Far fetched anecdotes of the sea.

[black bart]

I think Bustlin Brian should make a guest appearance at some point...they did have plumbers in the Regency period didn't they?

[DaveL]

YArrrr...

Indeed, Oi think he's trying to offer her some sort of pipe, most likely of the non-metal variety.

[KenTheFitter]

While in the Navy I learned the difference between a Sea Story and a Fairy Tale: a Fairy Tale starts out " Once upon a time..." and a Sea Story starts out " This is no shit..."

[black bart]

While in the Navy I learned the difference between a Sea Story and a Fairy Tale: a Fairy Tale starts out " Once upon a time..." and a Sea Story starts out " This is no shit..."

Ken...arrrrrrrrrgh...anuther Ken!!!!

Wot be it ye be fittin matey?...if that be not a rude questshun.

[black bart]

Pride and Predjewdice and Pirates.

Now where were we...

Ah yes...

Chapter Three: Darcy's my name and singing's my game



Liz Bennett let out a massive belch as she finished off the last of her Kippers...

Anymore toast Slagface?

A disgruntled Cap'n Slagface scuttled off to the Galley muttering 'Gawd, I ope we finds Darcy soon...that ooman will be thee death o me!'

Suddenly the door burst open and in came Cap'n Slicer prodding a terrified young man with his cutlass...

'Here be Darcy...I found him hanging around thee docks...probably tryin ta get a ship to Jamaica...now then where's Miss Bennett, I wants me 500 Dubloons'

Darcy: Stop prodding me with your instrument you beast...can't a young man join the Navy these days without being harassed?'

Darcy is prodded over to Miss Bennetts table where Slicer demands his cash...

Bennett: I would most certainly furnish you with the agreed fee Captain if this personage was indeed the aforementioned Mr Darcy.

Slicer: He said his name was Darcy...I'll Keel haul the blaggard!

The terrified young man spoke up:

My name IS Darcy...Elton Darcy...ooohhhh look...a pianoforte...

and before ye could say 'Cap'n Cronan, Elton was over at the keyboard tinkling the delicate ivories with a medley of his own compositions:

Oh pray do not give us more aggravation
One's had it with one's discipline
Saturday Night's alright for fighting
Get a spot of action in...

And it seems to one
One's lived one's life
Like a candle on the Pianoforte in the wind
Never knowing which way to turn when the cabin boy came in...

Daniel my brother
You had more hair than me
Do you still use a comb
or need a wig like me...

Elton went down a storm with the Pirates and was signed up to play the Benbow every Saturday Night. Meanwhile down at the docks...a desperate man called Darcy was trying to book a passage to India...

To be continued.

[bacon]

[Roy Hunter]

Here's a little mystery for Friday the 13th:

The Hound of the Beakervilles.

T'was a dark and stormy night. Not a soul was abroad, apart from all the foreigners, who live there anyway. The rain bounced off the cobbles of Baker Street, Portsmouth, and the wind rattled the shutters of the house at number 221B, home of Portsmouth's most famous investigator, Detective TurtleHolmes.

"I say TurtleHolmes," said Doctor BlackBart "It sounds like you're strangling a cat!".
"Strewth, that I am, mate!" quoth the great detective, "The little bugger's only gone and hidden me violin! I told him I use nylon strings, but the stupid galah doesn't listen, does he?"

At that juncture, the doorbell rang. "Tell you what, cobber," the half-shelled sleuth opined, "that will be a pom with a limp at the door, bringing us a new case. Reckon he might have a banana in his ear, too."
"Good Flying Spaghetti Monster, TurtleHolmes! How on Earth do you deduce that?" exclaimed the reknowned doctor of piracy and graphic design.

"No worries, Doc. I could tell he was a pom, cos only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midnight rain. I could tell he's got a limp by the asymmetrical splashing of his footsteps on the pavement. And he's bringing us a new case because... well why the hell else would he be ringing my doorbell at this time of night?"
"And the banana in his ear?"
"Lucky guess, I reckon."

A knock at the door interrupted the conversation. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson-Baycompany? What is it?" said TurtleHolmes.
"Excuse me, gentlemen, but Sir Henry Beakerville has called" said the dour, Scottish housekeeper.
"Show him in, Mrs. Hudson-Baycompany, show him in!" A slightly singed-looking gentleman in a dinner jacket and white coat entered the room. He carried a walking stick decorated with flames, and walked with a limp. He also appeared to have half a banana in his right ear. The housekeeper withdrew and closed the door.

