Ahoy and avast, me mateys!
As ye can tell, there's not been much piratical activity happenin' over here on Le Poule. Yar, it's hard to be dastardly when yer rum money comes from such a swill-sucking vocation as "customer service." Sinister-Boots has been forced to play nice with the shriveled old buzzards who come to get their ticker medication from "ye olde pharmacy."
Well, the important thing is that the ship is kept well-grogged, so Sinister-Boots does what has to be done to keep all hands on deck happy.
So we've just been floatin' along, with nary a breeze to fill our lackluster sails.
Until tonight, that is.
We called to port on some West-Indies island late this mornin', and all hands went ashore to enjoy such wenching, gambling, and drinking activites as can only be found on dry land. Naturally, we all gathered back on the ship fer some of Darkwater Duff's famous salmagundi (and because it's supper-time, dammit, and we eat together like a family or I'll have ye made ready fer swingin' on the yardarm!).
Then, right in the middle of the general din of all of us tradin' stories about our onshore exploits, Stormwatcher starts to talk all fancy about something' like "The Nature of Reality," or some such head-scratchin' nonsense.
"You know, we think of the world as something external that we engage in and that functions outside of ourselves," she said. "But in reality, we are each creating our own world within our minds."
Silence around the table.
"Think about it," she continued. "Each person's version of their reality is totally dependent on their life experience, the constructs of 'identity' that they've built around themselves, and their personal set of rules that they have compiled as to what is 'right.' But this person who they've built all these rules and identities around doesn't exist. This 'me' that we're so obsessed with is a constantly-changing mass of cells and thought (which comes from where, by the way?). And we're always fighting battles over who is 'right,' when each side is both 'right,' according exactly to his or her standards. Nothing is real like we think it is. Form is emptiness."
We all sat and looked at her, open-mouthed. And then, for a second, I thought I saw what she meant...
Then I shot her.
We pirates don't think, we swashbuckle. And she was due for it anyway, after that disastrous ship-namin' debacle.
So now ol' Stormwatcher lies in Davy Jones' locker, and we're all much the better for it.
'Twas an exciting afternoon.
Well, back to floating along on the smooth seas of customer service. Until the next exciting event, mateys, may ye all define and populate yer own realities with attractive hairy men and large-breasted women.
Damn you, Stormwatcher!
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Diary of a Marooning
Cap'n's Log, Month o'th'Lion, 29th day o' th' Moon:
It has come to my attention that yonder fine gent'leman just "isn't that into" ol' Sinister-Boots. Oh aye, he says he's busy workin' the mainsails day and night, and it does seem to be true. But the lad didn't mention this until I backed him into a corner and growled at him. I ask ye, if ye're truly mad about a woman and ye have to buckle down fer a few weeks, wouldn't ye tell her on yer own will, so as not to hurt her feelings and risk her findin' another fine lad to knock her sinister boots against? And if ye have to buckle down and ye like a lady, does it take too much out of yer day to send her a parrot to let her know ye're thinkin' about her whilst ye tie yer knots? Oh sure, he did once, but after that Sinister-Boots didn't get much 'cept an occasional parrot message, which is not the same thing as sending a parrot at all.
So now Cap'n Sinister-Boots, terror of the sea and capturer of many men's hearts, is left "feeling bad about herself." And what do we dread pirates do when other people make us feel feelings that we vaguely dislike?
We maroon them.
Luck'ly, we be approaching a small island in th' South Sea which 'pears to be a perfect place for a marooning. All hands have been briefed on marooning procedure, and we should hit th' island tomorrow.
Capn's Log, Month o'th'Lion, 30th day of the Moon:
Yar, the deed is done. At the risk of leaving th' ship un-captained fer a bit and having the crew mutiny, I decided to do the marooning meself (luckily Mad-Dog Gunnels is both fierce and fiercly loyal). On the pretext of finding coconuts to finally build that coconut phone we've been talkin' about, the lubber rowed us to the island himself.
Mateys, I must confess, in the depths of me sinister-yet-still-fragile pirate heart, 'twas a hard thing to do. I kept rememberin' all the times when he was such a fine gentleman, and feeling like maybe I was making a harsh and rash decision. But luck'ly I collected me wits and remembered that a dread pirate has no need for sniveling mercy.
So without even collecting a goodbye seduction, when th' lad hopped eagerly out of the boat and headed fer the palms I aimed me pistol at him and immediately started rowing back meself (Sinister-Boots is nothing if not strong, and yes, I can row one-handed, if ye're makin calculations). By the time he realized what was happ'ning 'twas too late, and I was gone.
Cap'n's Log, Month o'th'Lion, 31st day of the Moon:
Not much activity on-board today. I would be mightily glad fer a distraction. I've never not enjoyed a marooning so much. Ol' Sinister-Boots feels weepishly sad and unsure that she made the right decision. But I am a pirate, and a pirate must make harsh decisions fer the greater good.
May the next matey be fair and fine and may he realize that he will find no better woman than Sinister-Boots, the Well-Endowed.
Until then, ye'll find me in th' grog bucket, and tonight's sing-along will consist of sad songs.
It has come to my attention that yonder fine gent'leman just "isn't that into" ol' Sinister-Boots. Oh aye, he says he's busy workin' the mainsails day and night, and it does seem to be true. But the lad didn't mention this until I backed him into a corner and growled at him. I ask ye, if ye're truly mad about a woman and ye have to buckle down fer a few weeks, wouldn't ye tell her on yer own will, so as not to hurt her feelings and risk her findin' another fine lad to knock her sinister boots against? And if ye have to buckle down and ye like a lady, does it take too much out of yer day to send her a parrot to let her know ye're thinkin' about her whilst ye tie yer knots? Oh sure, he did once, but after that Sinister-Boots didn't get much 'cept an occasional parrot message, which is not the same thing as sending a parrot at all.
So now Cap'n Sinister-Boots, terror of the sea and capturer of many men's hearts, is left "feeling bad about herself." And what do we dread pirates do when other people make us feel feelings that we vaguely dislike?
We maroon them.
Luck'ly, we be approaching a small island in th' South Sea which 'pears to be a perfect place for a marooning. All hands have been briefed on marooning procedure, and we should hit th' island tomorrow.
Capn's Log, Month o'th'Lion, 30th day of the Moon:
Yar, the deed is done. At the risk of leaving th' ship un-captained fer a bit and having the crew mutiny, I decided to do the marooning meself (luckily Mad-Dog Gunnels is both fierce and fiercly loyal). On the pretext of finding coconuts to finally build that coconut phone we've been talkin' about, the lubber rowed us to the island himself.
Mateys, I must confess, in the depths of me sinister-yet-still-fragile pirate heart, 'twas a hard thing to do. I kept rememberin' all the times when he was such a fine gentleman, and feeling like maybe I was making a harsh and rash decision. But luck'ly I collected me wits and remembered that a dread pirate has no need for sniveling mercy.
So without even collecting a goodbye seduction, when th' lad hopped eagerly out of the boat and headed fer the palms I aimed me pistol at him and immediately started rowing back meself (Sinister-Boots is nothing if not strong, and yes, I can row one-handed, if ye're makin calculations). By the time he realized what was happ'ning 'twas too late, and I was gone.
Cap'n's Log, Month o'th'Lion, 31st day of the Moon:
Not much activity on-board today. I would be mightily glad fer a distraction. I've never not enjoyed a marooning so much. Ol' Sinister-Boots feels weepishly sad and unsure that she made the right decision. But I am a pirate, and a pirate must make harsh decisions fer the greater good.
May the next matey be fair and fine and may he realize that he will find no better woman than Sinister-Boots, the Well-Endowed.
Until then, ye'll find me in th' grog bucket, and tonight's sing-along will consist of sad songs.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Beware...a Sinister Pirate Rant
YAAAAARRRRR! Why start this blog post with such a gutteral, growling rant, you may ask? It's because Sinister-Boots the Well-Endowed has been a poor excuse for a pirate of late, me mateys! She's been locked up in the throes of love, or whatever ye may call the prolonged lusting of one matey for another particular matey.
