September 19th was annual Talk Like a Pirate Day. Evil Editor had a writing contest involving pirate speak ("The task was to write a scene in which you take over for a preacher who just dropped dead, and deliver his sermon . . . on International Talk Like a Pirate Day" 300 words max), and since I haven't had time to put together an original post here I figured I may as well share my entry for yonder competition:
I hobbled up to the front of the room and whirled around. Peg legs offer a convenient pivot point. The parrot on my shoulder dug its talons into my tattered waistcoat as I gripped the sides of the podium.
“Arrgh vey,” I said. I told you I was going to use that line. “It seems me matey Rabbi Cohenbergenstein has walked ye proverbial plank. Now he’s gettin stuffed into Davy Jones’s locker like a wee landlubber on his first day o’ learnin. So now it’s up to me to complete this bris.”
The parrot on my shoulder whistled and squawked, “Polly want a foreskin.”
“At least the bilge rat was kind enough to swab the dick with a wee bit o’ grog,” I said as I drew my cutlass. “It should be as clean as the bung hole on me best barrel o’ rum.”
As I raised the blade and prepared to make the cut, a voice called out for me to stop.
“Avast ye scurvy dog, ‘fore I gets me cat o’ nine tails out. I got work to do,” I scowled, for scowling is an important aspect of pirate-speak. “Aye, well sink me, this little hornpipe ain’t got enough meat to cut.”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you. It’s a girl. This is a baptism, you fool.”
“Well shiver me timbers! This wee one squats on the head to pee. Not even me mateys up in the crow’s nest could ‘ave seen that one comin.”