The Ship's Log O' the Festerin' Boil

“What the Devil?!?” Slappy managed to blurt out after a moment of dumbfounded silence.

Don Taco laughed with his whole body – hands on hips, torso and head tossing first backward, then, forward, then back again like a cartoon mouse while Los Mariachi played joyfully amusing music.

Cap’n Slappy, Ol’ Chumbucket and the rest of the gathered crew joined in the laughter – shyly at first, then, with full enthusiasm. It was good to see a comrade in this unknown territory.

“To finish the Cap’n’s thought,” Ol’ Chumbucket began, “What the Devil are you doing here, Don Taco?”

After a few last gasps of laughter, the Spaniard wiped tears from his eyes. “Whoo!” he gasped, “You guys should have seen the looks on your silly pirate faces! It was …” he glanced at Los Mariachi, “how you say …?”

“Precious.” Los Mariachi said with a flat deadpan that didn’t seem to match the word at all.

“PRECIOUS!!! That’s perfect! Aye! It was PRECIOUS!” Don Taco clapped his hands and kissed Los Mariachi on the forehead – congratulating him for his grasp of just the right English word. Then, he turned to his friends from The Festering Boil and said, “You want to know how Don Taco is now the Governor of Maracaibo, no?”

“No!” declared Doc Burgess – suddenly realizing his mistake, he changed his answer – “Yes!”

Resplendent in his military governor’s uniform, Don Taco sashayed over to the good doctor grabbed him firmly by his cheeks with both hands and kissed him full on the mouth. Still pinching Sawbones’ cheeks, Don Taco declared, “Oh, Doctore’! I think I missed you most of all!”

Then, with a flourish, he released the doctor’s face and faced his still-stunned audience. “The story I am about to convey is perhaps the single most incredible story of all time. The events that have brought me to this moment in time are as remarkable and miraculous as the famous Hanging Whorehouses of Madrid or the Temple to St. Vanessa, The Patron Saint of Nipples in Barcelona! This story must be told slowly, in tiny pieces, so that your minds will not bobble with confusion!”

“Boggle.” Los Mariachi corrected.

“Boggle?” Don Taco asked, innocently – trying to make sure he pronounced it correctly.

“Boggle.” Los Mariachi affirmed.

“You see!?” Don Taco continued, “Just thinking about the story has made my mind …” he glanced briefly at Los Mariachi – whose eyebrows raised in anticipation, “ … boggle.”

Los Mariachi smiled his approval.

Leftenant Keeling tried bravely to keep the story coming. “…and this would be the story of …”

Don Taco broke free from basking in his skillful use of word knowledge to continue, “A simple story of love, intrigue, betrayal, revenge, love and intrigue!”

“You said ‘love and intrigue’ twice.” Ol’ Chumbucket pointed out matter-of-factly.

“That is because there is so much of it! So much love! So much intrigue! I could have said it four or five times – but that would be padding the story!” Don Taco stopped and looked thoughtful for a moment. The moment turned into a minute – which then ran into a period of time in which one might be fearful of one’s life draining away if nothing were to happen soon.

Finally, Cap’n Slappy gently prodded the governor along. “And this story began …” This cued Los Mariachi to begin playing – which seemed to have an entrancing effect on Don Taco – who now spilled the story forth with only the occasional correction from his guitar-playing amigo.

“…the day we last saw ye!” Don Taco picked up his cue – finally. “As we sailed out of Sao Paulo after the Pirate Olympics, I noticed five ships runnin’ hard at my heels! Knowing instinctively that they meant me ill will, I ran hard for the open sea – hoping to shake them off. After three days, it was clear that they gaining on us. Fortune, however, was not finished smiling on Don Taco and we ran headlong into a flotilla of Spanish war ships. We quickly dropped our pirate flag – raised our standard of Spain and called for our comrades to turn their guns on the infidels – which they were more than happy to oblige. Only one of these ships escaped, but they weren’t regular pirates – they had no honor. They called themselves, ‘The Booby Boys!’”

“Bawdy Boys.” Los Mariachi corrected.

“Boogie?” Don Taco asked.

“Bawdy.” Los Mariachi reaffirmed.

“Bawdy.” Don Taco corrected himself and continued. “I was taken aboard the Spanish galleon bringing the King’s Governor to the outpost of Maracaibo – unfortunately for the King and his Governor, the man took ill and died the day before we came aboard. His daughter, the beautiful Isabella, took a fancy to yours truly and after three weeks of concentrated flirtation and obligatory mourning, convinced the military Capitan that I should be named successor to her father’s position.”

“Needless to say, I was thrilled to finally be recognized to be up to a position worthy of my talents. But as we approached Maracaibo, the captain of the ship I was on broke away from the flotilla. This Captain, Juan Jimenez O’Shay – the Spanish-Irish son of jewel thief had recently been assigned to his post by the Governor of Gibraltar – an almost mythical city to the south of Maracaibo and home to the notorious bunch we’ve already discussed – the Bawdy boys. At any rape, he …”

“Rate.” Los Mariachi broke in.

“What did I say?” Don Taco insisted – but Los Mariachi refused to repeat mistakes – believing, rightly so, that it reinforces the undesirable behavior.

“Rate.” Los Mariachi repeated with an emphasis on the “t.”

“Rate.” Don Taco repeated somewhat impatiently.

“The Bawdy Boys ran off with my ship and my beautiful, beautiful Isabella after knocking me unconscious and dumping me in the ocean. Were it not for the courage of my guitar-playing comrade here and his enormous, unsinkable instrument …”

Cap’n Slappy and Ol’ Chumbucket gave each other a grinning glance that was interrupted by the whispering Doc Burgess. “I think he means the guitar you perverts.”

“… I surely would have drowned. As it is, I wish I had. Without my Isabella, I can hardly eat.” Then, with a sudden shift in mood, he clapped his hands together. “Let’s have dinner!” Don Taco declared as he led them into a beautiful dinning hall and a table set as if for foreign dignitaries.

As they ate, something seemed to be troubling Leftenant Keeling. He kept counting his fingers. Finally he spoke up. “Don Taco, I mean no disrespect, but I must point out that your simple story of love, intrigue, betrayal, revenge, love and intrigue seems to trail off just after the betrayal and before any revenge.”

Don Taco’s face was filled with love and compassion for the young Leftenant, as he stood and came toward where Keeling was seated, whispering over and over to himself, “please don’t kiss me, please don’t kiss me, please don’t kiss me …” To which Slappy gave a scolding look and reminded him that, “When in Rome …”

Finally, Don Taco kissed Leftenant Keeling on the forehead. “You are a good listener! Some people, like Don Taco, are gifted story tellers, but you, Leftenant Keeling, are a gifted listener.”

“Si! My simple story of love, intrigue, betrayal, revenge, love and intrigue! DOES stop after betrayal! But it is merely a chapter break. The next chapter has yet to be written. This is why I am so happy to see you, my friends!”

“Oh – oh!” Ol’ Chumbucket whispered to Cap’n Slappy, “Here it comes.”

Don Taco climbed onto the dining table as Los Mariachi played intensely on his guitar. “You, my friends, are going to help me write my chapter of Revenge!”

There was a moment of deadly silence. All eyes landed on Cap’n Slappy. He looked from face to face, not sure what they were expecting him to say. Finally he just said, “Okay!”

Don Taco joyfully leaped off the table and rushed toward Slappy who, avoiding the lips, took the Spaniard in a powerful bear hug. “Manly hug!” Slappy declared, “Yes! A Manly Hug!” as he patted the Governor of Maracaibo on the back.