And where has this gotten her? Why it's turned her into a sissified, whimpering bilge-rat of a wench. No ships have been stormed. No lusty, ale-fueled fights have been fought. No, instead we've all been singing "Your Song" and "The Nearness of You" at our sing-alongs, whilst making eyes at the moon and trailing our fingers in the sparkling water filled with the reflections of stars...
No more, I say! Your rash, ever-tipsy and ever-boisterous captain is back and better than ever. This weekend I will be storming the coast with Pistol Pumps, Blind Betts, and Cutlass Colie (aye, ye'll come lass, and no more talk of this sissy "date night" ye speak of!).
Copious amounts of spirits will be consumed. Many a man will be dealt with lustily. After all we are pirates, are we not?! We do not lie awake nights worrying about one man, when the sea is full of men who dream of pirate wenches such as we. Worrying is for the weak.
We will drink and carouse and do whatever we want and sleep soundly at nights. For we are pirates, and we make no apologies!
WHO'S WITH ME!? YAAARRRR!
Oh, and it's been brought to my attention that the name of our vessel translates to something exceedingly sissy and lubber-ish. Well, it's already been painted on the bow in fancy and bombastic pirate letters, so 'tis too late. But Stormwatcher is in for a real keelhauling, or perhaps, if I keep on this tirade, a marooning even.
Arr, it's been a long time since we've had a good marooning...
And where has this gotten her? Why it's turned her into a sissified, whimpering bilge-rat of a wench. No ships have been stormed. No lusty, ale-fueled fights have been fought. No, instead we've all been singing "Your Song" and "The Nearness of You" at our sing-alongs, whilst making eyes at the moon and trailing our fingers in the sparkling water filled with the reflections of stars...
No more, I say! Your rash, ever-tipsy and ever-boisterous captain is back and better than ever. This weekend I will be storming the coast with Pistol Pumps, Blind Betts, and Cutlass Colie (aye, ye'll come lass, and no more talk of this sissy "date night" ye speak of!).
Copious amounts of spirits will be consumed. Many a man will be dealt with lustily. After all we are pirates, are we not?! We do not lie awake nights worrying about one man, when the sea is full of men who dream of pirate wenches such as we. Worrying is for the weak.
We will drink and carouse and do whatever we want and sleep soundly at nights. For we are pirates, and we make no apologies!
WHO'S WITH ME!? YAAARRRR!
Oh, and it's been brought to my attention that the name of our vessel translates to something exceedingly sissy and lubber-ish. Well, it's already been painted on the bow in fancy and bombastic pirate letters, so 'tis too late. But Stormwatcher is in for a real keelhauling, or perhaps, if I keep on this tirade, a marooning even.
Arr, it's been a long time since we've had a good marooning...
Thursday, March 10, 2011
The Naming of the Ship
Sinister-Boots the Well-Endowed is mightily displeased with ye lot of crew members and blog perusers! Not one scribblin or suggestion did she receive as to the name of our dastardly pirate vessel. Therefore I had to consult with our resident smarty-pants, Stormwatcher, and she, being fancy and foreign, came up with some Frenchy name that I quite like the sound of.
So the name of our good vessel be:
"Poule de la Mer"
Dunno what it means, but frankly it sounds pretty, and mayhap when other pirate vessels intent on attacking see our fancy-pants, confusing name they'll turn tail simply out of confusion.
(Cap'n of the other ship: I say bos'n, what are those strange words written across the back of yonder vessel that we are set to attack?
Bos'n: Dunno sir. Mebbe it's Devils'-talk. Mebbe it's a fairy-ship over there, and if'n we attack we'll get pulled on board and have to wander the seas forever...
Snooty Cap'n: Well for heavens' sake let's turn around and find another ship to attack! This one gives me the shivers. Is it time for tea yet?)
Yar, that cap'n be a sissy! But on to other pirate news. There be two more additions to the crew. Let's all welcome on board Blind Betts, the Terror of the Sea, along with her parrot, Sir Soggypants. Blind Betts be an excellent crafter, and her organized crafting nights will be a breath of fresh air for us pirates who sometimes get tired of board games and show tunes.
Dirty Eliza's job just got harder though, with the addition of Sir Soggypants. Yar, he lives up to his name, that one. Mayhap we're gonna need another deck-swabber.
As fer piraty deeds done over the past week, Sinister-Boots went to another audition that she was ill-prepared for (in her own mind, at least). The song was barely memorized, and I never thought I'd be tryin' out fer that dastardly and disco-era musical "Jesus Christ Superstar," but I thought "why the hell not," so I did it. And mateys, 'twas another fine audition. Haven't heard back from the dastardly directors, but it doesn't matter. I gave 'em my finest, and I can tell ye that I was a lot better than lots of the other sissy women tryin' out fer the same part.
Well I s'pose that be all I've got to report on this rainy day. Stay below-decks and dry, ye lubbers!
So the name of our good vessel be:
"Poule de la Mer"
Dunno what it means, but frankly it sounds pretty, and mayhap when other pirate vessels intent on attacking see our fancy-pants, confusing name they'll turn tail simply out of confusion.
(Cap'n of the other ship: I say bos'n, what are those strange words written across the back of yonder vessel that we are set to attack?
Bos'n: Dunno sir. Mebbe it's Devils'-talk. Mebbe it's a fairy-ship over there, and if'n we attack we'll get pulled on board and have to wander the seas forever...
Snooty Cap'n: Well for heavens' sake let's turn around and find another ship to attack! This one gives me the shivers. Is it time for tea yet?)
Yar, that cap'n be a sissy! But on to other pirate news. There be two more additions to the crew. Let's all welcome on board Blind Betts, the Terror of the Sea, along with her parrot, Sir Soggypants. Blind Betts be an excellent crafter, and her organized crafting nights will be a breath of fresh air for us pirates who sometimes get tired of board games and show tunes.
Dirty Eliza's job just got harder though, with the addition of Sir Soggypants. Yar, he lives up to his name, that one. Mayhap we're gonna need another deck-swabber.
As fer piraty deeds done over the past week, Sinister-Boots went to another audition that she was ill-prepared for (in her own mind, at least). The song was barely memorized, and I never thought I'd be tryin' out fer that dastardly and disco-era musical "Jesus Christ Superstar," but I thought "why the hell not," so I did it. And mateys, 'twas another fine audition. Haven't heard back from the dastardly directors, but it doesn't matter. I gave 'em my finest, and I can tell ye that I was a lot better than lots of the other sissy women tryin' out fer the same part.
Well I s'pose that be all I've got to report on this rainy day. Stay below-decks and dry, ye lubbers!
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Introduction to The Crew...and mayhap a competition?
Ahoy and avast, me hearties! Life has been kind to Sinister-Boots the Well-Endowed of late. The doubloons will soon be rolling in (well, a small amount of them, but doubloons nonetheless) on account of the start of a job, part-time though it be. But more importantly, she spent the entire day of the Lord with her fine gentleman, and yarr but he really sets her mainsail a-flutter.
The lad may be trouble. How can a fierce pirate wench be out...well...wenching if she's tied down to one fine, fine man? My crew and I will have to drink long and hard on this topic.
Speaking of the crew, I thought 'twould be entertaining to gather all the names up together and mayhap bring some organization to this surly bunch. So clean yer scurvy selves up and report above-deck!
First on the list of introductions is Mad-Dog Gunnels, the fiercest and loudest fighter the seas have seen in a long time. She's first on the list because if I didn't put her first she'd explode into a fearsome rage, and there's no tellin what mayhem could result. She also be me partner in blogging ridiculosity, so I owe her the position of first mate aboard this vessel of villany.
Mad-Dog is responsible for our Zombie-preparedness training. Now ye may think "what have zombies to do with pirates?" The answer, my friend, is: everything. 'Tis too much to go into further detail here, but mayhap we could someday get a missive from the madcap mind of Mad-Dog. At any rate, she be a fearsome and foul first mate, and I'm proud to sail the seas with her.
Mad-Dog's brave paramour be Squinty McGee. Ye don't hear much from the lad. He prefers to stay below-decks and out of the public eye. Squinty's in charge of board-games and wine selection for the crew. Yarr, if ye thought we didn't have a fully stocked wine cellar on this ship, ye thought wrong! And we do enjoy our game nights. Anyway, that's all we'll say about him, because that's the way he likes it.