"G'day mate! Like the penguin suit," said the detective, "Fancy a tinnie?"
"Thank you, no." said Beakerville, "Gentlemen, I need to speak to you urgently. It is quite possibly a matter of life or death, and I fear that... I fear that... Do you know what? I think I will have that beer after all."

Once he was a little more 'refreshed' than he had already been on his arrival, Beakerville continued. "My father was Sir Berzelius Beaker, the chemical magnate. My mother was a Welsh goatherder named Gwyneth Daft. No doubt you will have heard about my father's death in a bizarre cycling-with-fireworks accident a few years ago?

When he died, I adopted my mother's name as well, and for a short while became Sir Henry Daft-Beakerville. Unfortunately, this scandalised my extended family, who disowned me. I went to live with my mother, who unfortunately passed away shortly afterwards in a tragic rugby-team-drinking-game accident. That left me with nothing but my mother's goats, a blood feud with my father's family, and an offer to study Chemistry at Bristol."

"In the course of my studies, I happened upon a marvellous formula, little less than a miracle I tell you. I can, for a matter of a few pennies, cure any hangover, regardless of what or how much you have drunk the night before."
"Great Scott!" exclaimed BlackBart.
"No, I'm English. Please remember that, it's an important plot device." said Beakerville. "Anyway, I am being plagued, I am being hunted by a terrible beast the like of which I cannot begin to tell you. It pursues me by day, and haunts my dreams by night. It must be connected to my father's family."

"Tell me what you can about this beast." said TurtleHolmes. Beakerville took another pull on his can, to steel his nerves..
"Well it is black in colour, it emits a foul stench, and it has an insatiable appetite for footwear. More than that I cannot say."
"What does it sound like?" asked the detective.
"It's hard to say." said Beakerville.
"Try and describe it..."
"No, no you mis-understand me." said Beakerville, "I can hear it just fine, it's just hard to pronounce what it says. It sounds a bit like 'Och... forbye, ye ken... a wee but 'n' ben in the gloaming... I'll ha'e a wee dram... Aye... Parrrrtick Thussul..."

"There's no time to lose!" cried the detective, "Doctor! Do you have your service cutlass?"
"Yes, TurtleHolmes, and I've also got a Swann Morton number 4 blade and some spray mount, just in case anyone needs a quick layout done." said the good doctor, "Where are we going?"
"To a shoe shop, my dear doctor, to a shoe shop." With that, they ran out into the night, leaving a delighted Beakerville with the rest of the cans.

The intrepid duo skidded to a halt outside the nearest shoe shop. "BlackBart, go in there and get me a pair of tartan Doc Martens. Get a recipt and claim it back on expenses. Reckon they might be tax-deductible too, mate." said the detective, "I'll go and buy the dog food."
"TurtleHolmes, have you lost your mind? Tartan boots? Dog food? What is going on?" exclaimed the doctor.
"All in good time, doctor, all in good time."

By the time Doctor BlackBart returned with the spurious footwear, Detective Turtleholmes was opening a can of the cheapest, nastiest dog food available. "Pesto be upon me, TurtleHolmes, that smells disgusting!" opined the doctor, "Couldn't you afford anything better?"
"You got to think like your quarry, mate, that's how you catch a dingo." said the detective, slightly obscurely. Turtleholmes started spooning the malodorous mystery meat into the pristine footwear, causing BlackBart to gasp in astonishment, but he said nothing. Then the detective tied the bootlaces together, and hung the boots over a nearby washing line. "And now, my dear doctor," said the detective, "we wait."

The chill wind blew in off the Channel, biting deep into the doctor's bones. He shivered, and blew into his cupped hands to keep them warm. Turtleholmes, however, remained motionless and dispassionate, using the legendary physical and mental discipline of the ninja to disregard the physical adversity of their situation. Just then, the town fell eerily silent. No drunks moaned or sang, no dogs barked, no babies cried. The wind died. A faint mist started to appear in the drying green, eventually obscuring the hanging boots from view. TurtleHolmes tensed, "Here comes trouble," he whispered, "like Earl's Court on a Saturday night."

