Far fetched anecdotes of the sea.

Arrr, I be a pirate!

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Postby DaveL on Thu Sep 27, 2007 7:55 am

Argghhh, if Oi have to lock another of his threads there will be hell to pay.
What bit of the Salty Tale don't he get? It's all getting too Taichi like for me.

Oi haven't written a good tale for a while either.
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Tales

Postby black bart on Thu Sep 27, 2007 8:24 am

Arrrrrrr, thar be plenty o hinspiration fer ye Dave...

Thar be:

Tiddles the Cat
Ronny the Bilge Rat (deceased)
Harry Shovel, Rat hunter.
Hackles the Dog
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Postby The wench on Thu Sep 27, 2007 12:21 pm

black bart,
I was just wondering... what's a bloke ? If this means ignorant idiot... then you are sooo right about that. FSB is that and alot more.
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Bloke

Postby black bart on Fri Sep 28, 2007 10:58 am

Arrrrrrrrr...er, I can but agree with ye there lass!

Bloke is an outdated and yet still used British term for a man...not necessarily a stupid one.
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Flashman

Postby black bart on Mon Oct 29, 2007 6:54 am

I reproduce here a small extract from George MacDonald Fraser's Flash for Freedom. It gives a glimpse of life at sea in the nineteenth century which seems rather familiar.

Next man in was no half-wit, but a nimble little ferret of a ship's boy with a loose lip and a cast in one eye. He gave me a shifty grin and sniffed at the spilled gruel.

"Looney didn't 'ave no luck, did 'e?" says he. "I told 'em gruel wouldn't go
down, no'ow."

I told him to go to blazes and leave me alone.

"Feelin' groggy, eh?" says he, moving towards the bunk. "Grub's no good ter you, mate. Tell yer wot; I'll get in bed wiv yer for a shillin'."

"Get out, you dirty little b******d," says I, for I knew his kind; Rugby had been crawling with 'em. "I'd sooner have your great-grandmother."

"Snooks!" says he, putting out his tongue, "You'll sing a different tune after three months at sea an' not a wench in sight. It'll be two bob then!"
The smoke wafted gently in the breeze across the poop deck and all seemed right in the world.
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Postby Detective TurtleHolmes on Thu Dec 20, 2007 11:37 am

Tale Of The Pirate Who Was Just A Head

Yarr, it was just before midnight, that a pirate who was just a head was carried by 'is father into me tavern. 'E told me that as 'e 'ad just turned eighteen, he was legally allowed to purchase rum.

I adjusted me eyepatch, put doon the mug I was polishin', and fetched 'im one. After 'e took 'is first sip, lo and behold, 'is torso popped out of his head! Why, Oi wuz as amazed as the first toime oi saw me first cannon. Finally, I told him when me mouth started workin' again,
"Well, man, take another sip!"
And then both of 'is arms popped out! For the first time in 'is life, 'e saw 'is hands! So he took anoither sip, and his legs popped out!

'E was so happy, and so was 'is old man that 'e stood up, if shakily, and ran out the door, cheering!

Unfortunately, 'e was run over by an oncoming cart, and splattered all over the cobblestones.

So I said to 'is old man, who was gaping over the remains of his son,
"Your boy should 'ave quit while 'e was a head.

THE END.

Yarr yar yar yar yar. (piratey laugh)
A flap of the wings yesterday means big changes tomorrow.
Let's work together to keep the present inevitable.

So yeah, I went and got a blog.
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Head

Postby black bart on Fri Dec 21, 2007 5:53 pm

Quit while he was a head...harr, harr, harr...nice one matey ye should teach Walktheplank how to tell a tale...I didn't fall asleep once during that one.
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Postby Mad Willyum Bonney on Wed Jan 16, 2008 12:56 am

ARGH! Avast ! ware be thee scribes and recontours ? ARGH !
Remembering St. John
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Remembering times of innocence
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Groggy

Postby black bart on Wed Jan 23, 2008 10:29 pm

As I ave said afore...it takes toim and effort ta write down yer true life adventures. I be tryin to remember one at the moment...

More Grog Landlord! :wink:
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The cabin boy's tale

Postby black bart on Fri Jan 25, 2008 7:30 pm

The cabin boy's tale

Arrrrr, this be a true tale if me name’s not Wee Willy the cabin boy.

Twere many a year ago I wuz Walktheplank’s cabin boy on a long voyage to the Indies. The crew were an unhappy bunch. Having sailed with Cap’n Plank before, they did nothin but grumble about his wigs taking up more room in the hold than the vittles, grog and treasure.