Me next two staunchest supporters be Dirty Eliza and Tight-Shanks the Horny. They've been with the ship since the start, and Sinister-Boots appreciates their fierce loyalty. Yarr! Dirty Eliza be the detail-oriented sort, which is good because she's about the only one out of this drunken lot who is! She be responsible for the cleanliness and routine maintenance of the ship, but don't think that she actually does the ship's cleaning. 'Tis no job for a wench of her stature. Narr, that's what the monkey's for!
As far as Tight-Shanks' role on the ship...well...he doesn't actually do much. He mostly lolls about near the grog barrel. But once in a while his sweet-talkin' skills are invaluable fer getting us out of a scrape. Fer instance, if we don't feel like doing battle on a partic'lar day, Tight-Shanks the Horny flirts with all the members of the other ship and turns 'em right around with promises and sweet nothings. We owe him many a lazy Sunday, and are right glad to have his particular skills on board.
Next up is Rattlechains the Shipburner, a fearful pirate lass who has been known to make a man jump overboard just by givin' him the stink-eye. She be in charge of battle tactics (which mostly involve putting our knives in our teeth to appear more sinister) and organizes our popular and well-attended "Showtunes Sing-Alongs."
A story about Rattlechains: One time we were all havin' a raucous time of it, singin' "Memories" and "My Favorite Things", and just generally bein' quite merry. One poor visiting pirate had the gall to sing a fairly prominent note off-key, and Rattlechains flew into a rage and shot the lad dead. What a day that was! I still chuckle when I think on it.
But let's continue with the crew...Darkwater Duff be the next pirate in line. She be not so much fearsome as pleasantly jovial. She be the crew's chum cook, and a fine job she does of it. Her role really is one of the most important on the ship, because as long as she keeps the cookies comin' the crew remains non-mutinous, which is crucial for Sinister-Boots' well-being. Overall, she just really makes this ship a home. Darkwater Duff, we salute ye!
Furiously Fabulous Pistol-Pumps and Cutlass Colie, the Saucy Subduer are so fabulously fierce ye need sunglasses to look on' em. They generally travel as a pair, and their brazen beauty has reduced many a ship of brave pirates to babbling mush. We're lucky to have 'em on board, as they are in charge of one of the most important of the pirate arts: the art of dressing bombastically. They keep us all in coordinating silks and plumes, and Sinister-Boots has it on good authority that many a pirate ship bent on attacking has been so intimidated by the stupendous fashion sense exhibited by our pirates that they turn right around and find another ship to plunder.
Pistol-Pumps and Cutlass Colie are also in charge of dance parties, and indeed all themed parties in general. Yarr, there's nothing like an impromptu luau to keep the crew's spirits up!
Lastly we must mention Fancy-Pants Les and Stormwatcher the Brave. Fancy-Pants is half-addled and spends most of her time dancing around the ship to the accompaniment of nothing but the music in her head, but we're all fond of her and enjoy her antics. Stormwatcher is European and spends most of her time reading books and writing theorems. How she ever landed on our ship is a mystery, but she really classes up the place. Unfortunately we're all pretty intimidated by her, so she gets to spend battles below-decks unless she has a hankering for bloodsport, which she rarely does.
Yarr, that be the crew, and fine lads and lasses all they be! But I believe I mentioned a competition above, so here be the sport:
the game be to draw a picture of the ship and all of its shipmates. Whoever does the nicest drawing gets the privilege of namin' the ship! Send yer scribblins to my email or home address, and if ye can't find out either than yer on yer own, ye lubber.
If anyone else wants to join this crew of ruffians, announce yerself and prepare to be named badly and eternally by Sinister-Boots! Arr, we'll find a corner for ye, not to worry.
May the winds of March send ye speedily towards yer destiny! Yarrr!
The lad may be trouble. How can a fierce pirate wench be out...well...wenching if she's tied down to one fine, fine man? My crew and I will have to drink long and hard on this topic.
Speaking of the crew, I thought 'twould be entertaining to gather all the names up together and mayhap bring some organization to this surly bunch. So clean yer scurvy selves up and report above-deck!
First on the list of introductions is Mad-Dog Gunnels, the fiercest and loudest fighter the seas have seen in a long time. She's first on the list because if I didn't put her first she'd explode into a fearsome rage, and there's no tellin what mayhem could result. She also be me partner in blogging ridiculosity, so I owe her the position of first mate aboard this vessel of villany.
Mad-Dog is responsible for our Zombie-preparedness training. Now ye may think "what have zombies to do with pirates?" The answer, my friend, is: everything. 'Tis too much to go into further detail here, but mayhap we could someday get a missive from the madcap mind of Mad-Dog. At any rate, she be a fearsome and foul first mate, and I'm proud to sail the seas with her.
Mad-Dog's brave paramour be Squinty McGee. Ye don't hear much from the lad. He prefers to stay below-decks and out of the public eye. Squinty's in charge of board-games and wine selection for the crew. Yarr, if ye thought we didn't have a fully stocked wine cellar on this ship, ye thought wrong! And we do enjoy our game nights. Anyway, that's all we'll say about him, because that's the way he likes it.
Me next two staunchest supporters be Dirty Eliza and Tight-Shanks the Horny. They've been with the ship since the start, and Sinister-Boots appreciates their fierce loyalty. Yarr! Dirty Eliza be the detail-oriented sort, which is good because she's about the only one out of this drunken lot who is! She be responsible for the cleanliness and routine maintenance of the ship, but don't think that she actually does the ship's cleaning. 'Tis no job for a wench of her stature. Narr, that's what the monkey's for!
As far as Tight-Shanks' role on the ship...well...he doesn't actually do much. He mostly lolls about near the grog barrel. But once in a while his sweet-talkin' skills are invaluable fer getting us out of a scrape. Fer instance, if we don't feel like doing battle on a partic'lar day, Tight-Shanks the Horny flirts with all the members of the other ship and turns 'em right around with promises and sweet nothings. We owe him many a lazy Sunday, and are right glad to have his particular skills on board.
Next up is Rattlechains the Shipburner, a fearful pirate lass who has been known to make a man jump overboard just by givin' him the stink-eye. She be in charge of battle tactics (which mostly involve putting our knives in our teeth to appear more sinister) and organizes our popular and well-attended "Showtunes Sing-Alongs."
A story about Rattlechains: One time we were all havin' a raucous time of it, singin' "Memories" and "My Favorite Things", and just generally bein' quite merry. One poor visiting pirate had the gall to sing a fairly prominent note off-key, and Rattlechains flew into a rage and shot the lad dead. What a day that was! I still chuckle when I think on it.
But let's continue with the crew...Darkwater Duff be the next pirate in line. She be not so much fearsome as pleasantly jovial. She be the crew's chum cook, and a fine job she does of it. Her role really is one of the most important on the ship, because as long as she keeps the cookies comin' the crew remains non-mutinous, which is crucial for Sinister-Boots' well-being. Overall, she just really makes this ship a home. Darkwater Duff, we salute ye!
Furiously Fabulous Pistol-Pumps and Cutlass Colie, the Saucy Subduer are so fabulously fierce ye need sunglasses to look on' em. They generally travel as a pair, and their brazen beauty has reduced many a ship of brave pirates to babbling mush. We're lucky to have 'em on board, as they are in charge of one of the most important of the pirate arts: the art of dressing bombastically. They keep us all in coordinating silks and plumes, and Sinister-Boots has it on good authority that many a pirate ship bent on attacking has been so intimidated by the stupendous fashion sense exhibited by our pirates that they turn right around and find another ship to plunder.
Pistol-Pumps and Cutlass Colie are also in charge of dance parties, and indeed all themed parties in general. Yarr, there's nothing like an impromptu luau to keep the crew's spirits up!
Lastly we must mention Fancy-Pants Les and Stormwatcher the Brave. Fancy-Pants is half-addled and spends most of her time dancing around the ship to the accompaniment of nothing but the music in her head, but we're all fond of her and enjoy her antics. Stormwatcher is European and spends most of her time reading books and writing theorems. How she ever landed on our ship is a mystery, but she really classes up the place. Unfortunately we're all pretty intimidated by her, so she gets to spend battles below-decks unless she has a hankering for bloodsport, which she rarely does.
