Toadfish Monastery

YArrrr...

It's bin a while since we had a good Piratey story thread.

Remember the wonderful stories we used to tell in the ole place. YArrr, those were the days!

http://www.venganza.org/forum/viewtopic.php?t=4919

Oi hereby declare the ssry tellin' thread reopended fer business. YArrr!

The Tale of the Whalebone Parrot

Once, I were walkin' through a strange part o' Portsmouth, an' came across a peculiar little shop.

Inside, on a shelf I spies a statue o' a parrot carved from whalebone. 'Twere a lovely thing, the work of a true craftsman. I picked it up.

"'Ow much?" I sez to the shopkeeper.

"One dubloon," 'ee sez. "But the story behind it will cost you a hundred."

I slapped a dubloon on the counter. "I'll take it," I sez. "But ye can stick yer story."

As I were walkin' back to the docks, I noticed something strange. Three or four parrots were flapping along behind me. As I went further, more an' more parrots appeared. They flew from doorways, open windows an' taverns. A bit further along, an' it were like every parrot in the town were flyin' around me. It were like a great shriekin' flappin' cloud o' blue, green an' yellow. As I struggled along, the cloud o' parrots kept gettin' thicker an' thicker. It were gettin' hard to breath by now.

I managed t' get to the dockside, an' by this time it seemed like every parrot fer miles were flyin' round me head. I could 'ardly see, an' thought I were goin' to suffocate from the mass o' birds.

I pulled the whalebone parrot from me pocket an' hurled it as far as I could into the sea. All the birds flew after it, an' plunged into the sea where the whalebone parrot were, an' the lot o' them were drowned.

I brushed meself down an' marched back to the strange shop.

"I suppose you've come back for the story," said the shopkeeper.

"No," I sez. "I wondered if ye had a whalebone revenue man."

Another tale of ...Capn Cronan's Treasure

YYYAAARRRRRR many's the young pirate what's dreamed of findin Cap'n Cronan's Treasure.  The man who came closest however was a young Irish barman at 'The Admiral Benbow'.  Night after night he watched Cronan drink his grog and boast of his exploits, telling tales of riches unimaginable. 

'YYYYAARRR', growled the fearsome Cronan, 'I've got barrels o Belgian Ale so strong it would souse a Spanish Armada and an Old Nick bottle stuffed to the brim with Capn's Delight vouchers!'

No one believed these far fetched ramblings, especially as Cronan never arrived sober, and left even the worse for wear!   But the young Irishman had other ideas, he was sick of Guiness and he dreamed of setting himself up in his own Inn, selling Belgian Beer and Captain's delight by the gallon.

So one night, as Capn Cronan staggered out into the Fog, the Irish barman followed.  As the thick fog swirled around them the Irishman could only keep track of Cronan from the clack, clack of his peg leg on the cobbles and from his drunken singing:

"I guess now it's time for me to give up
YAARRR I feel it's time
Got a picture of you beside me
Got you're lipstick mark still on your grog cup
Got a fist of pure emotion
Got a head of shattered dreams
Gotta leave it, gotta leave it all behind now"

The Irishman could barely stand the stultifying noise of Cronan's singing...but his dream of finding the treasure somehow drove him on.   Suddenly the footsteps stopped and the sound of Cronan opening a creeking door made the Irishman's heart leap...could this be where the captain kept his treasure?  The Irishman slipped inside the door just behind Cronan and found himself in a darkened room and the strange thing was...it was still full of fog!

Suddenly the lights came on and there was Capn Cronan staring straight at the poor Irish fellar from his one terrifying eye!   

'YYYYAAARRRR', said Cronan, 'Arter me Treasure were ye, yer swab?  Ye'd better have a good excuse why ye was followin me or I'll Keel haul ye, hang ye from the yard arm and slit yer gizzard!'

The Irishman backed against the wall in terror, barely able to think...then it came to him in a flash:

'Sorry Mr Cronan Sir...I thought you was Henry Kelly!'

He was never seen again...

PART 5: TIDDLES AND THE BLACK PLAGUE

Followin' Tiddles return to the port of Marseilles with the riches of the 'Bella Rosa', his  Bilge Rat crew settled in to a life of debauchery with frequent visits to Madame Rat-a-touille's, where the cares of their long, plunderous voyage were whittled away in the arms of a affectiones negotiable (Yarrr, me French is as shockin' as me Welsh!).

Meanwhile, the remnants of the Argghh 9000 crew, cast adrift in the Mediterranean were running very low on supplies. 'Yarrr, O'im so hungry Oi could bite me own arm off and chew it' said First Mate Scuppers McGee. 'Yarrr, O'im so hungry Oi could bite yer other arm off and chew it' said DaveL. 'Ahhh, what I would give for a slice of Brenda right now' said Cabin boy Jacko.

Then over the horizon, two large mountainous objects appeared. 'Yarrr, Oi must be hallucinatin', for Oi appears to seein Brenda magnified x1000' said Jacko 'That's not Brenda, Jacko, yer twit, that's Black Bart's ship 'The Big Brenda' said Scuppers. 'Hooray we're saved!!

Bart had indeed heard of Tiddles dastardly plan through the Portsmouth docks. And the good folks of Portsmouth, shocked by the news had commandeered Bart and his crew includin Black Spot, Calico Jack, Bluenose, Griffin, Chatty and several other monastery types to recover the Argghh 9000 crew, then take Tiddles on in a mighty stoush royale.

However, on seeing that Fishead Stew was firmly on the menu, both Scuppers arms were immediately severed and eaten by the Arghhh 9000 crew. 'Yarrr, yewl get used to the cookin' said Sibling Chatty 'and the weight loss that follows' said Spot. 'Set sail for Marseille' said Bart. 'Time to pay that stinkin' varmint cat a visit.'

Meanwhile Tiddles crew were startin' to feel the effects of too many visits to Madame Rat-a-touille's. 'Yarrr, Bugsy where'd you get that black festering pustule' said Tiddles. 'Yarrr, Oi don't feel too well' said Lefty. 'I told you only to eat 'Beeg Rern's' quality French sausages, not that stinkin' Feesh Head Stoue' (Yarrr, these be the French equivalent). But little did they know, it was much worse that a shonky diet. It was the plague!

Little did Tiddles also know, but there was only one thing worse than the Black Plague. For hell hath no fury like a bunch of Marseille bound pirates being fed fish head stew for the next 5-days.

Tiddles was indeed a marked old puss!!

The Beast With Five Toenails

Crumblin' Jack, an ancient crewman o' mine, once told me a ghastly tale. 'Ee pulled up a chair, sucked on 'is pipe an' said "Cap'n, I've seem some strange things in me long life at sea, but let me tell ye the strangest...

"There were once a young sailor called Karl. Now this 'ere Karl were nifty on 'is feet. No-one could dance like 'im -  'ee could do the hornpipe wi' the grace o'a gazelle. Everyone liked to see Karl dance - except Ted.

Ted 'ated Karl. Ye see, Ted were a good dancer, but compared to Karl 'ee were a flat footed lump. No matter 'ow much 'ee practiced, 'ee could never match Karl's fluid style. So Ted lay in 'is 'ammock, broodin' an sulkin'.

One day, Ted bribed the ship's surgeon to tell Karl that 'ee 'ad a terrible disease o' the foot, an' it 'ad to be cut off, or he'd die. The surgeon cut off Karl's foot, an' Ted were so 'appy that 'ee danced all that night.

It were a terrible blow fer Karl. 'Ee turned to drink, an' decided that 'ee couldn't live wi'out 'is dancing. So one night, he hopped over the side o' the ship an' drowned.

The next night, Ted were in 'is 'ammock, when 'ee hears a rustlin' noise. 'Ee opened 'is eye, an saw something moving at the end of 'is hammock. In the moonlight, 'ee could see something creeping up toward 'im. It were Karl's foot, pullin itself up the covers by it's big toe.

Ted watched with horror as the foot crept closer an closer to 'is throat..."

The old man stopped 'is story whist 'ee re-lit 'is pipe.

"So what 'appened," I asked. "Did the foot strangle 'im?"

"Nah," said Crumblin' Jack. "Ted picked it up, threw it out the porthole an went back to sleep. It were only a foot after all."

"Have ye got any other stories?" I asked.

"Aye, loads Cap'n," said Jack.

"Well keep 'em to yerself yer daft old sod."

A DRINK WITH A STRANGER

Twere a cold night in Portsmouth but inside the Admiral Benbow there was a fine log fire, several tankards of ale and many a busty wench to keep me warm.

As I left the tavern to return to me ship I was in fine fettle but my mood changed as I continued walking towards the harbour.  Portsmouth usually on a Saturday was alive with noise with the fighting in the taverns spilling out into the streets (not a lot has changed really).  However, on this cold icy night the streets were deserted, the only noise being the scraping of a peg leg on the rutted road.

An icy fog descended and as I walked down to the harbour the sound of the peg leg was getting closer and closer. Suddenly a hand descended on my shoulder and I heard that deep scary voice for the first time

"You be Calico Jack" he said "I be Cap'n Cronan no doubt you have heard of me"
"Aye that I have" I trembled "What do you want with me"
"I want to have an ale with yer, no one likes me yer see and I be a little fed up with the situation and just want a chat with someone" he said.
"Well I need to get back my ship, me crew will be worried" I said
"Noooooo I insist" he said "besides yer crew hate yer guts so they won't miss yer"

So I went into the nearest inn with Cap'n Cronan and he really was the strangest creature you could wish ter see.  He was ghostly white and look liked an apparition, he wore a tweed jacket and a tie with neatly pressed trousers and smart shoes and carried an umbrella, in fact e didn't dress like a pirate at all.  He kept saying strange things that meant nothing to me Old Nick, Ramrod and he seemed to have a fascination with Belgium.  I asked for a bottle of Rum whilst Cap'n Cronan requested a bottle of beer which he poured into a glass!.

During the evening he got out an old parched slip of paper an I thought arrgh at last the secret of Cap'n Cronan's treasure but no, suddenly he started asking me questions "What was the on the B side to Westlife's classic hit Uptown Girl" he said. I looked puzzled as the questions came thick and fast as I never once had any idea what he was talking about.  I remember some of the words he were using seeing his eyes light up as he was talking Boyzone, Take That, S Club 7, Steps.  Then suddenly e was gone in a flash, I must catch me ship e said or I will not get home ternite. He said "We'll meet up again soon".

As I made my way back to me ship that night, I considered that all the rumours about Cap'n Cronan were true and e was indeed a strange figure and I was hoping our paths would not cross again. 

Post Script to: THE BEAST WITH FIVE TOENAILS

Two weeks after the events described above, Ted was on duty chuckin the Fishe Head Stew waste over the side.  Twere an unpleasant job at the best of times but as he gazed out to sea he heared a squelchin/flappin noise comin up behind him. The noise got louder and louder and Ted turned, just in time to sea a hideous mangled foot, swolen by sea water and decay, kick him right up the arse!  He went over the side with a shriek and...he was never seen alive again!

The Great Engine

Five or six years ago, I were 'aving me dinner in a dockside cafe, when a strange gawky lookin' Scotsman came up to me.

"Captain," 'ee sez. "I am an engineer, and I have designed a quite remarkable propulsion system. I should like your permission to install said device within the confines of your vessel."

"Eh?" I sez.

"This arrangement will facilitate both an improvement to your business model, and a verification of the validity of the general principles upon which I have based my design."

Now this bloke might have had a scottish accent, but 'ee were obviously a foreigner as only about a third o' his words were in English. I sat 'im down, and by talkin' slowly an' loudly at 'im I eventually got an idea o' what 'ee were talkin' about. Seems 'ee 'ad a device to make a ship go faster. It were a big metal lump that made a huge fan thing spin round and round. The fan were in the water, an' when it were spinnin' fast enough, the boat went forward.

"How's it work?" I asked 'im.

"Well Captain, extremely volatile material is ignited within the combustion chamber..."  I wish I 'adn't asked 'im -- 'Ee droned on for several minutes using made-up words like "ignition" an "pressurisation" until I agreed to give it a go just to shut 'im up.

Next week, the engine were installed. We sailed into open water while the scotsman did some last minute tinkerin' to 'is contraption. I looked at it. "What do ye call this thing?" I asked.

"Well Captain, I call it Waterbased Advanced Rotary Propulsion - or W.A.R.P. for short."

I got back to the bridge when me lookout tells me there be a merchant ship on the horizon. It were a damned long way away.

"Warp drive ready at your command Cap'n!" shouted the scotsman.

"Engage!" I bellowed.

There were a strange hummin' noise an the ship leapt forward. The speed were such that the prow of the ship started to lift from the water. Me navigator were in contact wi' the engine room through a speaking tube. "Holdin at Warp 3 Cap'n" he said.

The merchant ship were gettin' close now, so we dropped out o' warp.

"Form a landin' party Number One," I said.

Well, the merchant ship never knew what hit it. One minute, we were a dot in the distance, the next minute me men were swingin' aboard their ship. A great success!

Over the next few weeks, we could strike any vessel at will. The men an' me were so pleased wi' the new engine, that we decided to name the ship after it. We had the idea of calling it the "New Clever Contraption" along wi' the year the engine were made. It were a bit long so we just used the initials, an' the ship were called the NCC-1701.

All went well until we were in the North Atlantic Sector. The scottish engineer informed me that we needed to land to perform some necessary maintenance on the engine. Just then, me Science Officer lowered his telescope. "Cap'n," 'ee said. "Spyglass readings indicate a number of enemy vessels on the port bow."

I peered over the rail. I saw seven Royal Navy Men-O-War sailin' in our direction.

"Engine room," I sed. "We need Warp speed now!"

The ship lurched forward like a mad thing. I looked o'er the side; the Navy ships had a good wind behind 'em.

"Engine room, we need more speed!"

"We're at Warp 4 captain."

"Increase to Warp 6," I sez.

The vibrations through the ship increased, an the main mast began to shake. We continued to accelerate.

"Cap'n," sez the engineer. "She cannae take much more o' this"

"Warp 7" I sez.

The ship shuddered as more power thundered through the hull. The Navy ships were starting to fall behind now.

"Cap'n she cannae take any more -- she's gonna blow!"

There was a huge explosion as the engine tore the ship in half. It were a peculiarly selective kind of explosion, as everyone survived it except the blokes who had red shirts on. The rest o' us clung on to the wreckage and were washed ashore the next day.

What became o' the scottish engineer, I don't know. The last I saw of 'im were when we were washed up on the beach. To tell the truth, I were still a bit dazed from the whole experience. 'Ee walked over to me an' looked at all the sawdust an seaweed that were on me best frockcoat, an 'ee offered to tidy me up a bit. "Aye," I said. "Clean me up, Scotty."

Arter I'd stopped laughin and simultaniously cringin from that one (Clean me up Scotty...Oh dear oh dear!) this true story sprang to mind and I felt hobliged to put quill to paper:

The Treasure of The Sirens

Many's the buccaneer what's come to grief whilst searchin for the Treasure of the Sirens.  Legend has it, as ye steer yer ship near the island, a bunch o ghostly wenches begin to sing, and so lovely is their song that no man can resist them.  Ship after ship has been lured onto the terrible rocks with the loss of all hands thereon.

A chance hencounter, at Madame Fifi's, ended with me procurin the secret location of the Treasure and I set off on the long voyage forthwith.   As we approached the cursed Isles the wind seemed to pick up and the Sirens began their song, quietly at first but rising to an eerie crecsendo.   I ordered the Bosun to switch off his Kate Bush record but no, there it was, the terrible but beautiful singing was all around us luring us to our certain deaths!   