Suddenly, without warning, TurtleHolmes leapt towards the washing line, disappearing from the doctor's view. A terrible growling and snarling came from the mist-shrouded darkness. "What's going on, TurtleHolmes? What's going on?" cried BlackBart, fingering the hilt of his trusty cutlass.
"He's got me!" cried the detective, "He's got me! He's got me... Blundstone boots! And they cost me a bloody packet, too!" TurtleHolmes appeared out of the mist, carrying a very small black-and-white dog, which was busily chewing on one of his boots. "Come BlackBart! We must get back to Baker Street immediately!"

Avoiding the first cab on the rank, they jumped into the second cab on the rank. Then they got out of that one and got into the third cab on the rank, since the second cab on the rank "wasn't going to go north of the river at this time of night". When they got back to 221B Baker Street, the house was in darkness. "Come, BlackBart! I hope we're not too late!" cried the detective as he leapt down from the cab and ran towards the house.

"Turn on the light!" whispered Detective TurtleHolmes, as he inched along the hallway.
"What do you mean?" hissed BlackBart, "It's 1752, we don't have lights, we use candles!" The detective stopped.
"Really? I thought it was 1848. No matter! Press on!"
"Well if it's 1848, how come Basil Rathbone played you in all those World War II movies? World War II was from 1939 to 1945!"
"That's a topic for Serious Discussion, or Art & Artistic Interpretations, not Pirates, BlackBart! Come on, the game's afoot!"

The pair burst into TurtleHolmes' parlour, Doctor BlackBart with his service cutlass on point. A shadowy figure was standing over the drunken sleeping form of Sir Henry Beakerville. "Stop right there!" cried BlackBart, "The game's up!"
"Whatever do you mean, Doctor BlackBart?" said Mrs. Hudson-Baycompany, lighting a candle, "I am merely clearing up after the good detective. There's nothing to see here." Suddenly, from under the candlewick on the sofa, there erupted a shadowy form with ninja-like skill, pinning Mrs. Hudson-Baycompany to the floor. "Not so fast!" cried Detective TurtleHolmes, "You are discovered, you rogue! You scoundrel! You bloody skirt-wearing bastard!"

Mrs. Hudson-Baycompany threw off the detective, as if he were some diminutive antipodean gingerist, and running to the window, she threw herself out of it. "Great Scott, TurtleHolmes!" cried the doctor.
"Exactly!" exclaimed the detective, and sprinted for the door. As they pursued Mrs. Hudson-Baycompany along Baker Street, TurtleHolmes cried "BlackBart! Do you have your service cutlass?"
"Yes!" shouted BlackBart "And a hooky product key for Photoshop CS4, just in case!"
"Where are we going?" shouted the suddenly re-animated Beakerville, and gave chase.

Mrs. Hudson-Baycompany ran around the corner into Marylebone Road, and inexplicably fell over a herd of young goats. "Got you, Mrs. Hudson-Baycompany!" exclaimed TurtleHolmes, as he pounced, "Or should I say... The Pictish Ruffian of Portsmouth!". TurtleHolmes pulled at the back of Mrs. Hudson-Baycompany's head, removing her latex mask, and exposing her to actually be The Mystery Scotsman who had terrorised Portsmouth a number of months earlier. "Remarkable!" cried BlackBart, "However did you manage to figure it out?"
"No worries, mate." said the good detective, "Allow me to explain..."

"Beakerville had discovered a very valuable thing in a hangover cure, so the obvious protagonists would be the Scots. They love a good hangover almost as much as they love a hangover cure. The awful smell associated with the beast obviously correlated with the Scots' meanness as regards feeding their animal companions. That meant that it had to be a Scot behind it, and the only Scot who has shown up in the story so far has been Mrs. Hudson-Baycompany. So, Mystery Scotsman, what do you make of that analysis?"
"Aye, forbye maybe it's no too bad at'aaaaaa..." said the Scotsman, "Ah ha'e some shares in the Irn Bru company, and a good hangover cure wid destroy ma pension plan, d'ye ken?"
"Remarkable!" cried BlackBart, "Well done TurtleHolmes! But what about the goats?"
"Oh, they are the offspring of my mother's herd." said Beakerville, "I tethered them round the corner when I came to see you."
"So it's all explained!" cried BlackBart.
"Aye, weel done detective!" said the Mystery Scotsman," And dae ye ken whit? Ah wid huv got away with it... if it hudnae been fur thae pesky kids!"