Yarr, that be the crew, and fine lads and lasses all they be! But I believe I mentioned a competition above, so here be the sport:
the game be to draw a picture of the ship and all of its shipmates. Whoever does the nicest drawing gets the privilege of namin' the ship! Send yer scribblins to my email or home address, and if ye can't find out either than yer on yer own, ye lubber.
If anyone else wants to join this crew of ruffians, announce yerself and prepare to be named badly and eternally by Sinister-Boots! Arr, we'll find a corner for ye, not to worry.
May the winds of March send ye speedily towards yer destiny! Yarrr!
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Don't Stop Believin'
Yar mateys! This post comes to ye courtesy of shipmates Furiously Fabulous Pistol-Pumps and Cutlass Colie, the Saucy Subduer. The lasses got on me case for not giving them entertainment on a more reg'lar basis (demanding pirates that they be), and I vowed on me grandparents' watery graves to give 'em what they crave. Which is, of course, more of Sinister-Boots' tales of mayhem and piracy!
Admittedly, this pirate feels a wee bit o' shame that this partic'lar piratical post is going up a week after the actual event. But I've been out wenching, as usual, so I know ye'll forgive ol' Sinister-Boots and be happy that her love life is sailing right along.
Last Sunday I had to call upon all my piratical courage and sauciness. Ye may ask "why be that so, oh well-endowed one?" Well, I'll tell ye. I went on me first acting audition.
It took guts and a certain level of empty-headedness to sign up for this audition in the first place, because the mad-dog directors were callin' for a monologue. Now, I've only done one monologue in me entire life, and it was never exactly polished. I almost used this as an excuse to not go for the audition. But then a voice roared up inside of me asking "are ye or are ye NOT a dastardly pirate, who could strut and swashbuckle across a stage with the best of 'em? Ye ARE, and ye'll call for the audition, or turn tail in shame for not having lived yer life all the way to what it could be!"
So I made the call right then and there. So what if I never formally studied "how to approach, work, and perform a monologue?" I had a month to work up the monologue to the best of my abilities, which are considerable, being a talented pirate wench.
Arr, mateys, I worked hard and long at that monologue. It would have made a right fine musical montage, perhaps with Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" playing in the background. And it would have ended with me a two-hours' sail away from my hometown, standing on a stage, lit from above by a spotlight, fist raised in triumph as I portrayed the Queen of England sending a rogue scoundrel from her sight.
In short, 'twas a fine audition, with a callback, and it doesn't even matter if they say yea or nay to my fine arse (but they'd be fools to say nay to such a well-endowed collection of talents). What is important (swell the sappy music, please) is that in excellent pirate fashion I charged full ahead towards something I wanted even though I was scared and not as "prepared" as I usually am for these things. But all my schooling and preparation has thus far gotten me nowhere, so it was time to try a new tactic.
A pirate tactic.
Well that's about it for this piratical post. And cross my heart and hope to die, lassies, but I swear upon me jolly roger to keep ye entertained on a more frequent basis.
Oh, and a word about the wenching...one involved gentleman (and a fine gentleman he be) has boarded me facebook page and now has access to these notes. So although my wenching exploits would be oh-so-appropriate for these pirate pages, they'll have to be kept below decks for now.
And if ye see this, you fine gentleman you, all I've got to say is "shiver me timbers!" You know what I mean.
Admittedly, this pirate feels a wee bit o' shame that this partic'lar piratical post is going up a week after the actual event. But I've been out wenching, as usual, so I know ye'll forgive ol' Sinister-Boots and be happy that her love life is sailing right along.
Last Sunday I had to call upon all my piratical courage and sauciness. Ye may ask "why be that so, oh well-endowed one?" Well, I'll tell ye. I went on me first acting audition.
It took guts and a certain level of empty-headedness to sign up for this audition in the first place, because the mad-dog directors were callin' for a monologue. Now, I've only done one monologue in me entire life, and it was never exactly polished. I almost used this as an excuse to not go for the audition. But then a voice roared up inside of me asking "are ye or are ye NOT a dastardly pirate, who could strut and swashbuckle across a stage with the best of 'em? Ye ARE, and ye'll call for the audition, or turn tail in shame for not having lived yer life all the way to what it could be!"
So I made the call right then and there. So what if I never formally studied "how to approach, work, and perform a monologue?" I had a month to work up the monologue to the best of my abilities, which are considerable, being a talented pirate wench.
Arr, mateys, I worked hard and long at that monologue. It would have made a right fine musical montage, perhaps with Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" playing in the background. And it would have ended with me a two-hours' sail away from my hometown, standing on a stage, lit from above by a spotlight, fist raised in triumph as I portrayed the Queen of England sending a rogue scoundrel from her sight.
In short, 'twas a fine audition, with a callback, and it doesn't even matter if they say yea or nay to my fine arse (but they'd be fools to say nay to such a well-endowed collection of talents). What is important (swell the sappy music, please) is that in excellent pirate fashion I charged full ahead towards something I wanted even though I was scared and not as "prepared" as I usually am for these things. But all my schooling and preparation has thus far gotten me nowhere, so it was time to try a new tactic.
A pirate tactic.
Well that's about it for this piratical post. And cross my heart and hope to die, lassies, but I swear upon me jolly roger to keep ye entertained on a more frequent basis.
Oh, and a word about the wenching...one involved gentleman (and a fine gentleman he be) has boarded me facebook page and now has access to these notes. So although my wenching exploits would be oh-so-appropriate for these pirate pages, they'll have to be kept below decks for now.
And if ye see this, you fine gentleman you, all I've got to say is "shiver me timbers!" You know what I mean.
Friday, February 4, 2011
A Pirate's Guide to Dating
Ahoy and avast, lubbers all! 'Tis been a while since my last post, but a pirate never apologizes. I've been busy wenchin' and collectin' stories for ye fine lads and lasses, so clap yer traps and stop complainin'!
Oh I am just too tired for the pirate talk today. Let's continue in landlubber English.
Now, you know the quote at the top of this blog, right? It states that Pirattitute is "to know what fear tastes like and to swallow it-sharp pointy bits and all." I've lately been attacking and trying to swallow one particular pointy bit, and that bit is the dating world. Maybe a little background is necessary...
I haven't dated since I was 20 and I met my husband. In fact, I didn't date much before that even, because we were in college and a date in college consists mostly of hanging out with and eventually making out in the midst of a large group that is usually participating in some sort of drinking activity.
When January hit and I decided to be a pirate I also decided that I needed to MOVE ON and away from my failed marriage. And as a lusty pirate wench, what better way to move on than to find one or several men to bed? So as a means to this end, I joined match.com.
I was unprepared for the eager attack that was launched upon me by seemingly all the single men within a 50-mile radius. I knew immediately that I was going to have to gather up all my pirate wits to decide which attackers to fend off and which to let onto the ship, as it were.
Some poor souls were sorely under-armed for their attack. Those who emailed me with awful pick-up lines and poorly-spelled, non-punctuated-or-capitalized requests to meet were instantly given fisticuffs and sent back into the water. Others made it through my first defenses only to later prove themselves woefully inadequate.
In order to hack my way through this mess, I have had to rely heavily on my fledgeling Pirattitude. It hasn't been easy, mateys. It's hard not to revert back to being the nice (yuck), undemanding (seriously?), understanding (read: doormat) woman that I was before I became a pirate. I feel like a bitch a lot of the time.
But a pirate wouldn't care about being called a bitch. She would laugh and then wash the seeming insult down with rum drunk out of an unsuccessful paramour's skull. And so bitch I've been, and bitch I will stay, even if it feels uncomfortable sometimes.
A few stories on this subject:
There was the gentleman who made it through my first defenses and wanted to meet in the town where he lived. Now, I did not realize how far away this town was from me until about an hour before we were slated to meet (my pirate bad). I did not want to drive all the way out there in the dark. Luckily, Sinister-Boots roared up within me and demanded that if he wanted to meet me he could meet me in a town that was closer to me and halfway between us. The gentleman, being intelligent, relented. AND he thanked me for making him meet me. Yes, you heard right, he thanked me. Now THAT'S Pirattitude for you. Unfortunately he has since been tossed overboard for bad behavior. On to the next!
