On Eating Dodgy Cruise Ship Mussels; or, The Dread Pirate Dewey’s Missive from The Hole.

Shipmates,

Well now, even if you were you the most cliché-loving, James-Pattersonesque hack squeezing out a living by convincing the reading public that your putrid prose deserves to packaged and sold as anything but dollar-store kitty litter, I would credit you with the imagination to come up with a scenario more original and less tied to the cruel whims of ironic fate than that that has befallen the Dread Pirate Dewey!* After months of surviving the vagaries of institution cooking,** dodging the quavering, germ-incrusted paws of the filthy elderly scamps I serve so lovingly, and even braving almost an entire cruise under the fearful Code Red, I, the mighty main-conquering bandit of the vast oceanic depths, have been felled by a mere plate of mussels!  

You see shipmates, the other night I received an oh-so-interesting “electronic mail” whilst happily ignoring the roving bands of slobbering retirees. It seems, according to this missive, that delicious mussels were to be served that very evening in the Officer’s Bar! Now, those who know me well know that if there is anything the Dread Pirate Dewey can never refuse it’s four things: damsels in distress,*** a good WOD with my CF people, a ship and/or coastal village ready to taste the buccaneer’s blade, and, of course, free, or at least reasonably priced, mussels! Oh, those disgusting-looking bivalva mollusca! How you look so like alien beings come to this world to spread hope and forgiveness! And oh, how wonderful you taste once cooked in a nice red wine, marinara sauce, or, failing that, a creamy, white wine-based sauce!

But now, even though I still have a lot of respect and love for my slimy little sea buddies, I fear it will be many a week—nay month!—before one shall know the pleasure of entering my oral cavity!***** For you see shipmates, I have send to the hole for my sins! Any GI symptoms reported by crew or passengers aboard the mighty Pequod are dealt with by quarantining the patient, and, since I share chambers with a lovely long-haired vagrant,****** they sentenced me to 48 hours of solitary confinement in the infirmary. Although this sounds harsh, remember that this is the Dread Pirate Dewey in the stir! The man who once wrestled giant ice sharks in the arctic circle! The famed plank-walker known for his ability to hold his breath underwater for over a minute! The sea-bourn legend who once spent 37 years on a desert island drinking naught but his own urine! OK, perhaps that last claim is not the most glamorous, but dang it! If there is a mortal that can stand the terrible trial that is the hole, it is without doubt the Dread Pirate Dewey! 

Actually, this has been the first day off I have had in 4 months,******* and if it wasn’t for the...unpleasantness...this would be quite enjoyable. I watched Cronenberg’s Crash (way better than that other crappy Crash that won an Oscar) and Lars Von Tier’s Dogville (if the gangsters showed up today and offered me the Power would I have all the elderly swine destroyed? Hmmmm), amongst countless episodes of Cougartown.******** I have also played video games, written this blog entry, got my nails did, read a Western, slept, and basically laid in bed for hours. I feel like this is a good taste of what my first week post-Pequod will be like, and all I can say is, bring it!*********      

*No I wouldn’t.

**Hint: the secret ingredient is probably not “love.”

***Or dude’s**** in distress; I’m actually a pretty nice guy.

****Is there a male form of damsel or is this another instance when the English tongue turns yet               another sensitive feminist soul into a Nascar-watching, “get-me-another-beer-hon” pleb? Curse you language!  

*****Get your mind out of the gutter! Is nothing sacred?

******Known as “Jazz Fingers” among land-based circles of solvent-huffing, underpass dwellers nation-wide.

*******Pathetic, right?  

********Thanks Kaitlyn! You are the best!

*********Except for the vomiting.

The Countdown Continues: Less Than 2 Weeks left!

Shipmates,

It is hard to believe, oh my faithful readers, but this salty dog has less than two weeks of servitude before the fetters are removed from his chiseled wrists! It seems but a matter of minutes ago that this young pirate boarded his first vessel unwise to the ways of the sea, untested on the battlefield, and still under the impression that with age comes wisdom! My how a thorough dousing in salty brine can shrivel even the supplest cut of tender beef! Where once hanged a fine, marbled side of manly meat dripping with the blood of its own innocence now dangles the tough, rawhidesque veteran of the salty main fit not for the gentle nibble of a buxom maiden but the vicious jaw of the mangiest cur!*

This leads me to wonder, what will a resumption of my life on land entail? Yes, I will have the luxury of joining my old friends for high tea, but can this compare with the riches the mighty Pequod routinely pillages from the ships we take? And certainly, it will be exciting to once more come together in a breathless encounter with my Crossfit peeps**, but what is this thrill next to that moment when I run my cutlass through a man’s still-beating heart as I swing from ship to ship? And my family, of course I miss my family; the winter nights as dearest mama would roast the chestnuts over the open hearth whilst dearest papa rocked in his chair, his eyes a-twinkle watching one of his grandsons cavorting upon the ancestral rugs***—how can I, a dread pirate, ever return to such scenes of familial bliss? Can the rum that now courses through my veins ever be naught but the fiery fuel that sends a drunken buccaneer screaming into battle? 

Or perhaps, so accustomed to the role of base servitude that my positions requires, once on land I will spend my days bowing meekly as I open doors for strangers in public places, mouthing a bland greeting for every new face that I pass with the fazed smile of an idiot man-child so favoured by the patrons of the mighty Pequod permanently plastered on my shell-shocked face! More likely, I will spend about a week in my underwear**** trolling about the Internet; the few times I venture out into the world at large I will snarl and snap at anyone over the age of 50 who dares to approach within 20 feet of me!*****  

And what of the Equally-Dread Piratess Dewette? Shall my savage heart, nearly-choked with black bile at the thought of the decrepit “readers” that once made bold enough to lay claim upon the time and mental resources of the Dread Pirate Dewey, be able to find the humanity to actually miss another? The answer is yes, of course, don’t be stupid, but I should also note that our separation will be but for a week! Yes dear readers, I am returning, after a brief week ashore, to the mighty Pequod as what we call****** a “friend on board!” Finally, Dewey shall taste the fruits of his labours, lap the milk of luxury*******, and be fed grapes from a smiling Filipina’s brown hand!********   

*Have I taken this metaphor far enough?

**Get your mind out of the gutter!

***From Ikea!

****Another treat for my hetero female and gay male readership! You’re welcome!

*****Except for you mom and dad! Love you guys!

******In the biz.

*******Like some kind of pirate kitty! Arrgh!

********Well, not actually fed in such a manner, but  I could go upstairs and get some grapes from the Lido buffet! Well, if we have any today...I’m also fairly sure none of my Filipina co-workers would hand feed me smilingly or not.