Ahar, me hearties, tis September 19th, the day when all ye scurvy landlubbers can talk like we swashbuckling sea dogs!
So no more talk of gold pieces or longswords - tis pieces of eight and cutlasses today. I'll be drinkin' rum in Port Royal afore raising the Jolly Roger and settin' sail for a raid on a Spanish galleon or two.
Last one up the old sea dog gets a lick of the cat!
Ahaaar!
Q: And where would I find the old sea dog?
ReplyDeleteA: In bed with the captain, I should expect...
Aye, tis' a damn shame that it had t' fall on a Sunday this year! You just don't see as many pirates on the Lord's day, gar.
ReplyDeleteI prefer to call it avast behind!
ReplyDeleteYo ho ho.
ReplyDelete