There was also the gentleman who initially seemed an ideal candidate for bedding. This gentleman is more malignant than the first, because ol' Sinister-Boots has since discovered that under his initial comely layer of philanthropy, love of travel, and love of learning lies an ugly layer of arrogance and pride. Mild-mannered Emily was, I must admit, befuddled at first and loathe to let go of her initial liking of the man. But Sinister-Boots has emerged and seen the vile bilge-rat for what he is. She puts up with no shenanigans! We've sent him to dance the hempen jig, and even worse, to live a life knowing he could have had Sinister-Boots the Well-Endowed and now he never will. Arr, 'tis the most dire punishment of all!
At this point I feel I must mention that there have been some entertaining surprises along the way. For instance, such is the beauty and renown of Sinister-Boots that one love-crazed gentleman has invited her to accompany him through Italy. Unfortunately his acumen seems to be waning, and he may get keelhauled soon. Nevertheless, it happened, and it makes for a right satisfying story. And though you may beg and plead and cry for details, Sinister-Boots isn't going to reveal if any one of these lucky gentlemen has fought his way bravely through all the lines of fire and successfully plundered her treasure.
Even Sinister-Boots the Well-Endowed keeps some secrets.
So it's been a wild adventure on the high seas of the internet dating world, and it's not over yet. Now Sinister-Boots will sail on to the next conquest and gather more stories for your entertainment.
Until then, drink heartily and dream lustily!
Oh I am just too tired for the pirate talk today. Let's continue in landlubber English.
Now, you know the quote at the top of this blog, right? It states that Pirattitute is "to know what fear tastes like and to swallow it-sharp pointy bits and all." I've lately been attacking and trying to swallow one particular pointy bit, and that bit is the dating world. Maybe a little background is necessary...
I haven't dated since I was 20 and I met my husband. In fact, I didn't date much before that even, because we were in college and a date in college consists mostly of hanging out with and eventually making out in the midst of a large group that is usually participating in some sort of drinking activity.
When January hit and I decided to be a pirate I also decided that I needed to MOVE ON and away from my failed marriage. And as a lusty pirate wench, what better way to move on than to find one or several men to bed? So as a means to this end, I joined match.com.
I was unprepared for the eager attack that was launched upon me by seemingly all the single men within a 50-mile radius. I knew immediately that I was going to have to gather up all my pirate wits to decide which attackers to fend off and which to let onto the ship, as it were.
Some poor souls were sorely under-armed for their attack. Those who emailed me with awful pick-up lines and poorly-spelled, non-punctuated-or-capitalized requests to meet were instantly given fisticuffs and sent back into the water. Others made it through my first defenses only to later prove themselves woefully inadequate.
In order to hack my way through this mess, I have had to rely heavily on my fledgeling Pirattitude. It hasn't been easy, mateys. It's hard not to revert back to being the nice (yuck), undemanding (seriously?), understanding (read: doormat) woman that I was before I became a pirate. I feel like a bitch a lot of the time.
But a pirate wouldn't care about being called a bitch. She would laugh and then wash the seeming insult down with rum drunk out of an unsuccessful paramour's skull. And so bitch I've been, and bitch I will stay, even if it feels uncomfortable sometimes.
A few stories on this subject:
There was the gentleman who made it through my first defenses and wanted to meet in the town where he lived. Now, I did not realize how far away this town was from me until about an hour before we were slated to meet (my pirate bad). I did not want to drive all the way out there in the dark. Luckily, Sinister-Boots roared up within me and demanded that if he wanted to meet me he could meet me in a town that was closer to me and halfway between us. The gentleman, being intelligent, relented. AND he thanked me for making him meet me. Yes, you heard right, he thanked me. Now THAT'S Pirattitude for you. Unfortunately he has since been tossed overboard for bad behavior. On to the next!
There was also the gentleman who initially seemed an ideal candidate for bedding. This gentleman is more malignant than the first, because ol' Sinister-Boots has since discovered that under his initial comely layer of philanthropy, love of travel, and love of learning lies an ugly layer of arrogance and pride. Mild-mannered Emily was, I must admit, befuddled at first and loathe to let go of her initial liking of the man. But Sinister-Boots has emerged and seen the vile bilge-rat for what he is. She puts up with no shenanigans! We've sent him to dance the hempen jig, and even worse, to live a life knowing he could have had Sinister-Boots the Well-Endowed and now he never will. Arr, 'tis the most dire punishment of all!
At this point I feel I must mention that there have been some entertaining surprises along the way. For instance, such is the beauty and renown of Sinister-Boots that one love-crazed gentleman has invited her to accompany him through Italy. Unfortunately his acumen seems to be waning, and he may get keelhauled soon. Nevertheless, it happened, and it makes for a right satisfying story. And though you may beg and plead and cry for details, Sinister-Boots isn't going to reveal if any one of these lucky gentlemen has fought his way bravely through all the lines of fire and successfully plundered her treasure.
Even Sinister-Boots the Well-Endowed keeps some secrets.
So it's been a wild adventure on the high seas of the internet dating world, and it's not over yet. Now Sinister-Boots will sail on to the next conquest and gather more stories for your entertainment.
Until then, drink heartily and dream lustily!
Sunday, January 23, 2011
A Toast to Aleksei!
With the endin' of the last post I posed a profound question regardin' the mixin' of pirates and baby showers, and whether or not such a mix would end with disaster.
We all knew it, but the answer, of course, is yes, it would.
Pirates and baby showers DO NOT MIX.
(for purposes of clarification, in the following description of the events of said baby shower, pirate actions performed in my mind, not in real life, will be highlighted in italics. No blood was shed at the actual event, which sorely displeases Sinister-Boots)
The only upside was that everybody was wearin' hats provided by the teahouse (by gar, a dastardly womanish place if ever I laid me eyes on one!), so they let me keep my plumed pirate concoction on. But they urged me to choose a more appropriate sissy hat with a veil or some such nonsense. I ran the first woman to do so through, so no more was said about that.
Well, there was one other upside, which was that the dainty finger sandwiches, while difficult to hold (I ended up spearin them with me knife in order to grab a hold of 'em), were delicious, and finer food than a pirate has eaten in a while.
But sittin' for over an hour drinkin' tea with my pinky out (and reg'lar tea, me hearties, not tea with a shot o' whiskey in it) while the baby-bearin' wench opens pink gifts causes a pirate to get mighty restless. It was all I could do to resist the urge to jump up on the table, crushing the china beneath my boots, and jump from table to table swinging my cutlass and emitting loud growls of disapproval.
But I don't really want today's post to be about a situation which we all knew was fated for disaster. I'd like to discuss a man I came across in the New York Times today, a man whose actions are so piratical that I am obliged to hoist a mug o' rum into the air in his honor.
(okay, the pirate English has ended. This is just too important to mess around with grammar)
The man's name is Aleksei Plutser-Sarno (he's a Ukranian bastard, he is), and he's part of a radical Russian art collective called Voina (which means war-arrr). This be his likeness (note the colorful slippers that a pirate would be proud of):
Wait, you may interrupt, a sissy artist a pirate, you say? Poppycock!
Well listen to this! Voina is dedicated to undermining the status-quo and making extreme commentaries on government and the law (YARRR!). As such, their actions have included: 1) painting a 210-foot penis on a St. Petersburg drawbridge, so that when the bridge rose it pointed at the offices of the Russian security service, and 2) running up to parked police cars and flipping them over as a commentary on police corruption.
Individually, Mr. Plutser-Sarno has compiled a multivolume dictionary of Russian obscenities and hosted a TV talk-show he described as "52 minutes of noisy philosophical debate, with shouting, uproar, and fisticuffs."
Truly, Aleksei's love of fisticuffs, loud cursing, and bawdy damn-the-man actions make him pirate enough. But as icing on the delicious, delicious cake, he is running from the Ukranian authorities and keeps giving them the slip. And there is a beautiful paragraph in the article that reads as follows:
"When he was asked whether the lifestyle had come to weigh on him, Mr. Plutser-Sarno responded with a radiant smile. He likes it very much."
