1:1 I Shortbeard The Pirate, scourge of the Mediterranean, was putting my peg and foot up at a bar/bistro on the southern Sicilian coastline one day taking a much-deserved break after some high-seas piracy.
1:2 Having been sufficiently hungry and thirsty to leave my beloved galleon in the hands of the scurvy-bitten dogs who manned it, if you want to call what they do â€œmanningâ€ a vessel, I found the bistro with its full-service bar irresistible.
1:3 Me nose, long cleared by the briny air, could tell as I ambled up to this bistro, that they werenâ€™t opening boxes of Prince inside. No, these were true servants of our Noodly Master. They painstakingly crafted their noodles by hand.
1:4 Arr, suffice to say, Iâ€™d quickly filled my holds with a huge heaping of pasta goodness, but shiver-me-timbers, half a plate remained. Arr, â€˜twould be many a tide before Iâ€™d taste pasta like this again, for we shoved off in the mornâ€™ to waylay a vessel laden with fancy, new pantaloons, I thought to meself. I decided Iâ€™d sooner eat me own peg off me knee before Iâ€™d leave that plate of spaghetti uneaten! Arr, â€˜twas no good, â€˜twas no room left in me stores.
1:5 Avast ye! No man, woman, federal agent or grammar teacher had ever bested Shortbeard! Now, a plate of pasta was mocking me! Defeated, I reached for me pipe, for me after-dinner smoke. Just then, a serving wench approached. She offered to fill my pipe with a special herb, I call it Holy Oregano. Me shipâ€™s stores were full of tobacco taken from a Spanish ship returning from America, but I dinna wanna offend the wench, for Iâ€™d seen naught but my flea-bitten crew in months.
1:6 I inhaled the acrid herb deeply and coughed mightily. Me good eye even watered. Then, a miracle of our Noodly Master was revealed to me. Despite being stuffed bow to stern with pasta only moments before, a powerful hunger came upon me a-sudden. I devoured the remaining spaghetti and had the wench twice refill the bread basket.
1:7 I carried that wench back to me ship that night, along with her supply of Holy Oregano. I even shared some with my crew, not that the dogs had earned it. The scurvy bastards, after breathing the smoke of the Holy Oregano, promptly tie-dyed me mainsail. When I find the plank, Iâ€™ll make the dogs walk it.
1:8 Avast ye mates, I hold that the Holy Oregano, revealed to me in Sicily, is a miracle of our Noodly Master. I dunno when He created it, before or after the midgit, but by me eye-patch, it must be His work. It is holy unto Him. It allows His people to enjoy more noodly goodness in one sitting. May we partake of the Holy Oregano in honor of our Noodly Master, if ye wish.