Quick as flash I  put my plan into action.   Every man and boy aboard that ship strapped on an Ipod which blasted out the songs of 'GUNS n FISH HEADS' at full volume.   The terrible deafening rock music drowned out the Sirens' song and we sailed on past safely to glory.  We reached the secret Treasure Cove and retrieved the booty.

Sadly, the booty only just about covered the cost of 150 Ipod Nanos, and the crew were so deaf that we crashed into an iceberg full of penguins on the way home and sank!

The Treasure of the Sirens, Part 2

With the ship sunk I rallied the few survivors and we clambered onto the iceberg.  Shortly afterwards, as the iceberg drifted East, we came under heavy bombardment from a small fleet of scurvy blaggards from the Tortugas. To my amazement the iceberg protected us from the onslaught, and we had sufficient penguin meat to help us make the journey to a deserted isle. 

It turned out the island had been the recent recipient of a shipwreck.  Amongst the survivors was a strange Scot who's incomprehensible ramblings were thought to be the result of malnutrition.  However the strange man begged to be allowed access to our iceberg and a range of material from the wreck. 

Four days later I was woken by loud cheering from the men.  That crazy Scotsman had transformed the iceberg into a behemoth of the sea.  The Aaaarrghberg 101 was born:

(http://web.mac.com/antonyroberts/iWeb/twerps_dwyle_flonking/Photos_files/Aaaarrrghberg.jpg)

Oi were in me favorit tavern mindin me own busynis downin a mug o dark liquid(©) wen sum folk clowse by started mekkin a roight rowdy noyse. It wer so lowd Oi culdnt ear me own gluggin an slerps. All Oi culd mek owt wer Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint on an on Oi can tell ye it wer roight annoyin.

Oi were abowt ter cawl the landlord over wen wun o em leaned across an sed in a muffled voyce "tell us qwick, oo wer top o ther charts in March 1967?". "Wot's it ter yoo?" I asked quik as a flash. "Oi'll mek it wurth yer wile" ee replyed. "Ok" Oi ses. "It wer The Arctic Monkey".

Blow me down if they didnt start up all theyre Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint all over agin until Oi wer neer tarin me air out. "Oi," Oi ses, "wot's yer problem?"

This mad lookin wun wiv ginger air leens over an ses "we fink it be Monkeys not Monkey an anyways nun o us fink em wer arownd in 1967". Or sum such nonsense. It wer ard ter tell wot wiv all ther noyse.

"Arctic Monkey" Oi ses lowder. It allus be best ter talk ter idiots wiv a lowd voyce. "tek it, or leeve it, but ye owe me fer a fayre anser."

Stowne the crows, off they go agin. Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aintYes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint til me ead wer spinnin an Oi wer mekkin up me mind ter leeve em to it.

Befoor Oi culd struggle owt me comfy seet ther wer a kerfffulfle at tother end of theyre table. A tall thin blaggard wiv a wig, ye culd tell it wer a wig cos it wer slidin off is ead as e wer all sweatty wiv exciytment, squeezed arownd and extracted imself from behind ther table. Oi urrried ter get me coat on as Oi didn't likes the look of wig-man. But Oi werent alf way ter the door wen e stopped me an ses "You giv us yer word. It were the Arctic Monkey?"

"Yes" Oi ses, spittin a bit ter focus is attentiun. Well, no surprises, they went back ter ther Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aintYes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint Yes it is No it aint til I wer forced go an poour me mug of(©)over ther heds wot wer steamin an givin off smoke.

Then a strange eerily skeletal bod, short, but important lookin in a sort of endearin fashiun, you know the look, ye'd be kindly pikkin up everythin he dropped as went abowt wiv is books an pamphlets; anyways, him, he sidles up ter me an says "Oi wrote down The Arctic Monkey", ye better ope yer roight". And wiv that all went quiet an not a breeath culd be erd anywahere in ther room.

Oi was on top o the world. Peace an silence at last. But it werent ter last long. Som wun grabbed a microphone an started barkin out a weird randum load a words. Oi culd mek no sense of it an wer opin he'd be slung owt. On an on it went. Eastern Albania. Marie Curie. Tomato Sauce. 25 Lbs. Six furlowes. Mother of Pearl. Luton United. Eastenders. Kylie. The Danube. Oi tell ye, he wer nuts. Even stranger, all the folk in the taverne were grownin and yellin and cheerin, but mostly grownin. They sounded like they were all gettin test results for brain-death o their ninety-six year old grandmother oo ad run owt o money fer her old peeples home.

The last thing the guy wiv the mike sed were "The Arctic Monkey".

A moighty yawlin went round the room. All except ther table next ter me. They were at there usual abit. Told you. No you didnt. Yes I did. You never. I did. I told you. Told you. No you didnt. Yes I did. You never. I did. I told you. Told you. No you didnt. Yes I did. You never. I did. I told you. Told you. No you didnt. Yes I did. You never. I did. I told you. Told you. No you didnt. Yes I did. You never. I did. I told you. Told you. No you didnt. Yes I did. You never. I did. I told you. Told you. No you didnt. Yes I did. You never. I did. I told you. Told you. No you didnt. Yes I did. You never. I did. I told you. Til the guy wiv ther mike arrived wiv an enormous platter o sandwitches.

"They are fer im" they ses, pointin at me. Oi tak a look at wots on the platter. Oi don't loike the looke of it at all. Piles of wot culd be stayle bred stuck togevver wiv goodness knows wot. Oi teks the platter an puts it down on theyre table. "Ye'll ave ter do better than that" Oi ses "an fer yer great discurtesy in not believin me strait off".

Well, ther men all started sulkin and starin into their grog. But the Lady, yeh, goodness knows why, but the were a real nice Lady wiv this group of cuthhthroats, she ses, you cum in next time an Oi'll arange free drinks fer ye. Now that's wot Oi call a Lady.

After a whiles, thye got over their sulks an you culd see theyre brains slowly startin up agin. "Ow did ye know it were "The Arctic Monkey?" they ask an not "ENGELBERT HUMPERDINCK" wiv "Release Me"?

"Simple" Oi says. "'Top of the Charts'" were the giv away. The Arctic be allus at the top. Though many folk muddle it with the Antartic which allus be bottom. All Oi ad ter do wer remember which ship wer up there at ther time."

Tis a sad tale. Oi as ad to take that Taverne off me favourates list. Oi don't fancy gettin me ead kicked in agin.

And the moral of this tale is keep yer knowledge ter yerself.

MY EARLY PIRATING DAYS

It was my Ma who I have to thank for where I am now as it was she that got me on to a Pirate Ship when I was a small child. After that my lust for random violence and being filthy rich ensured that I would eventually Captain my own ship.

Ma worked in a gentlemen's club in Portsmouth where she provided personal services to all of the dregs of society that passed through town.  My Father? who knows, probably one of her customers, must have been a good-looking blaggard though eh!   However, Ma tired of this life, getting beaten up every day was not her idea of job satisfaction so she ran away to sea and became a galley maid on a Pirate Ship, taking me with her. 

Initially life for her on the Pirate Ship was tough, as she was expected to wait on the swabs all of whom beat her if The Fish Head Stew was to lumpy.  They also tried it on with her of course but after a dozen of them ended up overboard with a cutlass in their side, they realised that she was not a wench to mess with and eventually they accepted her as one of their own.  However, Cap'n Norton was different he never looked at Ma but took a shine to me and I spent many hours in his quarters. I did notice though, that after leaving his cabin I couldn't sit down for a week, not sure why.

However, it was those days in his cabin and Ma's opportunism that put us on the road to fame and fortune.  The Cap'n was never careful where he left his personal documents and was always leaving stuff lying about.  One of these documents was a treasure map and though I couldn't read then, Ma could so I smuggled it out to her.  This map highlighted the Cap'n's secret Treasure Hoard and was where he used to store all the booty he acquired from many years of pillaging and plundering.

After a while we landed on an Island and the Cap'n announced that we were going to stay here for a few days to take on supplies.  Ma came up to me very excited, this is The Island she said we must go and get ourselves some treasure.  Ma smuggled the map down her chest and we crept off the ship in the dead of night.

It was a tortuous journey as the X marked the spot in the centre of the Island and we had to hack our way through dense jungle and then eventually climb up a large mountain.  As we approached our destination Ma whispered in my ear, "We'll take the Treasure out of the hiding place and move it to another spot, I'll take a little of it fer now so we can git ourselves a boat and come back fer the rest".

We got up to the top of the mountain and there buried under a large rock was a huge case, we opened it and were amazed at the amount of booty inside, we would be rich till our dying days.

Ma took out a few stones and stuffed some of them down her chest, however I was elated and I picked up a handful of treasure and shouted at the top of my voice.

"I'm top of the World Ma, I'm top of the World.

The Mad Scientist

Once, in the North Atlantic,  We picked up a wild eyed lookin' man clingin' onto some wreckage. We pulled 'im aboard, dusted 'im down, and when we found out 'ee had nothin' in 'is pockets, I told me boys to heave 'im back over the side.

"Wait," 'ee sez. "I have something you must hear!"

"Does it involve treasure?" I asked. He shook 'is head. "Money, then?" Another shake o' the head.

"Throw 'im over the side, boys!" I sez.

"No, no, no!" ee sez. "What I have to tell concerns the most valuable thing in the world!"

Well, I admit I were a bit intrigued by this, so I arranges a chair an' a cupfull o' grog for 'im. 'Ee took a swig an' started 'is story.

"My name is unimportant," he said. "But you can call me the Baron. I spent many years studying the sciences before building a laboratory in my castle."

"A castle," I sez. "Valuable is it?"

"I suppose so. But that's not really the point of--"

"Full o' valuable things?" I asked.

"Not really," sez the Baron.

"Heave 'im over the side, lads!" I sez.

"Wait! Wait!" said the Baron. "Hear me out! I spent many years studying the great mystery of life. Trying to discover the nature of the spark that makes living things more than simply an aggregation of chemicals. Seeking the--"

'Ee saw the scowl on me face, so 'ee decided to get on with it.

"I decided to test my theories by creating a human being," he said. "I stole the bodies of the dead and from them assembled--"

"These bodies," I sez. "Rich people were they?"

"Eh? Some of them I suppose. I didn't really--"

"Arrr," I sez. "Some o' these rich people be buried wi' all sorts o' valuable things. What did ye find on them?"

"Er, nothing. I wasn't really interested in anything except the bodies. Anyway, to infuse my creation with energy I installed a great lightning conductor in the tallest turret of--"

"This conductor," I sez. "Made o' silver were it?"

"No."

"Arrrr, gold then?"

"No. Just iron," 'ee said. "And at the height of a great storm, a bolt of electricity charged my creation and it lived! It opened its eyes and got up from the table--"

"Be there anything valuable in this tale?" I asked.

"It was a fearful, brutal creature," said the Baron. "It had the strength of ten men and absolutely no conscience whatsoever. Such a terrible monstrosity had no place in the world of men. I eventually--"

"That's enough!" I sed, and had me men hurl the Baron over the side. Useless bastid. All talk talk talk, with nuffin of value to no-one.

We sailed on, an everyone returned to their posts - except Midshipman Ugg. He just stood at the rail for a while, twiddling his neckbolt.

"Bye Dad," he shouted o'er the side.

O Lucky Man!

One afternoon, me an the crew were playin' cards in the Admiral Benbow when a young, well-off lookin' feller turns up. I thinks to meself "there's a few quid to be made 'ere," so I asks im if he'd like to join us in a nice friendly game o' cards.

"No thank you, but thank you for asking" ee sez.

Well, 'im and 'is money weren't gettin' away that easy, so I puts on me most threatenin' voice an sez to 'im "Arrr, so ye thinks yer too good to be in the company o' the likes o' us, do ye?"

"No, no, no, not at all Captain," 'ee sez. "It's just that I don't think it'd be a good idea."

Well, I suppose it wasn't, but I weren't lettin' him get away wi' talkin' back to me like that. I were just reachin fer the hilt o' me cutlass when 'ee sez "I bet you have the two of diamonds, the four of spades, the Jack of hearts, the Jack of clubs and the Jack of spades in your hand."

I glanced down. "Ye blaggards!" I shouted. "Ye has me playing wi' a marked deck! I'll swing fer the lot o' yers!"

"No, Captain," said the stranger. "It was just a guess. You see, I'm fantastically lucky - all my life I've had the most amazing good fortune."

Now, I's heard some right ol' bollocks in me time, an I weren't 'aving none o' this. I pulled out me flintlock and aimed it right between the stranger's eyes. There was a bang an a wet "thud" noise as the shot hit a parrot that 'appened to fly between us.

"Cor, that were lucky," sed one o' me men.

Enraged, I hurled a dagger at 'is chest. The blade bounced off 'is coat button, ricoched off the ceiling, and stuck in the side o' the barman's head. As the barman collapsed, he knocked the till off the counter, an it burst on the floor. All the coins from the till rolled across the floor an' ended up in a neat pile at the stranger's feet.

"You jammy git!" said someone.

Aye, I thought. Perhaps 'ee were tellin' the truth. A man like this could be very useful.

"Come and sit 'ere," I sez. "What be yer name?"

"Jack," 'ee said. "Jack Pott."

"Well now Jack," I sez. "I has an offer fer ye. How would ye like to join me in a little business venture?"

"I have no need for money, Captain," ee said. I suppose someone like 'im didn't; if 'ee wanted something, it'd just fall in 'is lap. 'Owever I could tempt 'im with something else. 'Ee were a pale, insipid lookin' bugger, - 'ee needed a bit o' excitement in 'is life.

"I don't just offer ye money," I sez. "'Ow would ye like to join me in an adventure?"

'Is eyes lit up. "What kind?" 'ee asked eagerly.

"Well," I sez. "I intends to find the lost treasure o' Cap'n Cronan."

There was a gasp from me men. Several o' them crossed themselves, an one chap made a dash fer the toilets.

I pinned a chart up on the wall. "Many years o' research leads me to believe that Cronan's treasure be somewhere around 'ere..." I indicated a small group of islands off the coast o' Canada. "And Jack 'ere will 'elp us to narrow it down."

I grabbed a dart from the dartboard an handed it to Jack. "Fling this 'ere dart,Jack" I said. "Show us where the treasure be."

Well, I don't think Jack 'ad ever thrown a dart in 'is life. 'Ee made a strange overarm lob an the dart bounced off Lefty Martin's 'ead an hit the map. It stuck in the middle o' the Pacific, thousands o' miles from anywhere.

"Gah!" I sed. "Don't tell me that Cronan's treasure be at the bottom o' the ocean. We'll ne'er recover it."

"Wait Cap'n," said me first officer. "It's an island."

I went over to the map an peered close. The dart had stuck in a tiny speck o' land that were so small that ye could hardly see it. "That be our destination," I sed. We set sail the next mornin'.

***********************************************************

The next few weeks o' the voyage were uneventful - well, as uneventful as it gets with someone like Jack around. I remembers seeing two gulls collide head on, and them fallin' into the mouth of a yawning shark, chokin' it. Then there were that day the apple barrel kept fallin' in the water; no matter what we did, the barrel would end up goin' over the side. Turned out that Jack were allergic to apples.

Me navigator were concerned by all o' this. "Cap'n," 'ee sez to me. "Have ye heard o' the law o' probability?" Not really, I replied. I suppose I must have broken it though - I've broken every other bloody law there is.

"It's a mathematical rule," 'ee sez. "And I'm worried that..."

At that moment, the lookout cried "Land Ahoy!", an' we dropped anchor next to the small island. Meself, Jack an the Navigator took a rowboat ashore.

'Twere an odd place, that island. There were a volcanic mountain in the middle o' it that looked like a big, brown beerbottle. Around the base of the beerbottle, many large trees had fallen and they had rotted, making them look like cigarette butts. The whole island loked like a scruffy pub table - no wonder Cronan had taken such a likin' to it.