It brought tears to me eyes, mateys. And this time, it wasn't my stench that did it. 'Twas the miraculous and profound discovery of a true pirate both in action and temperament, which is hard to find in this age of sissy latte-drinkers.
So let's hoist a mug and sing a bawdy shanty for this brilliant man and the other artists of Voina (many of whom have been captured and detained-a prayer for their souls, mateys). May the grog be sweet and the women be plentiful.
If ye be wantin' to read the article yerself, navigate to http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/22/world/europe/22voina.html?_r=1&ref=ukraine.
We all knew it, but the answer, of course, is yes, it would.
Pirates and baby showers DO NOT MIX.
(for purposes of clarification, in the following description of the events of said baby shower, pirate actions performed in my mind, not in real life, will be highlighted in italics. No blood was shed at the actual event, which sorely displeases Sinister-Boots)
The only upside was that everybody was wearin' hats provided by the teahouse (by gar, a dastardly womanish place if ever I laid me eyes on one!), so they let me keep my plumed pirate concoction on. But they urged me to choose a more appropriate sissy hat with a veil or some such nonsense. I ran the first woman to do so through, so no more was said about that.
Well, there was one other upside, which was that the dainty finger sandwiches, while difficult to hold (I ended up spearin them with me knife in order to grab a hold of 'em), were delicious, and finer food than a pirate has eaten in a while.
But sittin' for over an hour drinkin' tea with my pinky out (and reg'lar tea, me hearties, not tea with a shot o' whiskey in it) while the baby-bearin' wench opens pink gifts causes a pirate to get mighty restless. It was all I could do to resist the urge to jump up on the table, crushing the china beneath my boots, and jump from table to table swinging my cutlass and emitting loud growls of disapproval.
But I don't really want today's post to be about a situation which we all knew was fated for disaster. I'd like to discuss a man I came across in the New York Times today, a man whose actions are so piratical that I am obliged to hoist a mug o' rum into the air in his honor.
(okay, the pirate English has ended. This is just too important to mess around with grammar)
The man's name is Aleksei Plutser-Sarno (he's a Ukranian bastard, he is), and he's part of a radical Russian art collective called Voina (which means war-arrr). This be his likeness (note the colorful slippers that a pirate would be proud of):
Wait, you may interrupt, a sissy artist a pirate, you say? Poppycock!
Well listen to this! Voina is dedicated to undermining the status-quo and making extreme commentaries on government and the law (YARRR!). As such, their actions have included: 1) painting a 210-foot penis on a St. Petersburg drawbridge, so that when the bridge rose it pointed at the offices of the Russian security service, and 2) running up to parked police cars and flipping them over as a commentary on police corruption.
Individually, Mr. Plutser-Sarno has compiled a multivolume dictionary of Russian obscenities and hosted a TV talk-show he described as "52 minutes of noisy philosophical debate, with shouting, uproar, and fisticuffs."
Truly, Aleksei's love of fisticuffs, loud cursing, and bawdy damn-the-man actions make him pirate enough. But as icing on the delicious, delicious cake, he is running from the Ukranian authorities and keeps giving them the slip. And there is a beautiful paragraph in the article that reads as follows:
"When he was asked whether the lifestyle had come to weigh on him, Mr. Plutser-Sarno responded with a radiant smile. He likes it very much."
It brought tears to me eyes, mateys. And this time, it wasn't my stench that did it. 'Twas the miraculous and profound discovery of a true pirate both in action and temperament, which is hard to find in this age of sissy latte-drinkers.
So let's hoist a mug and sing a bawdy shanty for this brilliant man and the other artists of Voina (many of whom have been captured and detained-a prayer for their souls, mateys). May the grog be sweet and the women be plentiful.
If ye be wantin' to read the article yerself, navigate to http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/22/world/europe/22voina.html?_r=1&ref=ukraine.
Friday, January 21, 2011
The Best Scribblin Ye'll Ever See
Ahoy, me beauties! Ye'll be happy to know that the landlords came through, under extreme threat of pirate violence, and left a key to the apartment for me, so I was able to get in without too much door bustin'.
Of course, by the time I busted in ex-Mr.-Sinister-Boots was back, so 'twas a useless venture, but the point be that I got me stuff! Yar!
Fer today I'd simply like to share with you one of the finest pieces of art I've ever laid me eyes across. 'Tis genius the likes of which I've never seen before in all me life! And the subject matter...excellent beyond all reckoning!
Feast yer eyes on this, ye talentless band of scalawags:
This Danny (Domy?) clearly be leagues ahead of his classmates in both intellect and social skills. 'Tis a wonder they don't string him up the flagpole as penance for his superior nature.
I'll have more mayhem tomorrow when this pirate goes to...a baby shower! Can Sinister-Boots manage her swashbuckling tendencies when surrounded by such sissyness? We'll find out, mateys! (methinks the soothing presence of cake will help...)
Of course, by the time I busted in ex-Mr.-Sinister-Boots was back, so 'twas a useless venture, but the point be that I got me stuff! Yar!
Fer today I'd simply like to share with you one of the finest pieces of art I've ever laid me eyes across. 'Tis genius the likes of which I've never seen before in all me life! And the subject matter...excellent beyond all reckoning!
Feast yer eyes on this, ye talentless band of scalawags:
This Danny (Domy?) clearly be leagues ahead of his classmates in both intellect and social skills. 'Tis a wonder they don't string him up the flagpole as penance for his superior nature.
I'll have more mayhem tomorrow when this pirate goes to...a baby shower! Can Sinister-Boots manage her swashbuckling tendencies when surrounded by such sissyness? We'll find out, mateys! (methinks the soothing presence of cake will help...)
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Dark Days for Sinister-Boots
Yar mateys, these be dark days for Sinister-Boots, for several reasons.
1) I received a lovely little parchment from the bilge-rats over at Wells Fargo containing a rejection letter, mayhap due to the violent nature of me interview style. This means that I'll continue to have to board on me mother's* ship for a while, which is not very piratey. Yar, the situation be killin' Independent Sinister-Boots (even pirates watch Seinfeld on occasion).
2) I was goin' to show me well-endowed assets off to two good-lookin' gentlemen on two separate date-like occasions, but both were canceled (one in a dastardly manner, and the other due to the weather, which makes the weather not the gentleman dastardly). It appears, me hearties, that Sinister-Boots' love life has been cut off at the knees before it's even been given a chance to get off the ground. And due to her tempestuous and fiery nature, Sinister-Boots needs herself a love life!
3) Apparently Sinister-Boots, while well-endowed both fore and aft, is not so well-endowed in manners of intellect. I piloted four hours north to the cold waters of Upstate NY to pick up the rest of my belongings from the man who was formerly known as Mr. Sinister-Boots. Unfortunately I neglected to bring my key to the apartment with me. Meanwhile, Ex-Mr.-Sinister-Boots is en route to New York City, and my ex-landlords won't pick up their phone. If I were a true pirate I would fearsomely blast in the door, but since I have neither a cannon nor the body weight for such a feat, I am forced to turn tail and slink away in a very un-pirate-like fashion.
'Tis a beauty of a situation, me lads and lasses.
Now I be sittin' in a fancy-pants "coffee house" cryin' into me fancy-pants latte (apparently they don't serve grog in such places), and I be needin' yer help (yar, smart pirates ask for help betimes). What would a pirate do in the situation, keepin' in mind that the destruction of property and the takin' of landlord hostages be not a real option in this case?
Either yer suggestions or an overnight shipment of a cannon would be most welcome!
*Sinister-Boots has given her the name of Fancy-pants Les, unbeknownst to her good self
1) I received a lovely little parchment from the bilge-rats over at Wells Fargo containing a rejection letter, mayhap due to the violent nature of me interview style. This means that I'll continue to have to board on me mother's* ship for a while, which is not very piratey. Yar, the situation be killin' Independent Sinister-Boots (even pirates watch Seinfeld on occasion).
2) I was goin' to show me well-endowed assets off to two good-lookin' gentlemen on two separate date-like occasions, but both were canceled (one in a dastardly manner, and the other due to the weather, which makes the weather not the gentleman dastardly). It appears, me hearties, that Sinister-Boots' love life has been cut off at the knees before it's even been given a chance to get off the ground. And due to her tempestuous and fiery nature, Sinister-Boots needs herself a love life!
