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.
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