Right then," I sez to Jack. "Does we go North, South, East or West?"

Jack tossed a coin. "North," 'ee said.

We trudged North, an' came to a cave in the side o' the mountain. "Does we go in here?" I asked Jack. Jack tossed a coin again an' nodded.

Inside the cave it were dark an' dank. After about a dozen or so steps, the ground felt soft, like someone 'ad bin diggin' there. I told everyone to get their shovels out an we started diggin'.

Then something strange happened.

Jack pushed 'is shovel in the dirt. It happened to split a stone, which hit 'im in the eye. Then 'is shovel got caught in some roots, an as 'ee pulled it free, the handle snapped which made Jack stumble back and kick one o' our lanterns. The lantern smashed an set fire to Jack's foot.  Now, this made Jack hop around a bit, an' he hopped onto a passin' rat. The rat squealed an' bit Jack on 'is good foot.

Me navigator ran o'er to me.

"Cap'n," 'ee said. "We have to leave now - at once!"

Now, me navigator were afraid of nothing, but there were fear in 'is eyes. "Look!" 'ee said.

I looked over an saw Jack stumblin' around wi' a bucket stuck over 'is 'ead.

"Don't ye see?" said the navigator. "'Is luck's run out. Everyone only 'as so much luck in their lives - Jack's just had it all at once. It's all used up - 'ees got nothing left but bad luck left now!"

Me an' the navigator ran fer the boat. I glanced over me shoulder an saw the ground between Jack's feet splittin' as a volcanic rift began to open. We made it to the boat an' were paddlin' frantically when we hears an enormous explosion from behind us.

Once I were back onboard me ship, we hauled anchor an I picked up a spyglass an' surveyed the damage to the island.

Beerbottle mountain were reduced to a stump. Cronan wouldn't be at all pleased, I thought. 'Is treasure were now lost forever.

Then I saw somethin' movin' about in the smoke. It were Jack, an' 'ee seemed unharmed. Well, I thought, perhaps his luck didn't desert 'im after all.

Then I looked at the horizon an realised that it were only through the most dreadful bad luck that Jack had survived.

For there on the horizon, were Cap'n Cronan's ship headin' fer the island.

That was Brilliant...

but is it really the end for Cronan's Treasure?

Can the Long windedness of theses tales get any longer?

Has Jack's luck really run out?

What are these people drinking?

For the answer to these and many other questions keep reading!

Castle Cronan - a Gothic Tale of Terror

I am a young lawyer, though looking at me you would perhaps believe me to be much older.  The tale I am about to tell you is one of unimaginable terror and is not for the faint hearted.

One day as I sat at my desk in Portsmouth, a missive arrived by the post from London, which at once attracted my ernest attention.   As I opened the thick vellum envelope and removed it's contents, my nostrils were at once assailed by an odour of death and decay, as if the stench came from the bowels of a tomb (curiously after I'd removed the remnants of what appeared to be a gristle sandwich from the envelope the smell evaporated).

In the letter I was instructed to offer my services to one 'Captain Cronan' and when I looked at the advance payment therein, I made up my mind to act upon the letter's instructions at once.   Without further ado I made my preparations and that very night found me on a tall ship bound for the Eastern Mediterranean.

I journeyed ever Eastward, by ship to the eastern shores of the Adriatic and then onward by coach into the dark and mysterious land of the Cronanian Mountains.  In the foothills of the mountains we stopped at an Inn for the night.  The food, though not to our fine Portsmouth standards and heavily seasoned with Paprika, was palatable enough and the wine was quite drinkable.  As I made ready to retire to my room the young, buxom, peasant girl who had been serving my table, made inquiry as to where I was journeying in this land.  In response I said I was bound for the residence of one 'Captain Cronan'...as the words left my mouth, the whole Inn fell silent at once and the peasant girl gasped and fell into a dead swoon!

"Do not mention that name within these walls" said the Landlord, "you will bring a curse upon our heads! ...I advise you not to continue with your journey Englishman...go back to Portsmouth if you value your life!"

As I don't speak a word of Cronanian, however, I went to bed wondering what all the fuss was about and next morning set off for Castle Cronan in good spirits.

As we approached the grim edifice of the castle by a mountain pass,however, my spirits soon dampened.  Wolves howled and dark winged creatures screeched in the mist.  Any other traffic seemed to be heading very quickly away from the castle.  A horse and cart, with the words 'Laphroaig bulk shipment'  on it's side, rattled by driven by a dark, hooded figure,   Suddenly my driver pulled up his horses...he would take me no further.   As the coach disappeared into the mist I stood alone, clutching my luggage and staring up at Castle Cronan.

With an odd feeling of foreboding I approached the great gothic doors of the castle, I rapped on the door with a huge knocker, curiously shaped like a bottle of Leffe Brune.  After what seemed like about as much time as it takes to get served in the Admiral Benbow,  the door slowly creeked open.   A tremendous urge came over me to flee that place and never to return.    But the doors opened wide and there stood Captain Cronan.  I cannot describe the Captain well as the thick mist which clung to the walls of his castle seemed to envelope the man aswell.  The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor.   

One strange thing I remember well.   As I stood outside in the cold I had drawn a hip flask full of whisky from my coat to sustain my spirits against the chill air.   When Cronan set eyes on the flask he shot out a bony hand, quicker than the blink of an eye, and drained the flask at one draft!

Although I had been engaged to help Captain Cronan procure the Estate of Earwax in Portsmouth, I was to be kept against my will in that castle for many weeks.   In that time I saw many strange things, forever surrounded by the odour of TCP and the howling of the wolves without. 

I dined alone for I never saw Cronan eat.  One evening when I sat drinking some fine Moldovan wine,  Cronan approached and I offered him a glass..."No, thankyou" said the captain, "I only drink...Barley Wine".  What manner of man, or indeed creature, was Cronan.   One day I ventured into the very bowels of the castle.   In these dark, dank depths I found mounds of rotting paper fragments. The deepest of these paper slips had decayed into a pulp but the top most appeared fresher and strange words could be percieved on their surfaces: a number and always the word 'foode'.   Imagine my terror when out of this mound of decay rose the figure of Cronan hinself!   

Dear reader you can also imagine my horror when I learned that Cronan was about to take ship to my beloved England.  What destruction would he wreak in it's sleepy towns and hamlets,  what terror would he unleash on England's fair and unsuspecting people?
I lay awake at night, tossing (the thought of the buxom barmaid tormented my innocent mind), and fearing the worst if Cronan was to be unleashed on the British public.

I needn't have worried...the ship only got half way accross the Med before it sunk!

Yarrrrr Haaaarrrr.

QuoteAs I opened the thick vellum envelope and removed it's contents, my nostrils were at once assailed by an odour of death and decay, as if the stench came from the bowels of a tomb (curiously after I'd removed the remnants of what appeared to be a gristle sandwich from the envelope the smell evaporated).

Arrr, has bin a crap day. I needed a good laugh.

ARRgh Mateys!

Eyes bin intreeg duh by de tails of Tiddles (pardun de pun) en Capn Cronan sins me deer da forged  me foist wepens ( a woodun cutlass en clothed bodkin) en eyepatch.

Wheres can eye fine en buygraffy aboot dem?

Me mate, de ships cook wonce ta rite aboot dem sins hees got a riters blok.

Sinserelee , Won Eyed Jack.

Pee Ess .Wots the history a' Big Brenda

Quote from: Brother Cuzzen on June 11, 2007, 07:53:32 AM
ARRgh Mateys!

Eyes bin intreeg duh by de tails of Tiddles (pardun de pun) en Capn Cronan sins me deer da forged  me foist wepens ( a woodun cutlass en clothed bodkin) en eyepatch.

Wheres can eye fine en buygraffy aboot dem?

Me mate, de ships cook wonce ta rite aboot dem sins hees got a riters blok.

Sinserelee , Won Eyed Jack.

Pee Ess .Wots the history a' Big Brenda

YArrr...

Bleedin writers block. Oi gets it meself.

To answer some of yer questions. Tiddles originated from a website Oi wuz visitin' called www.stuffonmycat.com.

It's a weird site, where cat lovers (haters) place objects on their cat, take a photo and upload it for everyone to giggle at. There was a very funny shot of this evil looking ginger cat with a flintlock pistol in it's paws.  And after a few words written around the photo, Tiddles was born. He was evil looking enough to steal your own ship off you...hence the story.

Oi be still thinkin of the next installment, but I'm hoping to write Tiddles into a few humanisitic situations like 'Tiddles gets middle aged spread' or 'Tiddles struggles to pay off his credit card'. We'll get through the mutineering first though.

YArrr... the lads will 'aves to tell ye about the origins of Cronan. It be truly scary.

The History of Big Brenda

The actual origins of Brenda McTavish be a great mystery of our modern times.  Some would point ye in the direction of one Capn Dave L who knows more than most.  I myslef went to seek out the good Captain in his quarters at Newgate Debtors prison.  Some might be shocked at the depths of squallor and depravation to which a pirate Captain had sunk, but not I, I've seen his ship!  Anyway I tossed Dave L a half a Cronan for his trouble and asked him to tell me the story of Big Brenda...he belched. hiccupped and said: "Why don't ye go an ask her yerself ye daft Welsh Git?"

It takes a brave man to call on Brenda...so I sent my First Mate Clive!  He returned a week later, Black and Blue all over and he went into a state of shock whenever I asked him about Big Brenda. 

Don't dispair however for deep in the Archives of the long lost Chronicles of Pirate Lore (Verganza) is this rare Interview with Brenda McTavish which this link will take ye to, if ye scroll down the page past all the other amusin stuff:

http://www.venganza.org/forum/viewtopic.php?t=2776&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=330 (http://www.venganza.org/forum/viewtopic.php?t=2776&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=330)

Genesis of the Cronan

I understand that some people in these parts be askin' questions about "The Fiend Who Walks".

The story of 'ow 'ee came to be is shrouded in the mists o' time, but we know that 'ee started out as a pious man, an' something unspeakable occurred that led to 'im to embrace the horrors o' the dark side.

Evidence still exists of Cronan's early days when 'ee still trod the path o' light. Look fer example at this ghastly school:

http://homepage.eircom.net/~cronews/ (http://homepage.eircom.net/~cronews/)

Once a quiet seat o' learning, this establishment 'as degenerated into a quagmire o' viciousness an' depravity. 'Tis probably the second worst school in the world.

There are other clues to 'is 'istory, but the conclusions that can be drawn from them be too terrible to contemplate.

By the Tentacles of the Kraken of Galway Firth...Tis behond belief that a place of Learning could sink so low...

I can scarcely believe that Cronan's Evil influence hath tainted these innocent lives in such a depraved way...

My god they have a section devoted to Elephant Jokes!

The Scrolls of Cronan

Archaeologists have just uncovered ancient parchment scrolls marvelously preserved after laying unseen for many long centuries.  The tale that is emerging very slowly from the site, the location of which has been kept secret, is quite terrifying.  Here I reproduce a fragment of the ancient scrolls which clearly illustrates the Fire and Brimstone being unleashed on the world by Cronan in those antidiluvian times:

(http://www.chicagohs.org/fire/fanning/img/0002a.jpg)

YArrrrr!

I'd forgotten how funny Stuff on my Cat was. There is now another site called 'Stuff on My Mutt'.

http://www.stuffonmymutt.com/

Here is a picture of Tiddle's best mate Murgatroyd doing his famous Princess Leia impersonation. 

(http://www.stuffonmycat.com/media/2/20070611-Bella3.jpg)

CRONAN'S WENCH

Amongst all the truths, untruths, myths and absolute terror that surrounds the legend that is Cap'n Cronan what of his wench.  Over the years many a story has been told of his horrific exploits but there is no mention of a wench.

This be strange in itself as all Pirate Cap'n's have a wench, some of them are creatures of beauty such as the lovely Pir-gella who captivated Dave L and then tried to steal his treasure.  Whilst others are true monsters of the deep such as Brenda McTavish who was last seen as a stunt double in the free Willy Movies.

It is assumed that Cap'n Cronan prefers cabin boys, well all Pirate Cap'n's do but Cronan has never been known to have a wench.  Or has he, this strange tale concerns the only wench to have spent time on Cronan's ship and lives to tell the tale.

Lives! well only just, she is a scrawny creature with wrinkles so deep that Keith Richard looks like a baby.  She has wild grey hair, one eye, a clubfoot and a laugh that would break a mirror from a mile away.  Oh and how she smells, birds have fallen out of the sky when the wind is blowing in the wrong direction. Over a case of Rum in The Admiral Benbow she told me her sad tale.

"I was a beauty once" she cackled sending a stench up into the air that peeled the paint off the walls "I lived in the Islands of Hawaii and was a slender beautiful creature with jet black hair.  I swam like a fish and used to swim in and out of the shallows catching fish and taking them back to my Father to cook for supper.  My Father was a big strong handsome man who was head of our tribe and he had plans for me to marry a rich handsome trader from one of the many ships that sailed through the Islands, unfortunately the man I met was no handsome trader....."

At this point a rat running across the floor stopped dead in its tracks, took one look at my companion and vomited on the floor. The Wench smiled revealing her rotting yellow teeth and I nearly died, the smell from that mouth sent me into a coma.  Several hours later when I recovered she continued her story.

"....No he was a strange man, on one of my hunting trips I surfaced in a lagoon and there I saw the strangest ship I had ever seen.  On a hot sunny day ice and mist surrounded it and bats flew in the air over it.  I tried to swim away but the air was so cold that I froze in terror, when I woke up I saw a sight that was so terrible I will never forget it and it turned me into the creature you see before you..."

The Wench stopped to take a slug out of her Rum at the same time splitting out some foul smelling flem from her mouth which burnt a hole in the floorboards.  Despite the stench I was intrigued, "You mean to say you are a young woman" I said "What did Cronan do to change you from a fair maiden into an old bag"

She smiled again but this time I averted my gaze in time and the full force of her foulness was concentrated on a young swab at the bar who took one look at her and plunged a cutlass in his side and collapsed in a bloody heap on the floor.

"....I woke up in his quarters and.." she quivered "I saw him, he's not human, he was small and wiry with grey hair, going slightly bald. He was very smart wearing a suit and tie despite the heat of the tropics. His eyes they were glazed and he spoke very slowly in a slurred voice.  It was the smell" she continued, "It was stale beer and TCP and he carried The Black Fish Head....". 

I was shocked no-one who has ever seen The Black Fish Head has ever lived to tell the tale.

"....At that point I fainted and when I woke up I was alone on a beach and I had turned into the creature you see today, Cronan left me a note which I kept,, let me read it to you"

"When I saw you in the lagoon, I thought here is a beauty that I can make my wench but like all the others before you, you suddenly turned from Cameron Diaz into Nora Batty, even my bats froze at the sight of you and they are blind.  From being captivated I was disgusted, be away with you now and never darken my doors again"

At that point I suddenly understood why Cap'n Cronan never has a wench, many a beauty has crossed his path only to turn into the hideous creature that was sitting next to me.  "So what do you do now" I asked and wish I hadn't "Well" she cackled "It has been many a year since I had a.....".  However I didn't wait to hear her words I leapt through the window and fled towards the harbour and left town that night.  I never saw that wench again and for that I am truly grateful.

CRONAN'S RE-BIRTH

Aaaaaaaaar!  Over the years Oi erd turrible tales of Cronan's penchant for re-birthing. Many years will pass, sometimes several thousand, where the land is free and bountiful. People go about their lives and the birds in the sky sing their golden tunes until the lands darken and the wind blows and the fear builds in the hearts of the people. There happens a deafening thunderclap, flashes of evil genius blacken the heavens, and Cronan strides once more upon the earth.

