye will of old Blackbeard, stowed away in a cay off the island, sipping rum for three days while the siren song of the Jamaican mermaid tinged the air in its mellifluous way, aye, & for three days he sat & took in the pleasure of his bounty ere the Brit snuck up on him with a broadside. Well, every fight wasn't meant for victory, nor every spume-hole meant for a laddy's privates.
A life at sea will teach ye quick mortality, & our forebearers' names float upon the seafoam and tideswirl just as the algae & dead seahorses do. Time, me laddies, she ticks & ere long ye learn not to tick her off. Gather ye rosebuds & all of that, plug yer whales, unsheath yer argent blade not in the name of honor, for honor is naught but futility laddies, but in the name of deed. Ye laddies & lassies are fodder for tomorrow's tales, aye you are, & though me sounds a bit like a grandaddy I'd err in not remindin' ye. I recall a young stowaway what joined our crew & called me capt'n for a brief while, & with every captured vessel he'd to its bowsprit like a rabid mammal after a kill, fightin to have 'is way with the lady upfront-- eventually we lost 'im to splinters too & damn well deserved, but damn 'im as ye may, he lived 'is measley little life.
Don't go after a wooden mannequin on account of a sea-tale, & keep yer distance from any brigatine ye see on the distant horizon, trust ye me, but live yer deeds & ere long the reaper'll record 'em for ye. Until then, I say raise yer goblet full me laddies & let the tide carry ye on!

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home