sweasel.com

They’ve got some pretty cool Tshirts. Not that I need to get anything else I’ll have to pack into a suitcase and take home.

Yarr… I be waitin’ fer just such an occasion, me fine stoaty lass. This be the day that all us bilge rats raise our cups o’ grog and sing our finest!

Case in point

I’d like to start us off with a bit o’ rhyme:

Avast! It be time once again for the sea!
With steadfast McGoo and a Weasel for two,
We’ll sail our stoat vessel and float wild and free.

Today be the time for to bring in the Net,
But fish naught we’ll catch; A fresh viewer batch
It’s what our fine Cap’n would want, I would bet!

But look ho! It be ninjas! They’re sailin’ now too
Indeed, ninja adders are comin’ on bladders
They’ve harvested from some poor crew.

So raise the Jolly Roger! The merry sail sways!
We’ll blast up their bones, and we’ll send them to zones
Such as old Davey Jones visits now in his darkest of days!

I used to be able to wear novelty T’s to work, but no longer. So my t-shirt collection has gotten shoved ever farther to the backs of things. I didn’t realize how many I’d acquired over the years until I started packing.

Pirates! Ninjas! Poetry!

I think my blogging gland just exploded.

“I think my blogging gland just exploded.”

Arrrrr…here be yer sum Bounty ™ towels matey.

Dangit! um… I mean, Scuttle me dinghy! I forgot! And I even keep the scurvy link on my blogroll year-round. Thanx for reminding me; it’s a good excuse to put up a nothing-post on my moribund blog.

I just got a little seasick at the mental picture of an exploded blogging gland. I hope it happened on the poop deck. Swab the mizzen-masts! Belay the scuppers! All hands above the waist!

Arrrrr, Your Grace: arrrrr you familiar with Deogolwulf of The Joy of Curmudgeonry? He’s a Brit. I think he makes sense.

[…] Good thing Stoaty’s on watch. And for some more piracy, head over to Primordial Slack, where the buccaneers are thick as mosquitos on the Intracoastal Waterway. […]

Weasels have ear-shaped bones on the tops of their heads. Who knew?

“I remember him as if it were yesterday, as he came plodding to the inn door, his sea-chest following behind him in a handbarrow; a tall, strong, heavy, nut-brown man; his tarry pigtail falling over the shoulders of his soiled blue coat; his hands ragged and scarred, with black, broken nails; and the sabre cut across one cheek, a dirty, livid white. I remember him looking round the cove and whistling to himself as he did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that he sang so often afterwards:-

`Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest-
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!’

I have been waiting all year to work a “booty” reference into any conversation without getting slapped.

Now I’m curious, me mateys, if ye can identify the quote I posted above. I believe it’s a pretty effective gender test, really.

Every BOY should know that quote instantly. Girls don’t seem to, although this is a pretty literate and well-read crowd.

So, here’s my question. Do you recognize it? Just yes or no, please so you don’t give away the answer and skew the results of me har -ly scientific surrrrvey, me buckos.

Hyarr, I don’t be a-recognizerating yer quote Lokki, but I can venture a guess, though I won’t as yer be askin’ us not to.

Well, I think I do, Lokki…but that’s not enough for a yes.

Gibby, without the ear-bones it looked like a giant fetus skull, which was surprisingly not very jaunty at all.

Now it looks like a giant fetus skull who was in the Mickey Mouse club.

Hey, a one-eyed giant fetus skull who was in the Mickey Mouse club. That’s way jauntier.

Thought I recognized it, quick check confirmed it. Yeah!

Ahhr, I be recognizing the quote, ye scurvey spam bucket ‘lubber.

Google confirms that my maybe is a yes. Ye scurvy sea dog!

Yarrr, talk like a pirate day, well shiver me timbers. When I was in the Army, me best matey’s nickname fer me was “ye ol’ Sea Hag”! Bein’ intentionally ironic due to me overwhelmin’ beauty, o’ course! And the ol’ Sea Hag did indeed recognize the quote!

Yup. Treasure Island!

The pirate described is Long John Silver – before he went straight and got into the fast food racket; Hell of a good book-Treasure Island. The perfect gift for any 10 year old boy

^Kindly ignore that, why my dear old mother would call a ‘mistake’, as in ‘Boy, were you ever a mistake.’
Anyway. Thanks for the recommendation. I’ve got quite a few ten-year-old boys locked…uh, that is to say happily living of their own accord, in my cellar. Maybe if I gave them Treasure Island to read they’d give the ‘why won’t you let us go? I want my mummy!’ and the scraming and crying routines a rest. It’s driving me crazy. I’ve pretty much got a permanent headache these days. I tell you, kidnapping isn’t the lucrative industry it once way. The unions have wrecked it just like all the rest. Sometimes i don’t know why I even bother.

Oh dear. I’ve fucked up again. I thought I’d posted something by accident above the uh, above post. Hence the mistake thing. Turns out it was just a preview. It wasn’t a reference to you Lokki. Everyone knows you don’t make human errors.

Treasure Island is a very good book to give to boys whom you want to keep locked in the basement…. it has some pretty cold and hard lessons about life, the simple ruthlessness of man, and how easy it is to die.

Wounded as he was, it was wonderful how fast he could move, his grizzled hair tumbling over his face, and his face itself as red as a red ensign with his haste and fury. … One thing I saw plainly: I must not simply retreat before him, or he would speedily hold me boxed into the bows, as a moment since he had so nearly boxed me in the stern. Once so caught, and nine or ten inches of the bloodstained dirk would be my last experience on this side of eternity. I placed my palms against the mainmast, which was of a goodish bigness, and waited, every nerve upon the stretch.

Seeing that I meant to dodge, he also paused; and a moment or two passed in feints on his part, and corresponding movements upon mine. It was such a game as I had often played at home about the rocks of Black Hill Cove; but never before, you may be sure, with such a wildly beating heart as now. Still, as I say, it was a boy’s game, and I thought I could hold my own at it, against an elderly seaman with a wounded thigh. Indeed, my courage had begun to rise so high, that I allowed myself a few darting thoughts on what would be the end of the affair; and while I saw certainly that I could spin it out for long, I saw no hope of any ultimate escape.