Yesterday, Oi were mindin me own business when me ship's radio operator got a strange blimp in his equipment. Cap'n look at this, 'e sez ter me. Oi teks one look and reaches fer me bottle of Old Peculiar. That be no ordinary blimp, Oi sez ter me radio operator, that be the mark o' Cronan. It be a sign e' be abowt ter try that re-birthin' stunt agin. Batten down the hatches. Haul in ther sails. Every last man ter his cabin.

Oi be tellin ye all, ye best not be found on this earth when Cronan walks agin.

So sort of like a Madonna come-back tour then?

The Terrible Stranger

Let us regale ourselves with outlandish tales of Lucky escapes and daring do's at sea.

Gather round me hearties, pull up a chair fore the hearth, grab a tankard o grog, light up yer pipe or spliff...and settle down to hear my tale...

As I looked up after this announcement I noticed the Inn was completely empty...couldn't be anything to do with me story tellin, why the clientele loved my Salty Tales. Only the other week after I'd spouted a particularly long winded escapade, they all voted to send me on an all expenses paid trip to the Far Tortuga Isles as a token of gratitude.

No...the Inn was deserted because a man was standing in the doorway...a more terrifyin creature I never hope to see if I lives to be a hundred. His top coat and hat were black, like the feathers of a raven. He wore a vicious cutlass and a brace of pistols. A dirty livid scar ran across one cheek and a black eye patch sat over one eye. The other eye seemed to glow with hatred as he took in the view before him...and that view consisted only of me and the back of the landlord as he scarpered through the rear entrance.

This monstrous figure approached and sat down opposite me.

"Get me some grog" he demanded, and without hesitation I went to fetch him the very best ale in the house.

"Get me some meat" again I scampered off to fetch him a nicely roasted chicken.

For some time he sat eating, drinking and belching loudly, but he always kept his one cruel eye on me. At last he finished his animal like feasting, he banged his fist on the table and demanded: "Fetch me a woman!" I protested that I was only a humble story teller that I had no access to members of the fairer sex...he drew his great cutlass and held it to my throat..."Get me a woman now, and she'd better be to me loikin or I'll skin ye alive" he raged. I scuttled off to madame Fifi's and procured the services of her best Parisian girl.

He took the girl into a back room and ordered me to wait outside. The noises comin from that room made me blood curdle and I wanted to run for me loif. But I was too terrified of that creature comin after me. What more could he want of me?

The terrifyin man went on drinkin grog all afternoon and into the night, I was worn out with fear and the effort of doing his beck and call. Suddenly he rears up out of his seat, kicking the chair across the room and draws his cutlass..."I wants a fight" he says, "get yerself a weapon and face me loik a man"...He towered menacingly above me...

I was facing certain death so I begged him for my life..."Oh please god no" I sobbed, "I can't fight you now...it's 11 of the clock, Cap'n Cronan will be in for his bedtime story!"

The huge monster of a man gasped and went as pale as a ghost: "CCCCCap'n Cronan" he stuttered, "Cap'n Cronan comin here...Now!"
"AAAARRRRRRRRRGH" He screamed in abject terror as he fled through the door into the night...

...and he was ne'r seen again.

Shortly afterwards Cronan came in and demanded his usual Grog, Grog,Grog...the Greatest Hits of Westloif and his bedtime tale of 'Fluffy Bunny and his chums'. It's a hard loif!

*********************************************************

(No Parisian girls were harmed during the making of this story)

(Cap'n Cronan appears courtesy of TCP productions)

              Cronans Curse .....A ( not so ) Scary Story


  It wasn't the most pleasant day for the journey from London to NewPortsmouth , the drizzling rain made the dawn a dreary one . By noon my companions and employers Sir Percival Bimbleton Fusslebottom , Lord  Lawrence Laudbabble Dubbelspeakerbee and myself , Jim Lad , humble junior clerk at Ripyaneuwin Bank were approaching the outskiirts of town .
Most of the skirts were of a stripper variety hanging from various tree limbs , the odd tree would have large moo moo style pink ones . It was a sign that we had found the correct road to New Portsmouth .


My employers wished to purchase an ARRGH 9000  for perposes unbenownst to me , perhaps their motives were noble for they are bankers and nobility , not from any sort of group that that would place an air of superiority upon themselves.
By the time we reached the edge of town the rain was falling down heavily and we were drenched to the marrow . We directed our steaming steads to slow down through town as we sought shelter from this portentous bit of pathetic fallacy .

There were many establishments to select from , Madame Fifi's , Smells Better Dennit Looks RestARRaunt , Madame Chantals , Tastes Okay2Me RestARRant  or The Admiral Benbow . We decided to chance Madame Fifi's for  Capn. Dave and crew  .

I have never in my young life been to such a place , the painted faces of the women appeared unnatural yet appealing , the air was scented with flowers and all manner of sweet bouquet yet they could not mask the smell of alcohol , vomit and decay as we approached the parlor .

We recognized Capn Dave from the wanted posters , " Soze ye want ta buy an ARRgh 9000 eh ? "

As he opened his mouth a cloud of corruption issued forth ,sending me reeling backwards into the arms of the females , they molested me with  a ferocity trying to steal my garmints and what little treasure contained therein . I shot up , repulsed by the contact with these scantily clad , well endowed , writhing , wiggling , jiggling , giggling , sashaying travesty of matronly femaleness .

"ARR! , relax en have a drink Jim Lad !"

" I do not encourage the consumption of such vile potables , sir pirate " , I replied , " nor shall I imbibe with you now !"

Indeed I have never done any drinking , smoking or cavorting of any sort ... sitting about adding numbers all day  suits me quite well .

" Well sores , I always be closing a rip...er...transaction wid a pint ove Cronans Curse so drink up iffen ye wants ye commishshun Jim Lad ! " He poured some of the Curse in a mug and pushed it to my mouth , some sloshed in as i gasped to protest but then i swallowed a nosh accidentally of the potent brew .

I felt sick in an instant , I felt myself fighting for control of my senses , " GET  AWAY CAPN DAVE ! " , I raged as the vile Capn filled up my mug all the while laughing manically . I struggled for balance and sanity .

My internal struggles were for naught and I could see through my befuddlement the debaucheries that followed ...the women ... the drinking of yet more Cronans Curse compounded the excesses committed until darkness veiled my vision  .

The next day i found myself with headaches , unemployed , stripped of dignity , clothes and money . An itchy feeling was more of a burning sensation every second that passed .

Capn Dave swaggered into my vision and said , " Ye be a game wun Jim Lad buts oime oft fer me next con job ...er...bidness deal...oime taken the Curse wid me ..."

The Captain and the bottle of Cronan's Curse was leaving , i was once again Jim Lad , a bi speckled 6 stone junior clerk destined to life with numbers , abject boredom  , a leaky facet and drudgery  ...

As sobriety slowly returned , my cleansed mind  screamed in anguish and torment that a horsie , fate and a bottle  could bring me to such shame and dispair..." COME BACK DAVE ! COMEBACK!" ...I cried as  i stumbled after Cap.....

                                             The Queens and The Flying Dutchmen


  Twas the 5th of September when the crews of the Cheering , Raging , Flaming and Dancing Queens decided to have a boarding party aboard the Flying Dutchmen .
The plan was greeted with enthusiasm by all except for one of the cooks , " ye all be daft ! " , said Chow who promptly went to back to snoring .

The crews went off without  a clue where to look and soon found themselves in the Atlantic braving November gales , " Oh I give up ! ,the freezing rain is ruining my new feathers" ,  complained Capt. Lance .

Low and behold a forbidding ship loomed on the horizon .

"Tis da Dutchmen ! " , cried Birdie from the crows nest .

The Queens signaled one another and the race was on , The Raging Queen reached the Dutchmen first and gloated as the seamen prepared to grapple .
Captains Roque and LiberARRchee whined as they approached ," No fair , you gotta head start ! "

As the combined complement of seamen (and wimmim ) trod the decks leaving stains all about , the old ship's timbers creaked and moaned .

" This is positively ghastly , " said Lance  " .
Indeed , the ships warnings in the otherwise  eerie stillness , the ominous foreboding of the dark skies and the skeletons would send lessor men to water the POop deck .

" Yeah , I'm a lessor man ,  lets bug off " , said Chow.

" NOooooooo  , We must do something about this ! , Declared Lance .

" Awwww shi* ! , exclaimed the kook .

The Queens' seamen (and seawimmim ) took the matter to a vote and with one exception to the almost unanimous vote set about spiffing up the old hulk , within a single hour the Dutchmen was gleaming like a pearl in the sun ( because the sky clears ) .

" Wonderful work people " , said Capt Fabio , " and thanks for staying out of the way Cookie " , he said to Lance's chef .

" No prob Cap " , he replied , " if I can  help from my hammock , any time matey " .

All hands except for one who snored out loud , " what a bunch o wankers " , decided to rename the ship .
With a bottle of Don Parigon the Cheering , Raging , Flaming and Dancing Queens' crew sent the ship to be now known as " The Flying Dutchess " upon the seas .

The Ghostly Ship

Arrrrr, many years ago there were a small village on the coast of England what lived in fear of Pirates an Smugglers. Hardly a week went by when the poor folk weren't raided by peg legged ruffians from the sea.

Finally the mayor of the village called an emergency meeting of the neighbourhood watch. "We can't go on like this any longer" said the mayor in a strong Cornish type accent, "we needs a plan to stop the Pirates from raidin our stores...anyone got any ideas?"

With that the villagers all put their heads together and over a good few tankards of local Scrumpy, they came up with a foolproof plan to save their town. The pirate raids always came at night so the villagers hatched this ghostly plan: They bought an old rotting hulk and painted her white. They draped her decks with ghostly sheets of torn sails and the bones of animals. Some of the villagers dressed up in ghostly grey outfits and scary masks and every night they sailed the ship out of the harbour, taking turns to crew the spectral boat. As a final touch they flew the flag of Captain Cronan from her main mast. The effect was terrifying and as long as the ghost ship remained visible on the foggy coast, not a single pirate bothered the village.

Weeks turned into months, months turned into years and there were no more Pirate raids. The villagers grew complacent. One night it was the turn of the mayor himself to sail the ghost ship. The mayor and his crew had had a bit of a session in the local Tavern. They got all dressed up, boarded the Ghost ship and all promptly fell asleep on the deck.

Meanwhile a funny looking van turned up and out got two lads, two girls and a huge gormless looking dog. They were followed by a bunch of very nervous pirates. The intelligent looking girl with the specs stepped forward onto the ghost ship and said to the pirates as she whipped off the mayor's mask: "I think you'll find that your ghostly pirate is in fact...the mayor"

The mayor grunted "We would have gotten away with it too if it hadn't ha been for you meddlin kids!"

The pirates all cheered, they thanked the crew of the van and said they would forever be indebted to Mystery Inc (whatever that meant). They gave the big floppy dog a huge burger made from roasted villagers and they never had any trouble raiding the village again.

Now that's what I call a Happy Ending...Yaarrrrrrrr!

only one problem with that last one
the dog is a vegan

here's one that's been making the rounds-hopes ye likes it-

The Saucy Wench of Verona

I fell in with a saucy wench from Verona,
She's just as naughty as she can be.
All of her life she's been a looker
Because she give it out for free.


Out of all of the things they make in Italy,
The rum, the ships, the pistols, the hardtack.
I loves me saucy wench from Verona
Because she made me feel so good.


But it wasn't meant to be;
I had to find out the hard way.
You know, what she gave to me
Will cause me peg leg to rot away
but still and any way
I would not have had it any other way.




with love to Eric Clapton and my sincere groveling-- the devil made me do it!

Lovely that...nice to see someone else avin a go at the Long Winded Tales.  Ye has ta make a special effort for a Long Tale...ye sit yerself down twixt the Fire burnin heartily in the hearth and the alf dead old codger what aven't moved since last Christmas, an ye lets yer himagination take a hold.

A few grogs elps an all.  By the way, I was on holiday near Verona this year an I didn't meet up wiv no saucy wench...hold on ta yer anchor rope though...there was that wench what served me a capaccino and gave me an extra biscuit!

                      The (tinny) Terror(s) Within 



  The gloomy skies cries a promise of rain ...rain will swamp us to be sure , the men glance at me with accusing eyes . It was I that allowed the toredo worms to breed beyond control .

It seemed like a good idea at the time...we were sailing to the Fisher Islands with earthworms to trade for salt cod...I felt that we would allow the wood worms to go at it and we'll get more cod .

OHHhhhhh  they were so happy when we left with double the cargo , therefore double the shares.

Now the ship weighs heavy in the water , the timbers so riddled with holes we feel as we are sailing on a big sponge .

Suddenly a huge white whale popped up for a blow...

"Oh crappers " , we thought, " now we're dun for ".

The whale circled us... then faced us off starboard , it opened it's great razor tooth filled mouth at us,

" I say chaps...any of you lot be called Ahab ?, it said , much to our amazement.

"..um...no.."

"Oh...oh... well...aint much sport sinking you lot... ye be shark food before to long anyhow ...I could give ye a tow if ye got anything to trade or direct me to this Ahab fella ".

We told him about our cargo and he agreed for 75% of our fish...

" Okay lads , put some slack on the chain and we're off ".

" But our hull is full of worms , can it take the strain ?"

The whale became impatient.

" CAPTAIN ! DROP YOUR ANCHOR AND DAMN THE TOREDOES !"




I miss spelled the worm... i think ...I'll fix it later....
       

Arrrgh matey...what be 'The Terror Within' does that come later in the tale?

Yarr bartie ,

     Thee terror within be the concuring ..kongkering worms that be etten up ye shup from under ye...

Yarr Bartie...i dun a bit of editing...is it bedder?

Which bit de ye edit?

I must get down to writin a tale meself...Christmas be the toim of Fireside tales, tasted crumpets and glasses o mulled grog.

I misspelled  tiny and added the "s" after terror in thee story title..I'll be back to misspell more later......maybe.....

A Tale of Two Christmases

Arrrrgh...Poor Tiny Tim waited anxiously by the fireside every Christmas.  His father was a notorious Pirate so Timmy was never certain he'd get to see his Daddy yet alone get any Christmas presents.

"Mummy", asked Timmy with hope lighting up his eyes in the gloomy hovel in Portsmouth Harbour, "Will daddy bring us something this year?"  "I can't tell, my dearest", said Tim's Mum, "We can only hope he hasn't been caught by the Revenue men again or worse!"

Timmy gazed out through the grimy window into the harbour smog...if only his dad would turn up this time, it would be a good Christmas for the Plank family.   A tear trickled down Tim's cheek as he recalled last year's Christmas; whilst the Bart family next door tucked into a Big Bowl of Fish Head Stew, Tim and his mum gnawed hungrily on their roasted Bilge Rat...a scanty meal without even a Big Ron chipolata stuffed up it's arse.

The harbour clock struck midnight, Tim was allowed to stay up late on Christmas Eve so he wouldn't get so many flea bites from his bed, suddenly there came the tap, tapping of a peg leg on the cobbled street outside.  Tim wiped the grime from the broken window, and though his eyes were watering from the icy blast coming through the cracks, he peered out in feverish expectation... 

"Mummy mummy", cried Tim, "There's a Pirate coming down the street...I think it might be daddy".

Moments later there came a tap, tap, tap on the door.  Hardly able to contain his excitement, Timmy ran toward the door and swung the creeking, half rotten boards open..."Daddy?" 

A filthy scurvy peg legged wretch stood in the doorway, leering and letching..."I only has half a Cronan so Madame Fifi sent me here..."

"Alright Timmy" said Madam Plank, "It's only a client, looks like it's Bilge Rat again for Christmas Dinner...but the half a Cronan will buy us a sausage so cheer up lad.   Timmy went back to his lonely stool and sat fingering his dad's old threadbare wig...his eyes began watering again as the Fish Head Stew steam drifted in from next door.

