Location: the waves, the ocean

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

Friday, April 08, 2005

The BeardBeard Charitable Foundation

Our dear mate of the sea, poor piteous BeardBeard, has developed a bit of an aggressive fondness for 'is dirty whoring parrot, so it would seem, aye, to yer captain. Aye, BeardBeard, the idle times wile away at ye, don't they, & the hours stretch taut yer very fortitude like old Rogers drawn & quartered. & so it has come to pass that in yer quiet moments, alone in yer cabin, aye, you've taken to adornin' yer parrot in any number of harlot accoutrements, in effect making of her a feathered Jezebel of the wide seas, but with a beak & that, aye. & while, to be sure, I understand the compulsion to help along yer parrot, as mine is patched indeed & sports a festive blue bandana atop its crown, perhaps the dress-up has effectively minimalized yer aptitude aboard me planks? Aye, ye say, but what of Calico Jack? What of the fine Indonesian silks of old Bartholomew Rogers? What of the freedoms of piracy & indeed the inherent foppery of a pirate's garb? There be some merit there lads, but to adorn yer beloved parrot in the rouges & lipsticks of a lady-of-the-port is to inhibit the parrot's natural ease, aye, & to make some mockery of an institution. Ye worry me, BeardBeard, for yer insouciance aboard me brigate. Ye shall cast o'erboard yer make-up kit, though the tutu dresses may remain, aye.
As for the rest of ye let it be a lesson. Me eye for the philosophy of the waves is rendered opaque but fer today me lads & I've naught to say that would verily shiver yer timbers. Me feels the familiar fire within me & thinks a draught of rum & a broadside o'er some wee brigateer would do me right, aye. I'll to the mast-top for a looksy & a tip o' the cap.


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