My Pal Feargal Halligan, fragilehooligan.com, has taken it upon himself to pen the troubles of my tumultuous career as a lady pirate captain.
""Twas as cold and black a night as the deepest mines of yore, where amidst the strainin' and a-creakin' of a thousand pantwaists held together by dead mens beards, and o're the bright letters that said "the pillaging pants" 'cross the side o' the stern, Ladycaptain Katy McPantsbridge kept early watch, in a swarm of dawn apostrophes.
Already the Pillaging Pants' sails blew taught as she tacked in the easterlies for Galway bay, loose change and lint showering from the pocktes of the thousand pants that made them. Thus far, having cannoned the swabby decks of cincinnati's real estate ships and keel hauled every manjack in the business, she had kept a tight ship, and a stright tack.
All throughout their journey, Allies, not wishing to heave to, had flashed their boobs to signal crown ships on patrol. And each time McPantsbridge flashed back, eyes watering from the cob pipe clamped in her pearly teeth. She was the only pirate ladycaptain on the seven seas, true, but more: she was the only pirate to wear rhinestones and cowboy boots with playing cards stitched into them on deck.
And through the summer months her scurvy crew danced a merry jig to her repetoire on the squeezebox and spoons: "rhinestone cowboy", "islands in the stream", and the entire back ctalogue of journey, transposed into sailor's jig time.
"aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrr", she thought.
Soon she would breeze into Galway bay, and send word by armoured parrot to her fair ladyboy in Dublin castle. Imprisoned for rank stupidity and treason against the crown, and suspicious cake, and tea, and doilies, his diet of dodecahedral shapes made by gluing communion wafers together had taken a toll on his rugged features. Once a Tom Selleck of the seas, he was reduced to naught but a Robert Carlysle of some multi story car park.
Once a motley crue of mayhem and scurvy deeds, he had been reduced to a new kids on the block of limp, dozy boringness. Once a van halen of mighty adventure, he had become a pathetic, whinging, crying metallica of self pity.
He quietly carved from a bar of solidified bird doody, shaping the pistol that would aid his escape. But as soon as he told his most trusted cellmate that he had many aids to his escape, his cellmate only laughed cruelly at him and said "you have aids".
Twas a cruel joke."""
Written by Feargal Halligan, 10/26/07 http://fragilehooligan.com/talklikeapirateday
TO BE CONTINUED