That is the saddest story I ever heard.

Can't we do something for Timmy?  Like add him to the Monastery food drive?

 ;D

Perhaps the girls at Madame Fifi's could adopt Timmy and bring him up...a sort of Great Expectations but Timmy becomes a successful pimp!

Aaaaaaaargggh!!! Any voulnteers for being his "uncle" ?

Who's goin ta be Miss Haversham?...

Oh god, that reminds of my most shameful moment ever in the Red Cow quiz...they've never let me forget it.  It was a tie break...imagine the tension with two beer vouchers at stake!  The question was:

Who played Miss Haversham in David Lean's Great Expectations?

I was sure it was Jean Simmons but of course she was Estella.

The answer is Martita Hunt.

YARRR ! Bartie , that would have been my second guess...

Ye be lucky ye dinna get a pie in yer face fer that !!

Blimey, funny I should mention that incident, we were at the quiz last night.  We didn't win but the landlord must have had a few too many Mince pies or something cos he started giving away all his wine.  It was one question per bottle and by the end we'd won a bottle each! ;D

Yarr ! He was generous cos ye be responsible for his new Rolls Royce ( an it be yer burfday ) YARRRRRRRRRRRR!

Oi jest 'opes it wernt Cap'n's Delight ;)

I fear it was Captain's Delight...I was extremely ill on Wednesday Night!  I've either had a touch of food poisoning or I over did it...recovering slowly!

aaaaaaaaaarrrrgh!  Oi downt fink it be fittin fer a pirate ter offer sympaffy !!

Arrrrgh...A noice bowl of Fish Head Stew and I be as roight as rain!

.....Ye not ridin in me cabin ifin ye eats tha stewe-- ye kin ride on the quartermasters deck and hang ye head off tha side fur a bit, that stewe'll make one see fings like onced I swears I seen Ol Aggie wearin a ....

...skimpy pair of...

...Aces! , beamed The Black Spot as he reached for the pot .

" Wait !" , exclaimed Black Bart , " I has three aces ...Ye is a filthy cheat ! Here !...use me hanky , ye has a few spots about ye...

...frilled shirt.... interrupted TBS " Aye that be me frilly shirt wot went missin in 1748. Gi' it bakk 'ere." and TBS lunged fer it, rippin' it right down the front and exposing.................................

..........that the margins between long winded tales and continuous tales is a fine line, along with the totally naked hairless, not a single hair in sight, possibly even shaved, chest of the biggest sea-going coward that ever raised a peg leg in anger while adjustin' his.......

Phil, Lil and the Bilge Rat Pirates

Phil had once been a seafaring hamster, but had settled down to a nice sedate life in the city of Portsmouth.  There, he had met a very pretty mouse by the name of Lillian, better known to her friends as Lil.  Lil worked Tuesday and Thursday nights at Barnacle Bart's Emporium as a fan dance, entertaining the sailors on shore leave.

One Friday morning, in the very wee hours, Phil became anxious as Lil had not returned to their flat.  Deciding that something may have happened to his dear mouse, he started forth to investigate.  As he made his way to Barnacle Bart's, he saw no signs of trouble, though a lone rodent could run into a lot of misery on these mean streets.  Alley cats were everywhere.  Phil, however, arrived at Barnacle Bart's without a single cat showing itself.  There, Phil talked to Bart hisself, and learned some disturbing news.

That night, during Lil's routine, a group of rats in quite disreputable clothes had entered the Emporium.  Their jeers and comments had been so rude that Bart had tossed the lot of them out on their tails.  However, Bart had seen the rats hanging around the side of his establishment for some time after he had evicted them.  Bart then noted that the rats had disappeared after Lil's show was over.

Inquiring further, Phil learned that this group of rats had been later seen heading toward the docks all in a huddle.  At the docks, Phil discovered that a group of rats had been seen hustling something up the gang plank of the Parsifal.  The Parsifal was a privateer that spent most of its time in the Mediterranean raiding French merchants.  It was back in England to purchase two new cannon.

Going up the gang plank seemed like a bad idea to Phil, so he picked one of the hawsers tying the ship to the dock and scurried up it to board the ship.  Hiding behind the scuttlebutt, Phil caught a whiff of Lil's perfume.  The scent led down a line into the bowels of the ship.  Carefully descending the rope, Phil made his way to the bilge.  There, among the ballast stones, he found Lil.

Lil was cowering against the ships hull, surrounded by rats.  At the head of the rat pack was a huge rat wearing a belt and three-cornered hat.  He was leering at Lil in a way that made Phil's blood run cold.

Leaping out of the darkness, Phil stamped on the huge rat's tail.  With a scream, this rat turned around.  A slow smile appeared on his face as he drew a huge sewing needle, used for repairing sails, from his belt.  He swished it back and forth a few times and advanced on Phil as the other rats pulled back.

Phil, light on his feet, sprang back as the rat slashed to and fro.  Phil, no stranger to sword play, could tell that while this rat was powerful, he actually knew very little of how to use a sword.  Waiting for his moment, Phil lunged under a swing and came up in the rat's face.  There, Phil bit down hard on the rat's nose.  The huge rat towered over Phil and tried to beat him down with the sword, but Phil grabbed the weapon and wrenched it from the rat's hand.  Turning the needle on the rat, Phil executed a perfect thrust and pierced the rat through the throat.  The huge rat died with a gasp.

Still holding the sword, he picked up the dead rat's tri-cornered hat and set it on his head.  The gang of rats shrank back, bowing in subservience.  Phil had just become the captain of the Bilge Rat Pirates.

YARR ! , Tis many a month since we have had such a loverly  long winded tale . Well done matey ! ARRRRGH !

Phil, Lil and Fat Tom

The Parsifal has a ship's mascot of sorts.  A cat by the name of Fat Tom.  It is actually one of those ironic misnomers, for Tom is far from fat.  He is a lean, grizzled old cat, blind in his left eye, a mangled left ear, and a stub of a tail where a French cannon ball took the rest.

Fat Tom works for Pops, the ship's cook.  Pops is an old sailor who is now more than half blind.  Fat Tom's main job is to keep the bilge rats out of the ships stores, for sea biscuits are reserved for humans and weevils.

The bilge rat pirates make do mostly by making off with fish heads from Pops galley.  They take 'em back to the bilge where they brew up a mean fish head stew.

Phil's problem is, Lil has a delicate palate and can't abide fish head stew.  So Phil has to sneak into the stores every few days and nip a biscuit for her.  With Fat Tom on guard, this can be a dangerous task.

So one fine day, Phil was off to steal his lady love some biscuits.  Lil, who was still leery of the bilge rats, spent almost all of her time in Phil's cabin.  But the close spaces were giving her cabin fever and Lil decided to go up on deck.  There, she was enjoying a brisk sea breeze when she spotted Fat Tom heading for the hold and the ship's stores.  Remembering it was biscuit day, she realized Phil might be in danger and hurried after Fat Tom.

Now Phil was just about to nip a biscuit when Fat Tom leaped onto a nearby barrel.  Phil immediately dove for cover behind a chest.  Crouching as far back as he could, Phil was just able to escape Tom's needle sharp claws.  Problem was, Phil was trapped.

Suddenly, Fat Tom gave a scream and jumped straight up into the air.  Lil had kicked him on the stub of his tail.  Coming back down, Fat Tom tore out after Lil, who ran between two barrels.  Fat Tom careened into the barrels, shook his head and jumped to the top of one looking for his prey.

Phil, acting quickly, scurried out of hiding and up a rope.  He made it to the peg on which the coil of rope hung and strained to push the coil off.  With a thud, the rope landed on top of Fat Tom.  Buried in tangled rope, Fat Tom hissed and spit and clawed his way out, only to find that Phil and Lil had made their escape.

Now one might think that Phil and Fat Tom would become enemies after this, but Phil actually negotiated an agreement with Fat Tom that was worthy of pirate shipmates.  In exchange for a fish head from Pops' galley, Fat Tom agreed that Phil could nip two biscuits, not enough to gather notice.  Also, every few days, one of the bilge rat pirates would scamper out on deck, be chased by Fat Tom from bow to stern and disappear back into the bilge.  Thus Fat Tom maintained his reputation as a superb mouser.

And Lil got to eat her sea biscuits.

Arrrrrrgh...nice to hear a good tale while ye supps yer grog.  Can ye repeat the last bit matey...I fell off me seat and singed me hat!

The cabin boy's tale

Arrrrr, this be a true tale if me name's not Wee Willy the cabin boy.

Twere many a year ago I wuz Walktheplank's cabin boy on a long voyage to the Indies. The crew were an unhappy bunch. Having sailed with Cap'n Plank before, they did nothin but grumble about his wigs taking up more room in the hold than the vittles, grog and treasure.

For my own part I found Cap'n Plank to be a hard but fair Captain. While tis true he thrashed me within an inch o my life for steelin a weevily biscuit, and I spent long sections of the voyage scrubbin his wigs clean, but he were loik a second daddy to me (marginally worse than me first daddy wot I'd left behind in the 'debtors prison for murdering psycopaths' in Portsmouth).

Then one noight the Cap'n gathered the entire crew together on the deck. Ha ha, I thought, we'll ave some rum and sea shanties to elp pass the stormy night.

But as I looked around I could see that the crew looked restless, in fact I've never seen a more worried group of men. I asked the First mate what everyone was lookin so miserable about. 'Ye gods,' said the man, 'don't ye know what's comin...the Captain's goin ta...Oh may Neptune preserve us...he's goin ta make us listen to one of his Sea farin Tales!!!'

Bein a newcomer I looked bemused...what could be so awful about being told a story?...

There was the sound of prayers being whispered...and then he began...

There were groans from the crew as Walktheplank began his Tale. About two minutes into the prologue, four of the men jumped overboard and another took out his pistol and shot himself.

This was one of Cap'n Planks longer tales and by the conclusion, four hours later, the crew was completely decimated. Only the First mate, who lay, writhing at full length upon the deck and myself remained alive.

There is no doubt that but for a fortunate incident earlier in the voyage, where a cannon had backfired rendering me profoundly deaf, I would have also succumbed to the agonies of this experience.

As for Captain Planky...when he had finished the devestating performance of his oratory, he looked up from his parchment and gazed at the carnage on deck....'Yaaarrrgh', he said, 'That went down well for a change'.

Yarr.  A long winded tale about a long winded tale.  Sorta meta-tale, Oi s'pose.

Arrrr...ye be blindin me wiv science matey...but did it make ye larf...or is it only me what finds Calico Jack's wigs so amusin?

It be a sad day wen a poor Cap'n gets larfed at fer 'is wigs. Especial like wen 'e lost 'is hair in such a sad way as be told o' in the Continuous Briny Fable...... now that be truly long-winded.

Perhaps we should do a survey on what sort of Long Winded Tale the good punters of The Admiral Benbow really want:

a. Tales about wigs and other accessories.

b. Tales about sea monsters, sharks and hamsters

c. Tales about love on the High Seas (too much loik the Onedin Line if ye arsks me)

d. Tales about buried treasure and wallets

e. Tales about Cap'n Cronan

f. Tales about Fish Head Stew consumption on a sliding scale with or without any mention of Pirgella's wobbly blancmanges

g. Tales about murderin cutthroats and the type of underwear they favour

h. All of the above

b (cant remember what comes arter h). No tales for me I'm still learnin to read and write 'X'. 

Peraps the lack o' henthusiastic responses hindicates that the uvver pyrates be board wif yer lLong Winded Tales. Bein new to Portsmouth, oi aven't lost me tolerance yet, as long as the mead keeps coming.

So oi''ll vote for:
b. Tales about sea monsters, sharks and hamsters
d. Tales about buried treasure and wallets

If ye could concoct a Long Winded Tale wot contained bof seas monsters, sharks or hamsters and buried treasure or wallets oi think ye'd ave a shot at the Long John Llewellyn Rhys Proize.


Pirate Scrip: wot comes after 'h' be "oi'.

No wun replied cos we all know Black Bart wer tryin' ter cheat in The Admiral Benbow Quizzy Nighte by gettin' us ter tell 'im wot be the best sort o' Long Winded Tayle.

Oi am guessin' ye av'n't got the full measure o' Black Bart's dasterdlynessishness yet !

Damn yer eyes...ye be a smart un and no mistake...

I WILL get one o those questuns right if it kills me!

(http://web.mac.com/antonyroberts/iWeb/twerps_dwyle_flonking/Photos_files/fist_fullo_cronans.jpg)

I'm a Pirate and I aint ashamed of it. But the day I walked into Portsmouth I could tell it was a bad town with a black heart. As I walked up the high street a dog came running out The Admiral Benbow Inn with a man's hand clenched in it's teeth! Still had a tankard of grog clutched in the dead podgy fingers!

I've seen plenty of bad things in my day so I walked into that Inn with my hand poised on my pistol. As I walked through the door, everything seemed to stop, including the music (some wretched old soak had been singin a tuneless rendition of 'Pirgella.') I took in the scene through my cruelest narrow eyed stare. The blackest lookin rogues this side of hell stared back at me and the whole place stank of trouble, grog and bad pies!

I walked up to the bar and ordered some grog. It wasn't long before the bartender was telling me about the town's two feuding gangs. On one side there was the Black Spot's gang , known as 'Black's Seven' and on the other the 'El Rollos' a band of Spanish cutthroats who smoked Camberwell Carrots.

An idea came to me like a Flash of Gold in a Buccaneer's teeth. I could play the two gangs against each other, clean up the town and earn myself some booty in the process. I thanked the bartender for the information. He seemed like a decent enough kind of guy and I guessed there were other decent people living in this hell hole. I took a room upstairs.

The next day I introduced myself to the infamous Black Spot, offering my services as a hired gun. The wily Old Bastard was suspicious but I was introduced to the other members of Black's Seven: Black Bart, the cook (offered me some foul smellin stew), Calico Jack, the barber (I figured he cut a lot more than hair), Dave ( I asked him if he had another name but he said he was The Man with No Name except Dave), The Griffin with No Name (Torture and Extortion), Pieces O'Nine (money laundering expert), and Cap'n Bluenose (explosive peg legs expert).

'We has a job for you', said The Black Spot, 'we wants you to kidnap Mayor Liversausage.' Do this and we'll cut ye in for a slice of our action.

Now kidnapping aint my game, but on this occasion it turned out the Mayor was used to being chained up in a dark room...some might even say he enjoyed it! With Liversausage trussed up like a sack of potatoes, I delivered the ransom note to the Town Hall. 5,000 Cronans, Liversausage must be a pretty important guy and his people duly payed up. With the money being left in a bag on a ship in the docks, all I had to do now was let the El Rollos know and then sit back and watch the fireworks.

To be continued.

Captain Bungo and The Lost Library of Los Windos

Many years after the Spanish Conquistador Hernan Cortez had wiped the Aztec Empire off the map we sailed to South America in search of Eldorado.

The Captain's Log

Day 12

Jungle to the left, swamps to the right, men falling to the left and right, some from poisoned darts but most from the worst case of the shits I've ever seen...we should never have eaten those fishy Tacos!

How did Cortez do it?

Day 14

Discovered the skeleton of an old conquistador which seemed to be pointing the way to Eldorado with it's bony outstretched arm. A sign sticking out of the skeleton's teeth read:

'This way to The Land that Time forgot...Don't eat the fishy tacos or the gristle sandwiches.'


Day 16

At last we emerged from the terrible jungle onto a plateau. Here we found an amazing 'land that time forgot.' The villagers had never seen a white man and it was clear they had the blood of Montezuma running in their veins...as unfortunately did most of my men after eating those tacos!