3) Apparently Sinister-Boots, while well-endowed both fore and aft, is not so well-endowed in manners of intellect. I piloted four hours north to the cold waters of Upstate NY to pick up the rest of my belongings from the man who was formerly known as Mr. Sinister-Boots. Unfortunately I neglected to bring my key to the apartment with me. Meanwhile, Ex-Mr.-Sinister-Boots is en route to New York City, and my ex-landlords won't pick up their phone. If I were a true pirate I would fearsomely blast in the door, but since I have neither a cannon nor the body weight for such a feat, I am forced to turn tail and slink away in a very un-pirate-like fashion.
'Tis a beauty of a situation, me lads and lasses.
Now I be sittin' in a fancy-pants "coffee house" cryin' into me fancy-pants latte (apparently they don't serve grog in such places), and I be needin' yer help (yar, smart pirates ask for help betimes). What would a pirate do in the situation, keepin' in mind that the destruction of property and the takin' of landlord hostages be not a real option in this case?
Either yer suggestions or an overnight shipment of a cannon would be most welcome!
*Sinister-Boots has given her the name of Fancy-pants Les, unbeknownst to her good self
Monday, January 17, 2011
Some clarrrrrifications
It has come to my attention that this whole "live like a pirate thing" is a little confusing to us all. What does it MEAN? Well, after a week or so of experimentation, I can sure tell you what it doesn't mean:
1) It doesn't mean I want to talk like a pirate all the time. I mean really, have you tried it? It's exhausting, and I need that energy for other activities such as napping and eating cake. For example, after my last post I slept for three days, due to the extremely high level of pirate-talk involved. That's valuable swashbuckling time lost. I AM hoping to get my pirate-talk stamina up, but these things take a while.
2) It doesn't mean that I will actually be doing illegal activities such as pillaging and, heavens to betsy, raping. Mayhap I will board someone's cubicle by force (yarr) and commandeer their pen, but I think that's pretty much going to be the extent of it. And I'll probably give their pen back the next day with a pretty bow wrapped around it and an effusive note of apology.
So by now you may be saying "without raping and pillaging what's the point, ye lily-livered pansy?"
Well I'll tell you.
The point is to do all the piratey things in your head while the mild-mannered people swirling around you have no idea. They have no idea that their nasty email just placed them on the "to be keelhauled immediately and forthwith" list, and that plans are being made as they speak for the implementing of said nasty death. That handsome bartender over there doesn't know (yet) that you want him to "take a climb in your rigging" (oh but he will, and he will).
While thinking like a pirate, life may just take on a slightly more hilarious air, a sheen of ridiculosity, if you will. It will lose some of its seriousness and gain more swagger. If you carry yourself with panache on the inside, chances are you will also carry yourself with panache on the outside, and by god people will notice.
Plus, pirate-bantering with your pals is really fun. Like, really really fun. Pirate banter may be one of the purest joys of life.
By purest I mean really, really dirty. Just filthy.
And when else in your life can you be so disgustingly filthy and degenerate?
Never.
I think I've made my point, people.
1) It doesn't mean I want to talk like a pirate all the time. I mean really, have you tried it? It's exhausting, and I need that energy for other activities such as napping and eating cake. For example, after my last post I slept for three days, due to the extremely high level of pirate-talk involved. That's valuable swashbuckling time lost. I AM hoping to get my pirate-talk stamina up, but these things take a while.
2) It doesn't mean that I will actually be doing illegal activities such as pillaging and, heavens to betsy, raping. Mayhap I will board someone's cubicle by force (yarr) and commandeer their pen, but I think that's pretty much going to be the extent of it. And I'll probably give their pen back the next day with a pretty bow wrapped around it and an effusive note of apology.
So by now you may be saying "without raping and pillaging what's the point, ye lily-livered pansy?"
Well I'll tell you.
The point is to do all the piratey things in your head while the mild-mannered people swirling around you have no idea. They have no idea that their nasty email just placed them on the "to be keelhauled immediately and forthwith" list, and that plans are being made as they speak for the implementing of said nasty death. That handsome bartender over there doesn't know (yet) that you want him to "take a climb in your rigging" (oh but he will, and he will).
While thinking like a pirate, life may just take on a slightly more hilarious air, a sheen of ridiculosity, if you will. It will lose some of its seriousness and gain more swagger. If you carry yourself with panache on the inside, chances are you will also carry yourself with panache on the outside, and by god people will notice.
Plus, pirate-bantering with your pals is really fun. Like, really really fun. Pirate banter may be one of the purest joys of life.
By purest I mean really, really dirty. Just filthy.
And when else in your life can you be so disgustingly filthy and degenerate?
Never.
I think I've made my point, people.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Battle on the High Seas...or my first job interview as a pirate
Ahoy, me hearties! 'Tis only my third-ish day as a pirate, but today I was forced at even this early stage into an epic battle with the most feared of vile enemies: The Man.
I went to a job interview.
Oh, it was a beauty of a battle. Cannons were fired, insults were exchanged, and prisoners were forced to walk the plank. Well, at least it was a fearsome battle in my mind. To regular onlookers, it looked like any standard, run-of-the-mill job interview, which is really a shame for them, because they missed quite a show.
Here are some highlights:
When I brought my vehicle/ship up broadside and boarded the enemy vessel I was told my parking would be validated. Yar, that pleased Sinister-Boots heartily, as now she would not have to vex herself by forcing such validation at cutlass-point.
The interviewers asked me if I liked working as a team and why, and if I would be willing to work in this kind of environment. Sinister-Boots growled "Here's teamwork for ye," knocked their heads together like coconuts, and drank a long draught from her boot flask while they lay unconscious on the table before her.
When the douchebag regional manager fired rapid nonsensical questions at me, all the while refusing to look me in the eye, Sinister-Boots jumped onto the table yelling "Belay, you scum-sucking bilge rat! If ye cannot look me beauty in the eye, by gar' I'll take it from ye!" She then trussed the vile "manager" up and made him walk the plank out of the fourth-floor conference room window.
The interviewers asked me to describe a time in my life when I had reached a difficult sales goal. Sinister-Boots answered "well, there was the one time we were about to set sail and my mates turned mutinous and killed the bo'sun. I had urgent need for a replacement, so I had my crew kidnap the next villain we laid eyes on and force him into service at gunpoint." The interviewers were duly impressed with such a fine answer, and with the loquacity of the speech.
When the interview was over Sinister-Boots politely said "Oh, is that it? Well thank you so much for this opportunity! I really enjoyed...AAAAARRRRRR!" With that, her crew mates swarmed in the very same windows armed to the teeth, as a cannon blast ripped into the opposite wall, smashing the odious whiteboard into smithereens. The interviewers were forced at pistol-point to offer Sinister-Boots the job, to which she heartily replied, "I work for no Man, ye scurvy dogs!" They were then forced to join the crew.
So all in all, a fine and productive battle/job interview it was! Men were killed and criminals were created. Sinister-Boots the Well-Endowed expanded her crew and taught The Man who was the real boss of the high seas was.
In other real-life words, I conducted myself cheerfully and answered all their questions earnestly. I even lied about being a "team player," as we all must do at all job interviews, no?
Well, at least the lying was piratey.
Until next time, mateys! Wish me luck!
I went to a job interview.
Oh, it was a beauty of a battle. Cannons were fired, insults were exchanged, and prisoners were forced to walk the plank. Well, at least it was a fearsome battle in my mind. To regular onlookers, it looked like any standard, run-of-the-mill job interview, which is really a shame for them, because they missed quite a show.
Here are some highlights:
When I brought my vehicle/ship up broadside and boarded the enemy vessel I was told my parking would be validated. Yar, that pleased Sinister-Boots heartily, as now she would not have to vex herself by forcing such validation at cutlass-point.
The interviewers asked me if I liked working as a team and why, and if I would be willing to work in this kind of environment. Sinister-Boots growled "Here's teamwork for ye," knocked their heads together like coconuts, and drank a long draught from her boot flask while they lay unconscious on the table before her.
