| TiberiusAD |
09-20-2005 12:47 AM |
Ahoy me hearties!
Begad yah blaggards, Davy Jones she weeps. In all me days upon the briny deep, never have me ears sorrow'd for such a swab of a effort.
Matey's gather round and hark 'ol Cpt'n Zen for a spell. A tale I's be spewin'. There'll be no swakin' neither, less ye be takin' 12 steps past a 10 step plank.
Twas a eve in November when the Fair ship the "Pyro" drew out to be on account. Scurvy ridden was her hands, and booty they saught on that chilled night. Throught the reef they sailed twords the port of AA.com, past Dead Man's Bluff and narrow amist crashin' surf.
A piece of eight 'n a Sea Dog's fill 'o Rum mayhap coulda tame the savagry that eve, but many a landlubber may be at odds. Nah says I, 'n Nay says the "Pyro" and her shanty lot.
Pillage they did, from Aft ta Stern. No Quarter given at any turn the crew of the Pyro poxed the fair folk till swag was meaningless, and twas but the rapin' and murderin' that the blaggards saught.
Dead men say she still sails, her hands long rotten in the bilge. So's should ye spot the sails on the horizon, give us a Sail Ho! and be forwarnin'. The likes of that vessel sits harder than 40 flogs 'n 20 days past port.
So's minds ye avast and call yur wench thrice tonight, could come a storm of those scurvy lifeless hands.
Yo-Ho-Ho me Mates 'n Fair winds to yahs.
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