Day 17

The villagers offered us a day trip to Cancun including lunch and all the cocktails we could drink. The men were up for it but I reminded them we had come for GOLD and Riches beyond our wildest dreams!

Day 18

I cannot understand why Cortez treated this people with such cruelty, they are wonderful hosts and have promised to show us their secret temple...which surely must be where they keep the GOLD!

Day 19

The villagers put on a display of exotic nude dancing. The grace and elegance of the dance was only matched by the flowing silky hair...all down their backs, none on their heads.

I asked chief Tescoquetzaltaco: "Are the women as graceful?"

Tescoquetzaltaco: "These ARE the women. They are bald so they can wear 'The Wigs of the great god Walkatoplanktl Tomorrow we will wear the sacred wigs."

"That's lovely" said I, "when can we see the GOLD...er...the secret temple?"

Tescoquetzaltaco: Tomorrow.

That night I could hardly sleep...tomorrow we would get the Gold! Why oh why did Cortez destroy this wonderful civilization?

Day 20

Chief Tescoquetzaltaco led us up into the mountains. The villagers were all bedecked with the most outlandish wigs I've ever seen. The procession came to a halt high above the village and there, set into the living rock, were two Great doors carved with elaborate Aztec figures. With the sounding of a great Aztec horn and by some mechanism unseen, the huge doors opened.

"Behold the Temple of Walkatoplanktl cried the chief. "We have saved all this from the murderous hands of the Spanish invaders."

"Marvelous." said I, and the men and I rushed in to grab the Gold.

Inside the mountain was a fantastic hall, with stone pillars and galleries, lit by huge torches. I could see no gold but on the walls were rank after rank of stone shelves covered in countless thousands of books.

I couldn't believe it, the legends were true...we had found 'The Lost Library of Los Windos'...

I picked up one of the books and began reading:

Quote...Fernando vowed to escape and crept on to the deck having sighted an Island in the distance. However, he fell over a large object on the floor it was Spot himself who had gorged himself on Rum. Spot woke up enraged and threw poor Fernando overboard there and then. Surrounded by Sharks Fernando thought his number was up but before they could attack him a small blue dolphin appeared and suddenly the sharks scattered. The dolphin made a sign for Fernando to get on its back and he was carried to the Island he had spotted earlier...

Luckily, the chief roused me from my sudden torpor...

"small blue frickin dolphin!"

I turned to Tescoquetzaltacky and asked: "How many more of these books have you got on these shelves?" and he replied "150,000 all written by the hand of the great god Walkatoplanktl"

I turned to my men and said "Kill them, kill them all...and burn the frickin library to the ground!"

Day 43

Our search for the Gold continued, although we now do a nice line in exotic wigs.

We be over run by moggies on Verganza, so I wrote this:

The White Cat of Portsmouth

A couple of centuries or more ago, around the time of The Black Death, Portsmouth was plagued by rats coming of the sailing ships which arrived from all over the world.

As the ships in earlier times could be at sea for months at a time, most of them carried one or more cats to keep down rodents and preserve their cargo. One particular cat called Tiggywinks, who was as white as driven snow, was known as one of the best in the business; consequently he was much in demand and voyaged the world over — Europe, Asia, the Americas and the Caribbean: even to Australia. His was such an important job, and he was so good at it, that it became his privilege to be fed from the captain's table — which of course tended to have the choicest food.

But as the globetrotting feline grew old, had used up most of his nine lives and was becoming weary of fierce storms, heavy seas and foreign ports, he was looking forward to an easier life. He wanted to leave the sea and retire to live with his last captain, old man Morgan, in comfortable retirement.

But there was one more journey to make — to take a Captain Cronan and a number of passengers, including a number of vagrants from a nearby House of Correction, to Ireland. It should have been a routine voyage; but the weather was bad and as the ship prepared to cast off an old crone shouted from the docks: 'Beware ye who sail with The White Cat, for I have seen a vision of a shipwreck where all souls perish and a white cat clings to the mast...at least it looked like a white cat, I've been on the Brasso again so it could ave been anything really...but yer all DOOOMED, DOOOOOOOOMED!"

Tiggywinks was scared by the storm and, being used to the good life, went to seek solace at Captain Cronan's table...

The ship was never seen again, it foundered and all aboard her perished in a terrible storm in the Irish Sea. I say all perished but Captain Cronan turned up safely in Ireland where he went to visit his long lost relatives The Cronans of Craggy Island. Some say it was Cronan who nailed the ship's cat to the mast for months later a piece of mast with a cat nailed to it washed up in Portsmouth harbour.

According to legend, the spirit of the ship's cat wanders Portsmouth Dock, frightening the rats and searching for Captain Cronan.

Not sure that tale is long winded enough for this thread.

Aaaargh...I can't bleedin win!!!!! :taz:

O'ill go get the stocks ready again!

Aye...it be Griffin's turn...I'll go an get me rotten tomartoes ready!

I bet Shakespeare never had this trouble!

Flame wars are expressly forbidden on these forums.

Part 5: Tiddles: 'Miaow Prrr' and the Great Sausage Council

Thus it came to pass, that Tiddles did become one of the most feared and hated Pirates in the Mediterranean Sea. And Tiddles in all his wealth and glory had amassed a vast fortune worthy of a king.

And following the employment of some poor farmers, Tiddles did construct a great island fortress named 'Miaow Prrr', which in cat speak means 'My Kick Ass Castle with Guns Galore'. And it was aptly named, for it it's vast series of walled entrenchments, cannon towers and Bilgerat warriors made it almost beyond conquest...yeah well almost.

Tiddles also built himself a vast throne on which to reside, complete with love Miaow Seetung by his side. And his loyal bilge rat army did thus venture forth onto the sea to plunder more riches and spoils. For Tiddles had become A Mighty Pirate King!!! (summon crack of thunder).

But in his plunder, Tiddles did thus become increasingly despised by more blaggards than just Capn DaveL. For his growing reputation was increasingly met with more rivalry.

Back in Portsmouth, a destitute flotilla had been grounded due to blockades by Tiddles and his evil Bilge rat fleet. And following much concern, an emergency meeting was called by the Chamber of Commerce in Portsmouth Town Hall.

'Who here amongst you she see an end to this evil cat?' called out civil servant Cecil McBunty. Following much discussion, things got rather heated.

'How is a man meant get a sausage, if we have to pay sea tariffs to import ingredients? Portsmouth is getting no sausage!' yelled Butcher Big Ron.

Then just as the doors of the hall were about to close, the entry was overwhelmed by a vast horde of Portsmouth moggies. 'Down wit Tiddlez, Down wit Tiddlez!!' they yowled.

Tiddle's best former buddy Catpin Puff, despised Tiddles for abandonment of his humble friends, struggling in the alleyways of Portsmouth, fighting for scraps, while he lived like a king.

'Hisss..Tiddlez he no share wit friends. We hates Tiddlez, for he not kind to Portsmouth kittez!' scowled Catpin Puff (with apologies to both Gollum and Lolcats). 'Miaow Seetung make Tiddles very bad ole pussy cat. We must get Tiddlez!!' he hissed.

Then mayor Keith Liversausage, keen to capitalise on the politics of war, stood up and raised his hands cue patriotic music.

'Citizens, Pirates and Moggies of Portsmouth' It is by the power invested in me that I declare Portsmouth Harbour shall again be rid of tyranny!!

What is a man without a home?
What is a man without a harbour?
What is a man without his sausage (ok don't answer that)?

Portsmouth is our home and lifeblood. The harbour is our heartbeat. Tiddles and his minions have sucked our blood dry. We can no longer thrive while Tiddles blocks our harbour.

This cat shall no longer terrorise our homeland!!'

This stirring speech was Keith Liversausages most finest moment, in fact was probably his only moment.

His speech was met with thunderous applause by all...erm..except two.

'Who amongst you shall lift help lift the blockade?' Mayor Keith called.

Then after a moments muted silence, hundreds of hands, furry paws and spicy bratwursts were raised in the air in support.

And thus it came to pass the Great Sausage Council was formed. And all the minions of Portsmouth resolved to rid their harbour of Tiddles.

But Tiddles claws did stretch far and wide across the lands he terrorised. And his spies did thus infiltrate the hall that night. For within hours of the formation of the Council , Tiddles did learn of the plan to lift the blockade.

'Send forth my armada from Miaow Prrr, for I shall crush Portsmouth once and for all' scowled Tiddles. 'Yes master!!' snapped General Bugsy Bilge Rat.

And from his throne, Tiddles did bellow forth much evil maniacal laughter... MUHAHAHAHA!!!. And down in the barracks, his Bilge Rat army did issue forth much maniacal laughter... MUHAHAHAHA!!!  (YArrrr...eat yer heart out Dr Evil!).

For at last Tiddles had being challenged like never before. And the Battle of Portsmouth Harbour would be Tiddles greatest ever challenge yet.

Put im in the Stocks!!!!

I demands it! ;)

Tiddles or Capn DaveL?

Both o the blaggards...tagevver!

No funny business in the stocks please !!

Lol Dave L is in the stocks on verganza as well!

He got owt sumhow , funny though ,oi doan member arskin  thee gubnoor ta set 'em  free .

How ye do it lad ?

big hint on gettin out o tha stocks
#1--- pay ye tab at tha Benbow on a reghular basis (keeping Gert frum being out o sorts wif ye)
#2--- remembers that old Gert knows every one--an has dirt on ye all--hincluding tha keeper o the keyz to tha stocks
#3--- when ye winds up in that stocks, call on ye frind Gert an ye be out in a jif

shhhhhhh---hitz a secret loike ya know

Harrrr...ye knows how ta keep a secret Gert...does ye know the secret o Cap'n Cronan's treasure? Just nod loik, or wink if yer neck's still stiff from all that cabbage throwin at the stocks.

The Mutiny of the Bounty

Cast adrift...arrrgh the blaggards...cast adrift in an open boat wiv nary a drop ta drink. I gazed at my only companion 'The First Mate' as the sounds of the Mutineers voices faded away with my ship, the Big Brenda, they were singing mockingly:

He's fat,
He's bent
His arse is up for rent
Cap'n Barty...

'I'll see ye all hanged' I cried...but my words were lost in the sound of the vast ocean.

'Why me?' I cried 'I'm too young to die.'

'It was the Fish Head Stew Cap'n', said the First Mate.

'Well then,' said I, 'Why you?'

'You put me in charge of serving the Fish head Stew Cap'n.'

We drifted on that vast sea for days. Nothing but an endless stretch of cruel grey water from one horizon to the next. Luckily I had a Nintendo DS in me pocket but the First Mate soon started to show signs of madness...I only had the Super Mario Game!

Then the hunger and thirst began. It be alright fer you landlubbers wiv yer four square meals a day and enough grog to drown yerself in, ye can't understand the terrible gnawing hunger of a man drifting un-nourished on the ocean. I started to see things...the First Mate suddenly appeared to be a huge roast chicken wiv all the trimmings...and I could tell he was looking at me in a strange animal-like way.

I was afraid to fall asleep, the man was watchin me from dawn till dusk. It was plain I'd have to kill and eat him afore he killed and ate me.

Things would ave got pretty desperate if, all of a sudden, a big wooden crate hadn't come floating by. On the box was stamped the name Mary Celeste. We hauled the crate onboard and cracked it open...inside was cooked meat, cheese, apples, grog, everything a man could want. It was a miracle.

We'd just finished eating and drinking our fill when another big crate floated up. This time the name on the box was HMS Bounty. Inside were two beautiful Polynesian wenches.

Arrrr, I was just giving the First Mate me old 'Stick wiv Cap'n Barty an things will turn out alright' lecture when another big crate appeared. This one had the name Pandora* stamped on it. The first mate said 'Don't open it Cap'n...it be Pandora's box an it's full of evil spirits'...

I sais, 'We could do wiv some spirits ta wash down the cheese...' but he explained it weren't that sort o spirits.

'Hang on,' sais I 'All the other boxes were from sunken ships, how do we know it aint a ship called Pandora and inside the box is her treasure? The First mate disagreed 'Lets stick wiv wot we've got Cap'n'...The wenches shouted 'Open the box, open the box!'

We opened the box...and...

'A Nintendo DS!!!' gasped the First Mate...'with Super Mario and Nintendogs!!!!!'

Them Polynesian wenches were great swimmers so we sent them off to find us a Red Snapper for our lunch. Meanwhile I got up to World 3 on Super Mario and the First Mate taught his puppy how to catch a frisbee.

Months later a postcard from Malta arrived on the deck of the Big Brenda...

Dear Crew

I hopes ye are are well, not too much scurvy, plague or dysentry, I trust. Me an the First Mate are avin a lovely toim of it on the boat, we'll be callin in to Monte Carlo to spend some of our treasure and then it's on to the Amalfi coast and Corfu.

If ye appens upon one Captain Cronan on your voyages, don't take him on board, I don't want to find any boxes floatin around wiv the Big Brenda's Bilge Rats in em.

Keep well,

I'll be back to Hang the Bleedin lot of you before Christmas

Your Loving Captain Barty

*Note: The Pandora was the ship that the Royal Navy sent to round up the mutineers from HMS Bounty. It sank off Australia...rumours say that Cronan was aboard.

aaaaaaaaaarr!!  Cap'n Bart sure knows 'ow ter be Long-Winded. May the wind keep blowin' and wiv an 'uff an' a puff blow 'im ashoor a long longs way away !!

Aye well...it were a true story that one...I really have just got to World Three of Super Mario!   

Arrr it be that toim o year when I press gangs the lot o ye inta the back room o the Benbow, an forces ye ta listen to a Long Winded Tale o Yuletide cheer...where's me grog?

A Tale o Christmas Yet to Come

One stormy day, near Christmas, I was sittin in me nice warm cabin drainin the last dregs of a bottle o rum, when there was a loud knock on me cabin door.

I threw the bottle at the door and told the devil to go an keel haul himself, but the knockin continued and I was obliged to invite the blaggard in.

"What be the meanin o this outrage?" I demanded of the terrified rating (who'd obviously drawn the short straw) wot stood before me...

"PPPPlease, Cap'n,' said the sailor, "the mmmmmen be wonerin if we maint be callin in ta ppppport for a spot o CCCCChristmas Dinner?...it be 5 years since we last had any Turkey an Puddin."

I had a good mind to toss the blaggard over board for his insolence but, seein as the rum supplies were gettin low and half the crew were dead from scurvy, I thought it moight be time ta hove in fer some supplies an press gang in a few new recruits.

We anchored orf Portsmouth on Christmas Day 1777 an the crew went ashore for a good ransackin and pillagin. I stayed in me noice warm cabin an ordered a take away and a luxury treatment Number 76 from Won Hang Lo's Massage Parlour.

Half an hour later the crew were back...

"Cap'n that were the worst Christmas Dinner we ever had," said the first mate, "there wuz no Turkey an no puddin...all we got wuz Roast Rat an Turnip."

"Wot about the new recruits?" said I, "Who'd ye get?"

A skinny lot of ruffians, chained together, shuffled forward at the point of a cutlass an I demanded their names:

Ebenezer Scrooge, Bob Cratchit, Jacob Marley, Tiny Tim (he wont even last the night thinks I), a huge ruddy faced fellow in a Santa outfit callin himself 'the ghost of Xmas Present and a bloke dressed as Death who wouldn't say anything.

"You daft buggers," says I, "Ye've gone an press ganged the cast of a Dickens novel...wot use will they be in a fight?"

As it turned out I was wrong. Ebenezer and Jacob were bankers and we wuz never short o Treasure after that. Bob Cratchit worked himself to death on the capstan an never complained once. Tiny Tim made a foine cabin boy once we got him to leave his crutch in the corner. The Fat Ruddy bloke seemed to have an endless supply o grog an vittles on him an that 'Death' bloke was a star turn at the annual 'Tortuga' Pirate Ball.

