Location: the waves, the ocean

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

Thursday, April 28, 2005

The Curative & Restorative Properties of a Vitriolic Battle

Well, well, laddies, 'twould seem that some of our brethren to the north 'ave had their run-ins with Ragnar & the like & what began as exposition of fact has burgeoned into bloodthirsty & empassioned warring on all sides; or, aye, rather I should say, readiness for warring aboard me brigate & only readiness to spew specious claims aboard the wee skiffs of the viking lads. Brings a tear to me patch, it does, to even make the attempt to empathize with a wobbly-kneed pussilanimous little viking, whose rhetoric blooms early like a tulip but whose courage fades with the first threat of frost. 'Tis a sad state of affairs, I wager, to have such fear coursing through one's veins where once vitriol & blue blood did flow. 'Tis a fact of life, aye, a fact of the seas as firm as tide & current, that the pirate's spirit -- irrefragable, obstinate & voracious in its want -- will without fail triumph the will of would-be ne'erdogoods, & that the petty verbal indiscretions of such as the vikings, amounting as they do to so much incurable incontinence of phrasing, will in the end meet the very same violent opposition with which we have disposed already of so many formidable foes. I say talk on, ye scurvy cods, for yer talk be heard. When through the parted hair of yer red beards I see yer axes rise, aye, I will be there. When, from 'twixt the horns of yer helmet, I see yer arrows whirring through the air, I will be there to catch them in me teeth & turn them 'pon yer children. Aye, ye talk of viciousness & depravity & the bankruptcy of the human ethical core, but ye know nothing of me life nor of me crew nor of me maritime strategies, do ye? Once, when Elanore's soft hand held my bronzen hook in healthier times, I had me means of commiseratin.' Fled are those halcyon days, lads, & I warn ye, where there once beat a healthy heart there be now only the sutty pith of evil. Where there once sounded pleasant diddies in me ears there now rings only the toll & report of cannonfire. Where once all of life's majesty wept in me, there now stares from me insides the sullen grave glare of a man whose hand has played a part in such unthinkably drastic brutalities that human pathos is rendered obsolete. Aye, vikings, though ye talk, ye do not act, but in me actions, aye, have I talked. Review the records, boys, & be sure of what ye want, less the fates catch ye unguarded...


Post a Comment

<< Home