[pieces o'nine]

Pride and Predjewdice and Pirates.

Reejentsy Pants on Elton Darcy!


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Hound of the Beakervilles.

This be a furze-rayte werke ov 'arrrhd-boyled fikshun, Roy!

[DaveL]

YArrrr...

Nice werke Roy!

[black bart]

There's life in the Pirate Board yet.

Thanks for that brilliant tale Roy, I'm going to print it out and show to the infamous Long Winded Tale exponent, The Black Spot who keeps promising he'll make a come back with a new tale of his own. It's worth looking back at some of the early tales in this thread because some of them are hilarious.

I never guessed it was the dour Scottish Housekeeper!

[black bart]

The Mystery of the Speckled Lollpop

Serialized in several Parts in the Illustrated Portsmouth News 1890.

A story for gentlemen.

Part One

"Strewth," said Detective TurtleHolmes as he gazed out of the window of 221B Baker Street, Portsmouth, "another dark and stormy night...that's it cobber, I'm taking a holiday back in Oz, I'm leaving you in charge Doctor, I'll be back in about 6 years." Doctor BlackBart dropped his copy of Macworld in horror..."But Holmes...how will I cope?" asked the flummoxed welshman.

TurtleHolmes took a swig of his Laudanum and Brasso chaser and said: "No worries mate...I'm leaving you an able assistant. Anyway, with the Mad Scotsman, the Belligerent Belgian and the Cardiff Slasher all locked up in Dartmoor prison, there shouldn't be much trouble....I'll see you in a few years...bye" With that TurtleHolmes was in a Handsome cab and on his way to Southampton.

The good Doctor BlackBart gazed out into the stormy night deep in thought...'who could this able assistant be; TurtleHolmes's younger smarter brother, Ginger? TurtleHolmes's gorgeous elder half sister Lara MyCroft Holmes...'yes, yes...let be her' muttered the Doctor, 'I could do with a bit of female company .'

There was a tap on door (the plumber had a silly sense of humour) and the Housekeeper Mrs Twistypuss entered to announce a visitor... "ere Doctor, cough, cough, phlegm, gor blimey" said Mrs Twistypuss, "TurtleHolmes said I was to hintroduce you to your new assistant forthwith..."

Doctor BlackBart was consumed with expectation...Lara was a gorgeous, intelligent, rich young woman...he checked his appearance in the dressing mirror...not bad he thought adjusting his service cutlass and standing just to the left of his gleaming Devilbus Airbrush Compressor...

"Would you be so kind as to let Miss MyCroft Holmes in my good woman" "Blimey" said Mrs Twistypuss, "She's changed a bit since we last saw her...ahem." The door swung open and there stood a strange looking lad in a Pirate outfit, with a huge lollypop in his mouth..."fank ye ye welcome" spake the urchin, for it was none other than Nef Yoo Blackbeard!!!

Two days later Doctor BlackBart had been released from the hospital for nervous disorders, and was gazing longingly at the laudanum bottle. Nef Yoo was playing with the puppy which TurtleHolmes had rescued in a previous adventure..."uncle Farty" said Nef Yoo, "dis Bilge Rat's got fleas an I deduce that he had cheap doggy food for his dinner becos he's just done a really smelly poo poo on Mrs Twisytpuss's best rug." Doctor BlackBart drew his service cutlass and was just about to slice off Nef Yoo's head when Mrs Twistpuss's timely intervention prevented the early demise of such a promising young sleuth...there was a visitor at the door, heralding the first case for the new team of Doctor BlackBart and Nef Yoo Blackbeard...

To be continued

[Ubi Dubius]

[bacon]

wonderful work gentlemen

of course, i'm always happy to read installments of pride, prejudice and pirates

the hound of beakersville was brilliant - an obvious inspired piece of work

the second installment was very funny as well

bravo i say! bravo!

[Roy Hunter]

The Mystery of the Speckled Lollypop - continued.