We'll be back in 5 years toim an I hope Portsmouth has got in a few Turkeys by then or we'll ave ta try raidin Narnia again.

Amazing-
Fantabulous-
Historically Accurate-
A Must Read (or have read to you)-
Pulitzer Prize Material-
5 Stars-
Movie Coming Soon-

Turrible - Orful - Load a' B.....

Ther be a maijor plot fawlt. The Cap'n h'asks wot use be ther Dikkens crew in a foight? That nivver be h'ansered; 'e jest gows on 'bout 'ow they be good crew. Ther be no foight.

Dissapointin lakk o' foights.

Do not buy this.

Soiled revieew copee fer sayle; 20 Cronin. Buyer collects.

Ha harrrgh...Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...

He he he heeeeaaarrgh, cough, cough, cough...an all that...

soon I shall unleash the full an awesome power of Ye Necroplankecon on an unsuspektin world...Bwa ha ha ha!

(bound in genuine Pleather an hencrusted wiv crusty bits...only 5000 Cronan per copy)

Arrrrrrrrrgh seein as ye don't appreciate the finer touches o me Long Winded Tales I has decided to make it easier for your enjoyment....

Longwindotechnicolourama brings ye...

The Bra Full of Treasure:

(http://web.mac.com/antonyroberts/iWeb/twerps_dwyle_flonking/Photos%202_files/visualtale_one.jpg)

To b continued...(if me photoshop don't blow up with overuse o cuttin an pastin!).

Stuff cartoons. Never did like Rupert Bear.

Anwun 'erd tha rumoor goin' around 'ow as BB nivver lernt to reed nor rite ?  Oi rekkins we got prooff now !

The Monster wiv Two Heads.

Arrrgh I once again I found meself an crew a visitin Mexico arter a short visit ta see me mumsy. Suddenly out o de mist wot clung ta thee shore happeared a terrible beast:

(http://www.crystalinks.com/aztecserpent.jpg)

Quick I said ta de First Mate get thee Shippe's carpenter ta carve an himage o thee beast on a piece o drift wood...dey'll nivver believe us when we tells em about thee terrible Two Headed Aztec Serpent.

Quick as PON puttin her bill on DTH's tab, the carpenter carved a picture o thee beast shortly afore it eat him...

It wuz orrible, one head bit his lower half orf and thee other head bit his upper half orf. Tis a terrible shame he wuz a skilled member o me crew...but on de uvver hand der be more Aztec treasure fer de rest of us.

We ran to the safety o thee Big Brenda wot were anchored at the mouth o the bay, but it didn't look loik we could make it. The beast slithered nearer an nearer eatin crew member arter crew, first one head would chomp amd den de uvver!

Suddenly I had a stroke o hinsperashun...quick I said to de remainin crew, 'Give thee monster all the food ye be carryin an dat barrel o Fish Head Stew wot we've been savin fer a rainy day.'

We piled up the grub an the Two Headed beast munched it all up...

Suddenly der was a orrible grumblin an rumblin sound...den...with an Enormous Farting sound the beast hexploded in a Supernova of shite!

"Wot appened Cap'n?' gasped the First Mate incredulously, holdin his nose from the terrible stench...

"Simple matey,' said I 'The monster had two heads but no arse...it had eaten so much it exploded wiv all the gass in it's vast tummy"

I fink dat species o monster must be hextiinct now thank goodness...a sort o hevolushionary two headed dead end...but it made a noice design ta tart up me cabin walls.

You know what Bartie?   Oi jest don't believe ye. Oi bet me mother's petticote, that beast nivver lived but jest be an addled h'inventiun 'o yer h'addled an' h'empty skull.

How did ye knows I has a talkin Skull?

But that b anuvver tale...

(http://buyinflatables.com/shared_images/GEM-prodimages/G-21958.jpg)

Oi culd sware that be Cronan's skull !

Arrrrrgh...The Skull of Cronan!

Have I done that one yet?

Me memory be playin tricks on me of late...

Hey! Gang! Should we tell 'im if'n 'e 'av dun the Skull 'o Cronan?

Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no !!

Aaaarrrrgh I had a terrible dream in me cabin last noight...

I fell over board an I was bein chased by a Giant Pac Man Shark!

Though only way to hescape was to eat loads o fruit n bananas....uuuurrrrgh!

Aaaaar!  That be terribul long in the wind ;)

YArrrrr...

Are ye sure that wasn't just Big Ron after a night on the vindaloos?

An den i waked up in da mournin an i have sumfing yummy fer me tummy so me pooh not B tinky .
Den i koman me croo ta do do stuff
an den i wint pillygin
an i gots lotsa pillows
Et wuz a good day .

Arr Oiv decided ta take pity on ye swabs...an arter a long drought ye must be achin fer a new Long Winded Tale...every word be true, mark my words, or may me peg leg snap hunexpekedlee and make me fall into a pile o Nef Yoo's Diapers.

The Black Beast

'Arrrr Ochhh aye the noo Cap'n', cried our lookout wee Jock McTweedle, 'We can nae go ashore ta get thee treasure!'

I asked him why the devil not and Jock said:

'Thar's a terrrrrible beast on that island, I've seen it through thee spy glass Cap'n...Tis The Black Beast...If we go ashore we'll all be DOOOOOOMED, DOOOOOOOOOOOOOMED!'

Knowing what Jock had been drinking I scoffed, grabbed the spyglass from him and focused in on the island where the Treasure lay buried. Sure enough there was the beast, it had the head of a cat, and the body of...a cat!

What was scary though was the beast's size...it was standing next to some coconut palms and some mud huts and by comparison it was clearly the size of a horse!

The crew were terrified of the beast but according to the map we'd brutally wrestled from some Spanish children the treasure was more than 250,000 Cronans!

I decided to lead by example, I sent a boat load of heavily armed men over to get the treasure whilst Jock and I watched from the ship. Soon the men began signaling us from the shore:

Approaching Beast from the South West...stop

Aaaaaaaaaaaagh...stop

Fell over a skeleton pointing way to treasure...stop

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh...stop

Money spider fell on First Mates head...stop

Tell the cabin boy I love him...stop

Aaaaaaaaaaaaagh...stop

Blimey, have captured beast and found treasure. On our way back...stop

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaagh, blast it...stop

Got socks wet gettin in boat...stop

The crew returned laden with treasure, we were RICH, RICH beyond our wildest dreams!

And the beast? The crew turned him out of a sack, he was a cute little black moggy kitten...it turned out one of the islanders had built a model village complete with tiny palm trees and he'd been standing next to it when Jock spied him.

How we laughed merrily as we shared out the treasure...The Black Beast...Jock went red in the face...well he was already red in the face actually.

Two days later the ship was eaten by a Giant Penguin!

Aaaaargh! That be a good morral tale ter tell me chilrun at bedtimes. Oi 'opes they baptised the kitty before the ship got eaten.

Arrrgh, I didn't know I had any Morrals...if I did I'd be drinkin it!

Anyway I be glad ta say the little Black Moggy hescaped an he be aloive an well in Scotland:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/glasgow_and_west/8172064.stm (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/glasgow_and_west/8172064.stm)

Aaargh! That cat looks like 'e knows wot 'es doin' but wot wer all that hevvy breething abowt then?

Quote from: Griffin NoName on September 28, 2009, 06:41:38 PM

Aaargh! That cat looks like 'e knows wot 'es doin' but wot wer all that hevvy breething abowt then?

he were a Scotsman wot was filmin it...they be always 'heavy breathin'...aint ye ever watched Braveheart?

No

Quote from: Griffin NoName on September 29, 2009, 08:21:07 PM

No

ye needs ta get out more!

Actually I've never watched it either come to think of it!

Aaaarrrr! Ye tripped yerself up there matey!

Pride and Predjewdice and Halloween at thee Benbow.

Chapter One: it was a Dark and Stormy Night

Arrr it was a dark an stormy night when thee front door o thee Benbow Suddenly swung open wiv a crash!

Standin in thee doorway was a terrifyin sight...more terrible than Cap'n Cronan in a bad mood.  A woman!

She was smartly dressed in a Regency style and surveying the bar with a glittering eye said:

'Is there anyone here called Darcy? 

A young man dressed unconvincingly as a Pirate with a Rubber parrot stuck to his shoulder suddenly shot up out of his chair, spilling grog everywhere, and ran out the back entrance.

The rest of the Pirates looked at each other in bemusement and then looked at the young woman...Cap'n Blackleg spoke first:

"Arrgh...there be nobody called D'Arcy round these parts Miss...Frenchman is he?"

The woman burst into tears..."will no one marry me...I've been chasing Darcy for months...am I not fetching to the eye...do I not dance the Quadrille with grace and sophistication?"

Cap'n Slagface put his arm around the woman's shoulder's saying:

"Arrgh...poor thing come in and have a sip o grog and some vittles...be ye a young lady of means?"  This said with a wink towards the other pirates...

Soon Elizabeth Bennett was seated next the roaring log fire with a steaming bowl of Fish Head Stew and a Tankard o rum.   She felt much better especially when Cap'n Slicer offered to seek out Darcy for a modest sum of 500 dubloons...

"Arrrr I'll chase the blaggard from Portsmouth to Jamaica...I'll not see a fine young lady scorned!"

Elizabeth gazed at the impressive collection of Pirates around her, her bosom heaving from the effects of the stew, and said:

"I have several sisters you know...all of them at present unattached"

Cap'n Slagface turned to Cap'n Blackleg and said:

"This is the same dream we're having as the last toim we drank fourteen kegs o rum aint it?"

End of Chapter One.

Pride and Predjewdice and Halloween at thee Benbow.

Chapter One: it was a Dark and Stormy Night

This be a cock-eyed rehash of a major novel which leaves much to be desired; mainly Elizabeth Bennett. Readers will note the attempt to cast it in a roughshod manner by a multiple use of mispellings, dropped haithches and so on. Notice also the unlikely name of the author. It is suspected that the true writer wishes to hide their identity which implies a need to distance themselves from the material. The references to money and alcohol appear gratuitous and ill-founded and are far from satisactory pastiche on the original. We cannot reccomend this book.

Cap'n Wordworth-Treadmill.

Back due to Critical Acclaim:

Pride and Predjewdice and Halloween at thee Benbow.

Chapter Two: Pianoforte and Pewter

Scene: The Admiral Benbow. Miss Bennett sits at the pianoforte and is entertaining the Pirates...

Oh Did you not hear My Lady
Go down the garden singing
Fa la la la la la
Faldaralay in the morning

Her dress was pink
Her mood was gay
With a Folderaydol
In the morning

Twas merrye May
When out she came
Like a dove from above
With a double barrel name

Singing hey nonny no in the morning

She's fit for a Duke
In her satin and chintzes
prepare to be dazzled
by the way that she minces

Oh fa la la la
folderay doodle
Singing hey nonny no in the morning...

two hours later...

Cap'n Slagface is restraining Cap'n Blackleg...'She's got ta go I tells ye...that pianyforty belongs in hell'

Cap'n Slagface in a whisper: Ave a care matey...thar be dubloons in this business if we plays our cards right...all we gotta do is find Darcy.

Cap'n Blackleg: Just let me smash thee piany a bit...

A ripple of polite applause breaks out as Miss Bennet finishes her recital...

Miss Bennett: thank you kind sirs and now I feel I must politely beg your leave to retire for the night...could someone kindly show me to my rooms?

*sounds of rats being hastily killed from above and an old pirate being thrown out into the street*

Cap'n Slicer: Arrrgh ye...er...rooms be ready me lady...500 Dubloons a night hincludin breakfast...kippers...unless we aven't got any kippers in which case ye'll ave kipper substitute.

Miss Bennett: Why thank you...my word it's past 9 of the clock! I must to bed without further discourse...that wholesome stew has made me quite weary. I shall dream of Darcy, pianoforte and one eyed men...

End of Chapter Two

Pride and Predjewdice and Halloween at thee Benbow.

Chapter Two: Pianoforte and Pewter

Amazingly the author has seen fit to publish a second chapter. One would have hoped for some improvement on the first. Poor Ms. Bennett seems to have no idea what awaits her which is susprising. All we can do is pray there is no third chapter.

Quote from: Griffin NoName on October 13, 2009, 11:10:45 PM
Pride and Predjewdice and Halloween at thee Benbow.

Chapter Two: Pianoforte and Pewter

Amazingly the author has seen fit to publish a second chapter. One would have hoped for some improvement on the first. Poor Ms. Bennett seems to have no idea what awaits her which is susprising. All we can do is pray there is no third chapter.

:bwa:

Hut-ho, I don't know whot ter make o' that larf!

_{And I smells jello.}

I've got a new poem fer ye...but as it's Haloween comin I'll let ye enjoy yerself fer a while longer afore I posts it.

<groan>

Be yer noo pome a trick oar a treate, Cap'n Bart?

Aye well I blames Dave L for it an Bart Hindustries accept no responsibility for any self mutilashun appenin as a result o readin the poem...normally that warnin ud be in thee small print but I be feelin generous terday:

Periwinkle Pete

Periwinkle Pete
Was a salty sea dog
He had one good eye
And a leg made from a log

He sailed into port
On thee crest of a wave
To see his old matey
Dugong Dave

Now Dugong Dave
Was as blind as a bat
He once got so drunk
That he shagged the ship's cat

So lock up yer booty
And lock up yer gold
If Pete and Dave are at large
There'll be pillage untold

So lock up your wenches
And lock up your sheep
If Pete and Dave are at large
They'll not get any sleep

Now you may wish to ask
Why I've kept this tale short
Where be Barnacle Bill?
Or Molluscing Mort?

Where be Muscles McDougal?
Or Cockleshell Callum?
Where be Whelky Wilkins?
Or Scallopy Sam?

Well, the fact is...I couldn't afford to shell out for them.

That pome looks like it 'as bin stolen. Ye shuld send it bakk wear it came from.

Oi don' finks as they wunts hit back.

Arrr ye can scoff...but I heard Shakyspeerio had this sort o treatment when he firs tried his hand at writin Shanties...Luckilee his dear Lady Anne Havitaway was veree supportive an now ye can't move in Stratford Upon Haven wivout bumpin into a statue of him. 

Can I ave a bronze statue please?  No need ta wait till I be dead...that way I can come an polish it on Sundays.

Bronze? Aaaarrr!  Ye be a throw back ter the bronze age awlrite.

Bronze may be hex sessiv; moste moddern statchoos be mayde ov 'Manufactured Stone', 'MDF', or 'Resins'.

A qwicke checke ov the Portsmouth 'Ardware & Hart Supplyes shoppes hindicaytes we 'ave nun ov them, eever.

'Ow about a statchoo molded frum processed an compresst weevil hex o' skellitins?

Nah, if'n ye want it ter last, mek a mold ter mek it outa Fish 'ead Stoo.

Ah well...never mind...I'll ave ta make do wiv bein imortalised as an animashun in Rainbow and a nazi soldier on thee front cover of the Jersey Underground Museum brochure.

Wonder why the Jersey Underground Museum brochure has never been used as the Guest Publication on Have I Got News For You* ?

*UK topical news quiz

Quote from: Griffin NoName on November 11, 2009, 05:25:20 PM

Wonder why the Jersey Underground Museum brochure has never been used as the Guest Publication on Have I Got News For You* ?

*UK topical news quiz

Because it's too interesting and it has nazis on the front.  For that honour you need publications like 'Pencil sharpener monthly' or 'Lawn Mower Lover Weekly'.

Just watched "Into the Storm". That had nazis in it. But it worked out ok. Churchill got rid of them.

The Weevil before Xmas

Twas thee night before xmas and the ship's biscuits were decorated with sea weed cut into the shape of holly.