For my own part I found Cap’n Plank to be a hard but fair Captain. While tis true he thrashed me within an inch o my life for steelin a weevily biscuit, and I spent long sections of the voyage scrubbin his wigs clean, but he were loik a second daddy to me (marginally worse than me first daddy wot I’d left behind in the ‘debtors prison for murdering psycopaths’ in Portsmouth).

Then one noight the Cap’n gathered the entire crew together on the deck. Ha ha, I thought, we’ll ave some rum and sea shanties to elp pass the stormy night.

But as I looked around I could see that the crew looked restless, in fact I’ve never seen a more worried group of men. I asked the First mate what everyone was lookin so miserable about. ‘Ye gods,’ said the man, ‘don’t ye know what’s comin...the Captain’s goin ta...Oh may Neptune preserve us...he’s goin ta make us listen to one of his Sea farin Tales!!!’

Bein a newcomer I looked bemused...what could be so awful about being told a story?...

There was the sound of prayers being whispered...and then he began...

There were groans from the crew as Walktheplank began his Tale. About two minutes into the prologue, four of the men jumped overboard and another took out his pistol and shot himself.

This was one of Cap’n Planks longer tales and by the conclusion, four hours later, the crew was completely decimated. Only the First mate, who lay, writhing at full length upon the deck and myself remained alive.

There is no doubt that but for a fortunate incident earlier in the voyage, where a cannon had backfired rendering me profoundly deaf, I would have also succumbed to the agonies of this experience.

As for Captain Planky...when he had finished the devestating performance of his oratory, he looked up from his parchment and gazed at the carnage on deck....’Yaaarrrgh’, he said, ‘That went down well for a change’.
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A Fist Full of Cronans

Postby black bart on Tue Feb 19, 2008 7:42 am

Image

I’m a Pirate and I aint ashamed of it. But the day I walked into Portsmouth I could tell it was a bad town with a black heart. As I walked up the high street a dog came running out The Admiral Benbow Inn with a man’s hand clenched in it’s teeth! Still had a tankard of grog clutched in the dead podgy fingers!

I’ve seen plenty of bad things in my day so I walked into that Inn with my hand poised on my pistol. As I walked through the door, everything seemed to stop, including the music (some wretched old soak had been singin a tuneless rendition of ‘Pirgella.’) I took in the scene through my cruelest narrow eyed stare. The blackest lookin rogues this side of hell stared back at me and the whole place stank of trouble, grog and bad pies!

I walked up to the bar and ordered some grog. It wasn’t long before the bartender was telling me about the town’s two feuding gangs. On one side there was the Black Spot’s gang , known as ‘Black’s Seven’ and on the other the ‘El Rollos’ a band of Spanish cutthroats who smoked Camberwell Carrots.

An idea came to me like a Flash of Gold in a Buccaneer’s teeth. I could play the two gangs against each other, clean up the town and earn myself some booty in the process. I thanked the bartender for the information. He seemed like a decent enough kind of guy and I guessed there were other decent people living in this hell hole. I took a room upstairs.

The next day I introduced myself to the infamous Black Spot, offering my services as a hired gun. The wily Old Bastard was suspicious but I was introduced to the other members of Black’s Seven: Black Bart, the cook (offered me some foul smellin stew), Walktheplank, the barber (I figured he cut a lot more than hair), Dave ( I asked him if he had another name but he said he was The Man with No Name except Dave), Mad William (he really was mad), Pieces O’Nine (money laundering expert), and Cap’n Turtlehead (explosives expert).

‘We has a job for you’, said The Black Spot, ‘we wants you to kidnap Mayor Liversausage.’ Do this and we’ll cut ye in for a slice of our action.

Now kidnapping aint my game, but on this occasion it turned out the Mayor was used to being chained up in a dark room...some might even say he enjoyed it! With Liversausage trussed up like a sack of potatoes, I delivered the ransom note to the Town Hall. 5,000 Cronans, Liversausage must be a pretty important guy and his people duly payed up. With the money being left in a bag on a ship in the docks, all I had to do now was let the El Rollos know and then sit back and watch the fireworks.

To be continued.
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Thirsty

Postby black bart on Sat Mar 15, 2008 11:00 am

I be workin on Part two o this adventure...tis thirsty work tellin Far fetched Tales.
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Postby Auntie Blackbeard on Sat Mar 15, 2008 3:38 pm

Ol auntie jes wans ye all to know ye be bringin a tear to the old eyes wif theses luverly stories o tha days o old

jus luverly
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Postby DaveL on Sat Mar 15, 2008 5:02 pm

Yarrrr!

It be soundin' pretty good so far Barty!
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Postby Detective TurtleHolmes on Sun Mar 16, 2008 6:00 am

Aargh, that be a noice story so far, matey!

Oi'm gonna 'ave ta write wunna me own soon.
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Let's work together to keep the present inevitable.

So yeah, I went and got a blog.
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