It seemed to the residents of Portsmouth that a large, disembodied hat was driving the powerful Aston Martin through the streets of the town, but they would have been wrong. As the car drew to a halt with a squeal of brakes and the dying snarl of its supercharged engine, the car door opened, and a small child in a nappy and disproportionately large hat climbed down (backwards) from the driver's seat. Nef Yoo BlackBeard, that most famous of spies, toddled into the office of Universal Exports at 221B Baker Street.

Nef Yoo threw his Jyint Deerstalker across the room, where it landed squarely on the hatstand. "Hallo, Missus TwistyPenny!" said Nef Yoo, "Yer looken luvverly terday. Hi ber-leev BB was lookin fer me?"
The elegantly coiffured Missus TwistyPenny raised an eyebrow "Oh, Nef Yoo... Why do you persist with this flirting? You're three years old. Go and play with lego or something. Yes, BB is expecting you. You can take in his tea, and don't forget the cookies".
"Fank ye, ye welkum!" said Nef Yoo, picked up the tea and cookies, and entered the office.

"Goo monnen, sur!" said Nef Yoo, as he placed the tea on the desk and waited. As usual, BB was sitting in his high-backed leather chair, facing the window. Sometimes the old man would keep Nef Yoo waiting for minutes at a time. Sometimes Nef Yoo wondered if he was actually asleep. "Ah... Oh No Seven... I've been expecting you" said a voice from the chair. The chair rotated, to show that BB was indeed awake. BB was a stocky, shaven-pated man, with an eye-patch as a souvenir to remind him of the perils of running in a graphics studio whilst carrying scissors. In his lap was a small black-and-white

dog, which was chewing a brown leather brogue from Gieves & Hawkes of Savile Row. BB was the head of Portsmouth Intelligence and Surveillance Service: PISS. "Tell me, Oh No Seven," said BB, "What do you know about an organisation called... The Royal Navy?"
"The Royle Nay-vee, sur?" Nef Yoo thought for a moment. "Dey be ha igh-lee danger-us seecrit organ-i-say-shun. Noe honnist, lore-abye-den pyrit wot crossis they path has live ter tell thee tale, sur. Dey high-lee roof-less an' heevil."
"I want you to infiltrate The Royal Navy, Oh No Seven, and destroy their organisation. You're going to need some equipment." 'BB' pressed a button on the intercom. "Mrs. TwistyPenny, would you send in the armourer please?"

There was a knock at the door. BB said "Come!", and the door opened.
"OOOOOHHHHhhhh!!!! Hello, me dearie! How are ye, me little darrrrlin?" said the buxom and hirsute armourer. "How's them ships biscuits? Not givin' yer too many floggin's are they me dear?"
"Hallo, An-tee!" said Nef Yoo.
"Ooohh, now me darrrrlin, ye musssn't be callin' me Auntie when we're at work, ye muss call me by me codename. I work for BB, and I'm in Q division, so that makes me BBQ." BB harrumphed a bit, and his little dog started to growl. The armourer continued, "Now then, my special darrrlin', ye'll be needin' some new gizmos and sech. This is an explodin' diaper, this is a satellite homing device that fits under yer jyint hat, and of course you'll need a firearm. I have paaarrrrsonally selected this one for ye, me dear: it's a Walther PKMKII. Now off you toddle, me daaarrrrrrlin'!"

"Hallo, Missus TwistyPenny! Hi back agin!" said Nef Yoo. "Duz yer have any orders or sumfin fer me?"
"Yes, Oh No Seven. Here's a cookie. Try not to get shot, keel-hauled or press-ganged, will you?" said TwistyPenny.
"Hokay, Hi see yer layter, alley-gaiter." Nef Yoo picked up his Jyint Hat and left.

Nef Yoo reached into the glove compartment of the Aston, and pulled out a fresh lolly. He liked a good lolly before dinner, just to get a bit of a buzz, but he wasn't some obese sugar addict who couldn't leave it alone. He knew what he had to do now. Despite TwistyPenny's protestations, if he was going to infiltrate The Royal Navy, he was going to have to appear to be a law-abiding pirate, and that meant getting drunk and getting press-ganged. Nef Yoo headed down to the dockside.

To be continued...

[pieces o'nine]

Yarrrgh! This be a hex sitin tale, wiv plot twists wervy of Cap'n O'Ennery.