"he's fallen of the plank
he's walking in the air
he's floating in the moonlit sea"

The crews merry singing wafted in through me cabin window...arrgh I loves this toim o year when the crew build snowmen (if there aint any snow they use seagull poo) on thee deck and we celebrate the season with some merry plank walkin an extra fish head stew rations all round.

Suddenly there's a knock on me cabin door an thee First Mate appears:

'Sorry ta bother ye Capn but we've run out o Rum an Plank Walkin Victims, nothing left but weevily ship's biscuits...is there any chance of doin a shore raid ta get some more provisions?'

It was an excellent idea so we sneaked ashore, me, the captain, dressed as Santa Claus and the crew dressed as elves.

'Right men' says I, 'remember ye be in disguise so what's does we all say if anyone talks to us?'

'Yarrgh, Yarrgh, Yarrgh!' Shouts the cook...

'Blitherin idiot, says I, 'it be Ho, Ho, Ho!'

We all headed for a Bustling Inn in the centre of town. The cunning plan was for me to entertain the landlord and the punters whilst the elves crept down into the cellar and stole all the rum.

After a few nervous moments and several remarks of "we aint seen a Father Xmas with an eye patch before", I settled into a routine of Ho Hoing and regaling the punters with Xmas tales. Things were going well an out of the corner of my eye I could see elves slipping away laden wiv rum an mince pies. I'd just finished the tale of Tiny Tim and most of the punters were sobbing into their tankards when there was a loud knock on the door and the village constable appeared!

'I wants a word with thee landlord,' says the rosser, 'I've been told to be on the look out for Pirates in the area!'

'Pirates?' says the landlord, 'Don't be daft, come in and have an xmas drink constable.'

The constable refused the drink saying he was on duty and anyway he'd just been given a tot of rum and a mince pie by a huge elf with a peg leg.

Oh gawd thinks I, that'll be the cook, thee crew's been at thee rum already...if I don't round the blaggards up soon there'll be drunken elves all over the place! I tried making my excuses and making for the exit but the landlord grabbed me and said:

'Ye can't go Santa, not without handin out the presents to the village orphans and waifs.'

'Yarrgh...er, Ho Ho Ho,' says I, 'Tis only a tiny village, how many waifs has ye got, 4, 5, 6 maybe?'

'150 says the Landlord, we get at lot o rapin an pillagin on this coast!'

By thee toim I got back to thee ship the elf crew were lyin in a drunken heap with mince pie crumbs all over thee place. Sigh, weevily biscuits fer me xmas supper again! Still...lookin on thee bright side I'm invited back to the Inn for next years Xmas Party and one of thee Drunken elves was singin:

**** you I wont do what you tell me
**** you I wont do what you tell me

It may be thee xmas number one but in my book that be mutiny!

That be a foine tale. Elves seem to be more popular of late.

Quote from: Griffin NoName on December 21, 2009, 07:56:02 PM
That be a foine tale. Elves seem to be more popular of late.

I should have written a tale involving the Keel hauling of Simon Cowell though...perhaps next year.

Not sure even Fishe-Heaad Stewe be fit for Simon Cowell. I prefer Simon Callow but sometimes get them mixed up.

That were a arrrght-warrrghmin tayle hindeede!



Cood ye mebbe orfer a elf-traynin helektiv at thee PPHS over thee Ollydaye breake?

Arrgh...there still be time ta keel haul Simon Cowell.

Greetings, Bart!  Good to see ye back here!   Do the dread deed, shipmate, and keelhaul the beggar!

Ahoy matey.  There be some fine tales o the ocean on these pages...every word true o course.  I'll ave ta try an think up...er, remember some new ones.

Tell us the one about Moby Duck and Jehozabub the harpooneer.  ;D

Ye gotta be prepared ta take harsh criticism on these threads tho matey...I nearly turned ta drink after this one by one o thee local Portsmouth Critics: Black Jake McGriffin:

QuotePride and Predjewdice and Halloween at thee Benbow.

Chapter One: it was a Dark and Stormy Night

This be a cock-eyed rehash of a major novel which leaves much to be desired; mainly Elizabeth Bennett. Readers will note the attempt to cast it in a roughshod manner by a multiple use of mispellings, dropped haithches and so on. Notice also the unlikely name of the author. It is suspected that the true writer wishes to hide their identity which implies a need to distance themselves from the material. The references to money and alcohol appear gratuitous and ill-founded and are far from satisactory pastiche on the original. We cannot reccomend this book.

Cap'n Black Jake McGriffin Portsmouth Guaaaarghdian.

I mean I nivver even heard o Jane Austin Texas.

...and now mateys, with thee snow fallin and thee wind howlin, pour yerself a grog, sit down at thee fireside and lend an ear to me new Long Winded Ghostly Xmas tale:

The Ghosts of Xmas Spirit

Arrr it was thee night afore Xmas aboard thee Jolly Futtock and all thee Pirates had hung out their socks fer Santa...thee stench was enuff ta kill an Albatross at four paces!

Down in thee galley the cook had put thee finishin touches to his Weevil surprise Xmas puddin and had tucked himself in fer thee night.

Thee Captain looked out thee window at thee snowy landscape...they'd sailed to Lapland speshul like just fer thee effect. With a frisson of excitement thee Captain thought about what likely presents he'd get from his crew...last year thee highlight had been a three month holiday on Skull island (lovely weather but it had been hard work keepin thee Cannibals away from his camp).

Thee midnight Twelve bells sounded and an unearthly silence descended on the ship, thee only thing movin were thee bilge rats in the bilge and thee weevils in thee bread. Soon the sound of snoring drifted up into the falling snow.

Suddenly thee Captain was awakened by the clankin o chains and a kockin on his cabin door...nervously he got out of his hammock and, approaching the door, he called out: "Who goes there?"

At that a ghostly figure drifted into the room.

"Whoooooooo...it be thee ghost o Peg Leg Jack yer olde matey"

"PPPPPeg Leg JJJJAAACK," stuttered the terrified Captain, "Ye've been dead these past five years ever since ye fell over board an got eaten by a shark...there was a rumour that ye was pushed but nothin was ever proved!" Ye be nothin but the heffect o two bottles o rum and a piece o wenslydale.

"Whooooooooo," said the ghost, "I've come ta give ye a warnin Cap'n...this night ye'll be a visited by three ghosts"

The Captain went white: "Three ghosts...not Black Fingered Harry, One Eyed Brian and Big Ugly Bastard McNish?"

"Noooooooooo," said the ghost, never heard of em, "The first ghost will call at thee hour o one...I can say no mooooooooore," and with that Peg Leg Jack disappeared in a puff of ectoplasm.

The Captain lurched over to his table and counted the empty rum bottles...three...it had been a heavy night. No wonder I be seein things he thought and went back to bed.

Hardly had the Captain's head hit the pillow it seemed but there was a groaning and a moaning coming from somewhere in the bowels of the ship...at that the hour o one struck and the cabin door burst open...and there stood the terrifying sight of the ghost o Captain Cronan!!!!

He was ghastly grey, with a livid scar running from ere to ere (from the time he's slipped whilst tryin to open a bottle o grog wiv his teeth). He was drippin wet and partly covered in stinking seaweed from thee very depths. A stench of rotting flesh was partially disguised by a strong wiff of Laphroag whisky.

"Whooooooooo...I am the ghost of Captain Cronan" said the ghost, "Give me your grog or twill be thee worse fer ye!"

The terrified Captain fetched four bottles of rum immediately and watched in horror as Cronan drank the lot.

Gulping down his fear the Pirate Captain asked: "Has ye got a message for me Captain Cronan?"

"Whooooooooo...hic...ooooooo...thee next ghost will come when thee hour strikes twoooooooo!!!!!"

With a huge belch, the ghost of Cronan was gone!

The poor Captain staggered back to his hammock....what could be worse than the ghost of Captain Cronan? Not me X wife he thought with a shiver...or Filthy Crab Pants Jones!!!! The poor Captain crouched down in his hammock too terrifed to sleep until, with a sound that seemed to come from Davy Jones's locker itself the hour of two was struck...

The cabin door flew open again (lucky he'd got the hinges oiled recently thought the Captain) and there stood...

Captain Cronan again!!!!

"Whooooooooo...I am the ghost of Captain Cronan" said the ghost, "Give me your grog or twill be thee worse fer ye!"

The Captain went and got the last four bottles of rum and laid them out before the hideous apparition. The fiend drained every last drop, saying before he left:

"Whooooooooo...hic...ooooooo...thee next ghost, hic will come, do you have any nice thnacks by the way...I could murder a few sausages or a bag o thnuts, when, hic, thee hour strikes thix...sorry, thfife...no I mean thhhreeeeeeeeeee!!!!!"

The ghost disappeared leaving a huge belch hanging in the air.

"I can't take much more of this" said the Captain to himself, "I wont be able to eat me Xmas dinner at this rate."

"Still" he thought "only one more ghost to go...I just ope it's Cutthroat Jake or Scurvy Nosed Pete...anything but...

there was a crash as the cabin door flew open yet again, it was three of the clock and there stood...

Cronan yet again...the ghost was leaning against the frame of the door this time, looking a bit unsteady, but in a terrifying voice from the grave he cried:

"Whoooooooooth...I tham the goat of Thaptain thronan" said the ghost, "Your grog or yer life ye blaggarth!"

"Oh crikey", thought the poor terrified Captain "I haven't got any rum left...what am I goin to do?" Then he remembered the little bottles of grog he's slipped into the crews socks...it would have to be sacrificed for thee good of the ship.

That fiend Cronan drank every last drop o grog on the ship and before he disappeared he cried "I'll be back nexth year...try an remember thee snacks, hic."

Next mornin it was xmas mornin! The crew awoke and rummaged excitedly in their socks only to find nothin but a weevily biscuit wrapped in a very sticky page from last months Wobbly Wenches.

And what of our poor long sufferin Captain? Wel...this year he got six months on Skull island.

ee! me mayne complaynte abowt that tale is it be not very beleevable!  Oi don't reckken Capn Cronan culd find 'is way ter the same playce three times.

Quote from: Rambling Syd RumpoAr, me dearios, 'tis a spine-chilling tale that will make the bogles on your possets stand on end.

Quote from: Sibling DavidH on December 01, 2010, 12:02:00 PM

Quote from: Rambling Syd RumpoAr, me dearios, 'tis a spine-chilling tale that will make the bogles on your possets stand on end.

Aargh! That be an ancient quote !

Another Rambling Syd lyric for pirate types:

What shall we do with the drunken nurker,
What shall we do with the drunken nurker,
What shall we do with the drunken nurker,
He's bending his cordwangle.

Hit him in the nadgers with the bosun's plunger,
Slap him on the grummitt with a wrought iron lunger,
Cuff him in the moolies with the Captain's grungerrrrr....
Till his bodgers dangle.

Quote from: Griffin NoName on November 30, 2010, 07:06:25 PM
ee! me mayne complaynte abowt that tale is it be not very beleevable!  Oi don't reckken Capn Cronan culd find 'is way ter the same playce three times.

aaargh that be a fair point maytey, Cronan can ardlee find his way ta thee quiz!

We still aint found his treasure.

I has ta get me xmas tale orf me chest tho...utherwise it just aint xmas.

We want more!
We want more!
We want more!
We want more!
We want more!
We want more!
We want more!
We want more!
We want more!

Aye matey but it takes a lot outta me writin them true tales...thee memories can be quite vexin.

I've been fillin me head with loads o nonsense written by Algernon Blackwood so gawd knows wot I'll come up wiv next.

I just read his terrifying tale 'The Windigo" a terrible crittur wot runs around in the Canadian wilderness farting on hinocent travelers an hunters.

The Abominable Scotsman

A terrible storm had driven our shyppe north.  After 3 days the storm abated and we found ourselves off the craggy coast o Scotland.  An Englishman needs ta think twice afore he sets foot on Scottish shores, let alone an English Pirate...but we were driven by thirst and hunger.

After getting ashore we came across an old man who, on seeing a Pirate, cried out in terror:

"Arrrrgh Och a Fachan!  The beast with one leg, one arm and one eye is upon us...we're dooooomed...dooooooooomed!"

I explained that we were only humble Pirates looking for food and drink and he calmed down a bit and explained that in Highland lore there was a creature called a Fachan...

"Tis terrifying, with one leg, one arm and but one eye...and very, very ugly!"

"Yes thank ye'" said I "Less of the ugly if ye don't mind...now where can we find food an drink ye daft old sod?"

With that the old feller drew close, his breath smelling o whisky, and he said:

"Och ye'll be needin to cross the mountain....on the other side ye'll find a village inn...but mind ye don't meet with...Black Donald!!!!!!"

"Black who?" says I.

With a furtive glance toward the hills the old fellar answered:

"Black Donald haunts these hills, tis said he is the devil himself...if ye see cloven foot prints...run, run for yer lives!"

I grabbed the old sod by his ragged collar: "Look mate...tell us how to get to the Inn...cloven footprints my arse...tis likely to be a deer or a stray sheep."

"Nay" said the old un "An watch ye don't meet Old Shellycoat...och the terrrrrible bogeyman...he haunts the rivers and streams...he be covered in shells an ye'll as like hear him rattling."

Well I'd has enough of this and said:

"If ye don't tell us how to find the Inn It'll be your bones what rattle you old rascal."

Finally we got our directions and set off up the mountain path with the voice of the old man in the distance still shouting:

"Ye're doomed dooooooomed!" and "Don't go near the old castle and mind ye don't come upon the black beast with the head of a cat and the body of a cat..."

Sure enough as we climbed ever upwards, we saw cloven footprints leading off into the bracken.  A little further we stopped for a drink at a mountain stream, a rattling sound came from the misty heights above! 

Upward, ever upward we climbed until we reached the snow line.  Suddenly out of the mist loomed a dark craggy shape, it was a ruined castle with ivy clad walls and the wind howling through it's empty windows.  Snow had began falling so we decided to take shelter in the ruin before pressing on for the village below.

We were almost under the shadow of the castle walls when a terrible cry pierced the gloom:

"Och ye bampot, ye bauchle, ye gomeril...there's no way ye've got four aces!!!!"  "Tis bad enough lookin at yer face like a bashed thripny without ye cheatin awa ma money"

This was followed by the squeaky terrified voice of someone protesting his innocence and though we were afraid our curiosity led us forward into the castle to see what was going on...and there we saw an unbelievable sight...

It was the game of Texas Holdem from hell....

There in the middle of the keep sat a very ugly man with one leg, one arm and one eye, an old man in a black suit...with cloven feet, a strange creature who appeared to be covered in shells and...

The Pirates stared in horror...there at the head of the table sat...

Snarling and slavering like a maniac, clutching a bottle of Buckfast Tonic Wine, wearing a string vest and a massive Tam o Shanter with ghastly lank ginger hair hanging from it...there sat...A Glaswegian!!!!!!!!

That was it...we ran back to the ship as fast as our peg legs could carry us!

G'ARRRGH! Smart idear ta bug out, as yer was this close ter becoming poirate haggis. And cold poirate haggis too, from the sound of it. What could be worse?

_{Although, ter be sure, I was relieved that Black Donald didn't turn out ter be some kind o' black duck in a sailor hat with no pants on.}

We want more!
We want more!
We want more!
We want more!
We want more!
We want more!
We want more!
We want more!
We want more!

Black Donald and co are all actual Scottish myths and legends.  I went up a Scottish mountain myself once, it was gorgeous, eerily beautiful.

Aye, but didjer come down again?

I must defend the Glaswegians. Not much wrong with them that can't be cured ;D

Please don't. They are bad enough without outside assistance. ;D

(Guess who doesn't come from Glasgow.... ::))