When the douchebag regional manager fired rapid nonsensical questions at me, all the while refusing to look me in the eye, Sinister-Boots jumped onto the table yelling "Belay, you scum-sucking bilge rat! If ye cannot look me beauty in the eye, by gar' I'll take it from ye!" She then trussed the vile "manager" up and made him walk the plank out of the fourth-floor conference room window.
The interviewers asked me to describe a time in my life when I had reached a difficult sales goal. Sinister-Boots answered "well, there was the one time we were about to set sail and my mates turned mutinous and killed the bo'sun. I had urgent need for a replacement, so I had my crew kidnap the next villain we laid eyes on and force him into service at gunpoint." The interviewers were duly impressed with such a fine answer, and with the loquacity of the speech.
When the interview was over Sinister-Boots politely said "Oh, is that it? Well thank you so much for this opportunity! I really enjoyed...AAAAARRRRRR!" With that, her crew mates swarmed in the very same windows armed to the teeth, as a cannon blast ripped into the opposite wall, smashing the odious whiteboard into smithereens. The interviewers were forced at pistol-point to offer Sinister-Boots the job, to which she heartily replied, "I work for no Man, ye scurvy dogs!" They were then forced to join the crew.
So all in all, a fine and productive battle/job interview it was! Men were killed and criminals were created. Sinister-Boots the Well-Endowed expanded her crew and taught The Man who was the real boss of the high seas was.
In other real-life words, I conducted myself cheerfully and answered all their questions earnestly. I even lied about being a "team player," as we all must do at all job interviews, no?
Well, at least the lying was piratey.
Until next time, mateys! Wish me luck!
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
The Rules
Because all pirates just love rules.
Nevertheless, there are a few guidelines that should be followed, in pirate life as well as in regular life. Even pirates followed certain social strictures, such as the common idea that clothing should be worn at most times (AND HOW did they follow that one!).
The rules are that I will attempt to do one piratey thing, or think in a piratey way, each day from now on for the entire year of 2011.
My source material for the project will be the books Pirattitude! and The Pirate Life: Unleashing Your Inner Buccaneer. Both books are by John "Ol' Chumbucket" Baur and Mark "Cap'n Slappy" Summers. As the year progresses I may add more books to the list, depending both on the state of my wallet and the state of my reading ability due to consumption of copious amounts of grog.
Most importantly, henceforth I will be known as "Sinister-Boots Em," and for fancy occasions, "Sinister-Boots Em, the Well-Endowed." This name has been specially chosen for me due to my penchant for fabulous footwear.
And now if I may wax poetic: I would like to share a quote from page 2 of Pirattitude! that I feel sums up the spirit of the project. The quote is as follows:
"To be a man or woman of adventure and courage; to be truly ALIVE, to know what fear tastes like and to swallow it-sharp pointy bits and all-this is what it is to have pirattitude."
It brings tears to my eyes.
Oh wait, that's me. Yar, the brine o' the sea be my shower, mateys!
I invite you all to choose your own pirate names for our adventure.
If ye be needin' help, just let ol' Sinister-Boots consult with her pirate gang to choose ye a moniker!
Let's LIVE, mateys, LET'S LIVE!
Nevertheless, there are a few guidelines that should be followed, in pirate life as well as in regular life. Even pirates followed certain social strictures, such as the common idea that clothing should be worn at most times (AND HOW did they follow that one!).
The rules are that I will attempt to do one piratey thing, or think in a piratey way, each day from now on for the entire year of 2011.
My source material for the project will be the books Pirattitude! and The Pirate Life: Unleashing Your Inner Buccaneer. Both books are by John "Ol' Chumbucket" Baur and Mark "Cap'n Slappy" Summers. As the year progresses I may add more books to the list, depending both on the state of my wallet and the state of my reading ability due to consumption of copious amounts of grog.
Most importantly, henceforth I will be known as "Sinister-Boots Em," and for fancy occasions, "Sinister-Boots Em, the Well-Endowed." This name has been specially chosen for me due to my penchant for fabulous footwear.
And now if I may wax poetic: I would like to share a quote from page 2 of Pirattitude! that I feel sums up the spirit of the project. The quote is as follows:
"To be a man or woman of adventure and courage; to be truly ALIVE, to know what fear tastes like and to swallow it-sharp pointy bits and all-this is what it is to have pirattitude."
It brings tears to my eyes.
Oh wait, that's me. Yar, the brine o' the sea be my shower, mateys!
I invite you all to choose your own pirate names for our adventure.
If ye be needin' help, just let ol' Sinister-Boots consult with her pirate gang to choose ye a moniker!
Let's LIVE, mateys, LET'S LIVE!
The Beginning
2010 was the year of the Buddha.
2011 will be the year of the Pirate.
Let me explain.
For Christmas I bought two books for my sister and brother-in-law. The first, for my sister, was a Zombie Combat Manual, because I happen to know that she stays up a-nights putting her plans together in the event that a Zombie Apocalypse should occur. Which is a good idea, really, because all emergency preparedness experts say the best way to survive an emergency is to put a plan in place and mentally and physically practice said plan.
The second book was for my brother-in-law, captain of the canoe The Salty Wench, in which has been experienced many a drunken midnight adventure. He has a fondness for "Pirate Juice," and I'm pretty sure he stays up a-nights dreaming of an unfettered life as a sailor in the Carribean.
So shortly after the New Year I was sitting in their house, dreaming the day away as usual, when genius shot down out of the heavens and made itself known to me. I suddenly sat bolt upright and told my sister,
“You know, I should really just start living like a pirate this year."
What I meant was, last year was hard. In 2010 I went through a separation, a serious bout of joblessness, and the realization that the thing I had been working towards for ten years was probably not going to happen.
Living like a pirate seemed, and still seems, the obvious solution. I need a little swagger, a little civil disobedience, and a little reminder that a purpose-filled life is not always as good as it's cracked up to be.
Plus, I love me some rum.
And while I was at it, and while she was sitting next to me and commending me for such a glorious plan, I suggested that my sister spend her year preparing for when the zombies come, and that we both blog about our experiences. Because let's face it, we are nothing if not narcissistic.
Which, might I add, bodes well for Pirate-making.
Thus the plan was born. My sister will systematically prepare and implement a zombie-combat course of action, while I drink rum, insult people, and search for wenches.
Frankly, my plan sounds like a lot more fun, but when the zombies come (and they will), I'm hoping I can hide behind Lil and just wave my cutlass around in return for a cask o' rum.
2011 will be the year of the Pirate.
Let me explain.
For Christmas I bought two books for my sister and brother-in-law. The first, for my sister, was a Zombie Combat Manual, because I happen to know that she stays up a-nights putting her plans together in the event that a Zombie Apocalypse should occur. Which is a good idea, really, because all emergency preparedness experts say the best way to survive an emergency is to put a plan in place and mentally and physically practice said plan.
The second book was for my brother-in-law, captain of the canoe The Salty Wench, in which has been experienced many a drunken midnight adventure. He has a fondness for "Pirate Juice," and I'm pretty sure he stays up a-nights dreaming of an unfettered life as a sailor in the Carribean.
So shortly after the New Year I was sitting in their house, dreaming the day away as usual, when genius shot down out of the heavens and made itself known to me. I suddenly sat bolt upright and told my sister,
“You know, I should really just start living like a pirate this year."
What I meant was, last year was hard. In 2010 I went through a separation, a serious bout of joblessness, and the realization that the thing I had been working towards for ten years was probably not going to happen.
Living like a pirate seemed, and still seems, the obvious solution. I need a little swagger, a little civil disobedience, and a little reminder that a purpose-filled life is not always as good as it's cracked up to be.
Plus, I love me some rum.
And while I was at it, and while she was sitting next to me and commending me for such a glorious plan, I suggested that my sister spend her year preparing for when the zombies come, and that we both blog about our experiences. Because let's face it, we are nothing if not narcissistic.
Which, might I add, bodes well for Pirate-making.
Thus the plan was born. My sister will systematically prepare and implement a zombie-combat course of action, while I drink rum, insult people, and search for wenches.
Frankly, my plan sounds like a lot more fun, but when the zombies come (and they will), I'm hoping I can hide behind Lil and just wave my cutlass around in return for a cask o' rum.
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