Pirate's Log Book

Of booties, booty n' the New Yarr.

Happy New Yarr to every matey out there. I be doin' fine, livin' the high life on the high seas, scrubbin' decks n' all that. Lately though, I've been the whippin' boy o' this vessel. Aye... the whippin' boy.

It all started with an itch by me dungbie. Like a good pirate should, I took care o' the itch by me onesies, but the Captain took me to the ship's surgeon anyway. There, me heavens, it was terrible! The surgeon's right hand henchwoman LURED me into good behavior, I swears it - she did! - by bein' a wench to begin with n' then she told me I be a handsome boy n' started pokin' at me fur n' checkin' me out. So far, so good, said I... until she rudely poked me dungbie, without even so much as a "hello, there, handsome Pirate!"

If I could have, I would have made her walk the plank right then and there, but me Captain and me Navigator were a-holdin' me up on the examination plank. It was horrible! They then took me "out back" (save me hide! Please!) n' the surgeon's henchwoman SHAVED the underside o' me tail! ARGH! How more embarrassing could it possibly get? There even was a really cute wee spaniel wench lookin' at me from inside her brig cell!

It got more embarrassing. They made me wear a cone on me neck. On me head, and marked "dunce", I could have understood n' done me time... but around me neck? NO! No no no, that will simply NOT DO.

Got me some loot today when me Captain n' the crew n' I intercepted the mail ship as it floated by. "AVAST!" said I. The mailman shuddered in fear - he knows I be fierce and that we take no prisoners. We got the swag, n' the Captain asked Zap if she wanted to eat the bills (Zap said no, but asked for her share of *yesterday*'s pillaging - more on that later). I got me an admirer who sent me two flags for me brig, n' a metal sign with the Pirate's Code of Conduct. It reads thusly:

• I. NO PREY, NO PAY.
• II. ALL MATEYS GET EQUAL SHARE OF BOOTY, WENCHES & GROG
• III. DESERTERS WILL SEE DAVY JONES'S LOCKER.
• IV. LANTERS OUT BY 8 O'CLOCK WHEN AT SEA
• V. HOSTAGES WILL WALK THE PLANK.

I approve o' this code. Especially the bit about the wenches. And the deserters. Let me at 'em.

Yesterday, we sailed on to see Nelson the Meaty-Hearted. Nice guy, this Nelson. He supplies our ship with fine bones and such - though we poor lads and lasses ne'er seem to get our share o' the filet mignon the Cap' buys sometimes. So on we sailed, n' the Captain left me n' Dad in the car... and came out with one of Nelson's men n' dropped this huge box o' goodness in our row boat. We took it back to the ship n' lo! Chicken necks! A whole forty pounds o' glorious chewy goodness. Zap asked for her share right away, but the Captain laughed at her and said that she had to portion it out n' store some in the ship's new handy-dandy icebox. Thanks to the fine lady who gave it to us a few weeks ago!

It's been quiet sailin' here, lately. The seas are cold, the wind is too. The Navigator took the First Mate n' the Toller-of-Nine-Tails out to the Pee-Ay-Arr-Kay n' left me n' the Cap' behind with the Rug. Captain took me out for some trackin' practicin' - I be practicin' me distance work n' doin' good. After that, we went for a wee walk in the woods n' I whipped out me treasure map. Captain followed me, out of curiosity, through the frozen marshes (she got a wee bit wet, but she's a lady o' the sea, so she didn't mind too much). Finally, I found where the X marked the spot n' scared out a tasty bunny out o' its lair! HA!

The Captain didn't let me catch it though. I be thinkin' this is extremely unfair. Me friend Goblin, out in Texas, he got to hunt down a possum last night. Lucky devil. His captain wouldn't let him take it into his quarters though, and the poor guy ended up walking the plank into the tub. Poor matey ne'er got to revel in his possum-stink. How unfair is that?

Not so long ago, I fell asleep in me bananas. I'd gone to bed with some meaty goodness n' a banana, n' a pail full o' grog. Somehow, with me cone, I knocked me bananas out of me bowl n' ended up fallin' asleep in me frozen bananas. The juice stuck in me coat n' I woke up lookin' totally punk. That'd have made me a Pirate Jedi Ninja Space-Cowboy Punk, but me luck turned the other way. Captain made me walk the plank n' gave me a bath. This life can be so unfair, at times...

As I said in me Message in a Bottle (the one I sent to some people who read me adventures), me favorite game is all 'bout tuggin'. I got me tugs - one big fat leather one, one small rolled leather one, three made o' firehose (I be thinkin' one made of hydrant would be great!) two wee synthetic ones I use t'open things with. I've the best retrieve to hand o' anyone on this boat, n' boy do I love this fetchin' stuff. Tuggin' is a contact sport. Me Captain has been a-complainin' about bruised knees and scratched arms when we play. Been mutterin' somethin' about wearing a kevlar vest n' a padded body suit. Wonder if ye can eat that.

O'er than that, I been helpin' me Captain get 'round, n' pickin' things up for her. Much fun bringin' her the phone though I hafta remember that not all of 'em are cordless. Also must 'member that I don't hafta carry stuff with me all the time. Whene'er we go up the stairs from one deck to the other, I feel this... urge... this terrible need to find somethin' to carry. Sometimes, it's easy, I grab me some swag n' head up. Other times, me toys are all away, n' I grab the first thing I see... n' not so long ago, that was the cord to that Evil Machine, the one with the awful noise makin' unit that eats up the doggy sheddin's off the floor. Cap' said I looked a little funny when it tried to follow me up the stairs. Still dun' stop me from a-carryin' stuff all the time.

Beware the Evil Vacuuming Torture Tool, beware the plank... and mind ye bananas.

No prey, no pay!