Wednesday, August 03, 2005


A Pirate Tale – Part 97 “Broad Jumping”

The games continued as they had. Slappy emerged from Mother McWhirter’s only to perform his function as head judge and luminary. But his light was not as bright as it had been in the past – the thought of foregoing “the life,” for the world of boardrooms and doldrums weighed heavily upon him. Still, while he made every effort to rob his friends of hope, he was secretly working the legal ties that bound him in hopes of finding a tiny loophole through which he might escape. This mental effort required occasional contortions of the face that worried Sawbones Burgess and Cementhands McCormack who thought the captain may be having a seizure of some sort. Fortunately, Ol’ Chumbucket set them straight, “No, Slappy’s not gone ‘Spastic’ on us – that’s his deep-thinkin’ face. He’s conjurin’ up some solution to his predicament, sure – but that’s no excuse for us to quit thinkin’.”

And with that, the three men’s faces scrunched up in a twisted mass of triple thought.

Meanwhile, excitement was stirring around the Broad Jump pit where perennial champion, Pat Patterson of the “Moby Duck” was once again putting on a clinic for the younger jumpers. With his trusty sword, “Baby” in hand, the big man had just cleared five wenches (or “broads”) who were arranged in the “Leap Frog/Doggy Style” formation. Most of the younger, foolish pirates failed at this because it had been so long since they had been with a woman, their focus was on “the obstacles” and not on the clearing just beyond. Patterson would point that out to the young men punctuating it with his trademark, “Ye fucking MORONS!” (pronounced, MOW-rons) but to no avail. When he made his final, gold medal winning, leap (seven wenches and a goat named, “Beatrix Boner”) he tossed some burlap sacks to the other contestants and told them to, “Invite them wenches back to my place for a ‘Secret Party,’ but make sure they wear them bags.”

One of the defeated pirates asked, “Why, Pat? Is it ‘cuz they be so ugly?”

Disgusted, Pat just shook his head, “I’m surrounded by fucking MORONS! (again, pronounced, MOW-rons)! You’re the ugly sons o’ bitches! You have to bag ‘em because it’s a SECRET PARTY!” He turned to collect his gold medal and turned back to the competitors with this afterthought, “Of course, if they ARE ugly, ye might want to double bag ‘em.”

With that, he swung around, “Baby” in hand, and strode off. “Nobody strides like Ol’ Patterson,” Slappy observed. The young, defeated competitors did their best to convince the wenches to put the bag over their heads in order to go to the “Secret Party,” but none of them were willing, not even the goat who ferociously head-butted the only pirate who made the attempt. After much begging and pleading, the pirates finally gave up, put the bags over their own heads and wandered off in the direction Patterson had gone a few moments before.

After a short time passed, you could hear Patterson’s voice echo across the town from the location of his “Secret Party.” He was heard to declare, simply, that the others were, “Fucking MORONS!” (pronounced, “MOW-rons)

Slappy, Chumbucket, Cementhands and Doc Burgess wandered down to where the “Secret Party” was being held and drank deeply of Patterson’s wonderful concoction he called, “The Spodey.” Cementhands noted, “It tastes like fruit punch but it makes the world go all wobbly.” After a couple of hours, Slappy staggered into the hot Sao Paulo street. The blistering temperature was forcing everyone into the protection of local public houses – no one was more willing than Cap’n Slappy. “I’ll beat the heat with ale and meat!” he thought to himself.

As he staggered through the doorway of “The Mad Turk,” he found, much to his surprise, Lily seated at a table surrounded by her pencil pushing minions. Emboldened by The Spodey, Slappy shoved two of the lubbers off of their bench and took up his place at the table. “So, Lily!” he drunkenly declared, “When do I start runnin’ this monkey show?”

Lily’s eyebrows rose briefly as she glanced at Slappy, but she quickly returned to the business of her business – as if she didn’t give him a second thought.

Not deterred by her ignorance of his majestic presence, Slappy took another tactic. Well, truth be told, it was the same tactic, only louder. “I said,” he declared loud enough for the entire establishment to hear, “When do you want me to start callin’ the shots, Missy?”

Perhaps it was the unfortunate use of the word, “Missy” or it may have been the pungent aroma of “Spodey-on-the-breath” that shattered the business-like quality of the meeting, but with a single glance at her subordinates, Lily managed to clear the table of all but herself and the drunken pirate. She moved quietly to a chair next to Slappy where she adopted a much quieter tone than he had displayed.

“Mortimer,” she began softly, “You will not be ‘calling the shots’ or ‘runnin’ this monkey show.’ In fact, your job description will not include any of the following; talking, thinking, doing or even wiping your ass without my express written consent.”

“You’re going to have people wipe my ass?” Slappy seemed delighted at the prospect but unfortunately, he seemed so at the highest possible decibel level, “That’s going to be GREAT!”

Undaunted, Lily continued – “I just need my investors in Europe to see that this corporation is fronted by the infamous Captain Slappy. Once I have their buy-in, your role will be that of “human waste of resources.”

“Thus the wipers!” Slappy declared as if he ‘got it.’

Lily just shook her head. “You used to be ‘something,’ Mortimer – you used to have a commanding presence. I remember being so in awe of you. Now, look at you. You’re a buffoon.”

“A baboon?!” Slappy objected strongly to the comparison.

“A BUFF-OON!” Lily reiterated carefully.

“Sure, I’ve put on some weight,” Slappy argued, “but don’t you think “BALL-OON” is a bit harsh?”

“There’s no talking to you when you are like this.” Lily declared as she gathered her papers to leave.

“Lily my dove,” Slappy’s tone was softer now – more familiar, “what if I can get you that figure head you so want – one who is more malleable and less apt to act ‘Buffoonishly?’”

“Sorry darling,” Lily was resolute, “The Europeans are expecting ‘Cap’n Slappy’ and if you think …”

“You mean the same ‘Cap’n Slappy’ none of them have ever met except for in the odd woodcut or a fascinating expose’ in Pirattitude Monthly that exposes his quiet side, right?” Slappy seemed sharper now – as if he had caught the scent of his prey.

“What the Hell are you talking about, Mortimer?” Lily was just about to lose her cool when the door burst open and a familiar voice cut the air.

“I’m Cap’n Slappy, dammit! Now, whar’s me rum?” Cap’n Wideload’s timing couldn’t have been more any more dramatic had he made an effort to do so.

As if the words had changed in an echo chamber, the same voice shot back, “I’ll buy ye a round boy! Come join us!” Slappy grinned maniacally.

Cap’n Wideload moistened his britches at the sight of “the real thing.”

Lily smiled, “Easier to control.” She whispered in Slappy’s ear.

“Just make sure ye have some rubber gloves on hand.” Slappy advised.

“Alright, Mortimer,” Lily began, “I’ll take him, but …” here she looked down as if she was somehow ashamed of this confession. “The Portuguese are still going to come take the brotherhood.”

Slappy flashed an angry look in her direction. She continued, “I didn’t have as much control over them as I had thought.”

“That’s all right, Luv,” Slappy replied as Cap’n Wideload and his friends sat sheepishly at the table. “There’s one or two things this ol’ Balloon can still do.”

Ahoy Cap'n Slappy,

I read yer latest log entry with the excitement of a little girl in the buddin' bloom o' youth. I would grasp yer words to me bosom were they not contained within the parameters o' me computer monitor. Nevertheless, yer story traveled through cyberspace ter me eyeballs, n' traveled through an intricate course o' brain tissue n' nerve fibers ter give me a tingle o' electrical energy in all the right places.

Yer a Saint


The Baroness Von Foruna
Oh boy, a pirate story. I cant wait to read it.
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