Far fetched anecdotes of the sea.

Arrr, I be a pirate!

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Smoke

Postby black bart on Tue Mar 18, 2008 9:23 am

Arrrr, I be just waitin fer the smoke ta clear over the battlefield ta see who be left aloive.

We could make one o them hinteractive adventures like wot ye used ta get...throw a dice an move ta page 15...does ye take yer cook or yer amourer wiv yer?

I had one once twere called 'Space Quest' or somat...wot a load o bollocks!
The smoke wafted gently in the breeze across the poop deck and all seemed right in the world.
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Postby PantyGnawer on Tue Mar 25, 2008 3:02 am

PG sneaks in and steals all your rum
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Treasure

Postby black bart on Tue Apr 01, 2008 10:37 am

Another tale of ...Capn Cronan's Treasure

YYYAAARRRRRR many's the young pirate what's dreamed of findin Cap'n Cronan's Treasure. The man who came closest however was a young Irish barman at 'The Admiral Benbow'. Night after night he watched Cronan drink his grog and boast of his exploits, telling tales of riches unimaginable.

'YYYYAARRR', growled the fearsome Cronan, 'I've got barrels o Belgian Ale so strong it would souse a Spanish Armada and an Old Nick bottle stuffed to the brim with Capn's Delight vouchers!'

No one believed these far fetched ramblings, especially as Cronan never arrived sober, and left even the worse for wear! But the young Irishman had other ideas, he was sick of Guiness and he dreamed of setting himself up in his own Inn, selling Belgian Beer and Captain's delight by the gallon.

So one night, as Capn Cronan staggered out into the Fog, the Irish barman followed. As the thick fog swirled around them the Irishman could only keep track of Cronan from the clack, clack of his peg leg on the cobbles and from his drunken singing:

"I guess now it's time for me to give up
YAARRR I feel it's time
Got a picture of you beside me
Got you're lipstick mark still on your grog cup
Got a fist of pure emotion
Got a head of shattered dreams
Gotta leave it, gotta leave it all behind now"

The Irishman could barely stand the stultifying noise of Cronan's singing...but his dream of finding the treasure somehow drove him on. Suddenly the footsteps stopped and the sound of Cronan opening a creeking door made the Irishman's heart leap...could this be where the captain kept his treasure? The Irishman slipped inside the door just behind Cronan and found himself in a darkened room and the strange thing was...it was still full of fog!

Suddenly the lights came on and there was Capn Cronan staring straight at the poor Irish fellar from his one terrifying eye!

'YYYYAAARRRR', said Cronan, 'Arter me Treasure were ye, yer swab? Ye'd better have a good excuse why ye was followin me or I'll Keel haul ye, hang ye from the yard arm and slit yer gizzard!'

The Irishman backed against the wall in terror, barely able to think...then it came to him in a flash:

'Sorry Mr Cronan Sir...I thought you was Henry Kelly!'

He was never seen again...
The smoke wafted gently in the breeze across the poop deck and all seemed right in the world.
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Postby The Black Spot on Tue Apr 01, 2008 11:00 am

A Marvellous tale me hearty.

Wouldn't ye know it, no far fetched tales fer ages, an then two arrive together...




Gristle, and I'll Come to You My Lad.

Well, we wuz in the Admiral Benbow one night doin' the Quiz. It were gettin' near the end, an there we were scratchin' our 'eads lookin' at a blank answer sheet. I were about to tear the bluddy thing up an' get another round in when Tom the landlord came along wi' a plate o' sandwiches an' asked if we wanted any.

Now, I usually tells Tom where 'ee can shove 'is bastid sandwiches, but that night I weren't thinkin' straight coz Plank were tellin' me one o' his long winded stories. I took one, an were actually about to take a bite from it when I regained me senses. I peered at the strange, sticky sandwich wi' its curled up edges an' wondered what were inside it. I peeled back the curly top slice an' looked at the fillin. There were a strange meaty susbstance inside that were smeared wi' what looked like bright red snot. I pulled the meaty bit out an' looked at it.

It were odd. Tweren't really meat at all -- twere a slab o' solid gristle that had a few flecks o' meat in it. The gristle were a funny yellowy grey colour that turned dark orange when the light caught it. I held it up in front o' Bart's nose.

"What do ye think this is?" I sed.

"Arrr, looks like the usual crap," sed Bart. Ee were right o' course, but it'd got me thinkin'.

"No, I mean what animal do ye thinks this came from?"

"A dead one," sed Bart.

Waste o' time talkin' to that idiot, thinks I. I sniffed it - it didn't smell like a sheep or a cow or a pig; just smelled 'orrible. Now, I weren't too 'appy about this - I'd nearly bin poisoned by this sandwich, an I were goin' to find out which bastid were responsible. I called the Landlord over.

"Tom," I sez. "'Ow old's this 'ere meat?"

"Fresh today," said Tom. "Marvellous stuff." Now, I knew Tom were too stupid ter lie properly, so 'ee were tellin' the truth. That was 'im saved from a sudden death at least.

"Where'd ye buy it from?" I asked. Tom pointed in the direction of Big Ron the Butcher - I might've known.

I walked over. "Ron," I sez. "Where'd this meat come from?" Ron looked up from 'is plate an swallowed a big mouthful o' pie.

"Oh, you like my meat do you?" he said. "Lots of people have said how much they enjoy getting my meat in their mouth. Come around to my shop tomorrow and have a look at the huge sausage that I have. It'll..."

I sighed. It were always difficult talkin' to someone from the Salty Tale. "Ron!" I sez. "Where'd ye get it from?"

"Why, from Farmer Jones of course. Oh, did I tell you about the time Farmer Jones had some ducklings he was trying to give away? He said to the deaf nurse "'ello darlin, fancy a duck?" and she..."

I left Big Ron jabberin' on about sausages, choppers, dumplings an' whatnot an' set off. I were goin' to see Farmer Jones.

*****

Farmer Jones's place were on top o' the White Cliffs of Portsmouth. Rumour were that all the local farmers did some wreckin' in their spare time. They'd walk along the cliff tops swingin' a lantern, an' lure ships onto the rocks. Trouble was, the cliff was so steep that by the time they'd climbed down to the beach, the ship an' its cargo 'ad bin long washed away. Stupid bastids. Explained why they were all so poor. There was a ghastly stink o' boiled fat in the air.

I walked up to Jones's shack an' banged on the door. After a moments it opened a couple of inches.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

I booted the door open an' held the gristle under Jones's nose. "Are ye the blaggard responsible fer this?" I shouted.

"Ah, you'd better come in," said Jones, which were a little pointless as we were already about ten feet inside the shack.

I tried again. "Have you bin sellin' this stuff?"

"Why yes," said Jones. "Would you like to place an order?"

"An order!"

"Yes," said Jones. This is a very popular product. All the pubs and cafes round here can't get enough of it. They--"

"But look at it!" I shouted. He studied it fer a moment.

"Is this from the Admiral Benbow? I thought so - Tom always asks for the best."

"The best? The BEST?"

"Come and see the herd," said Jones. He led me to the barn next door, an the rottin' greasy smell got worse an worse. 'Ee opened the barn doors an a thick smell o' oily fat hit me nose like a mallet. There were 'orrible noises too - like wellington boots being pulled out o' thick mud. Jones lit a lantern. "Here they are," he said.

'Ow does I describe what were in the pens? Imagine a horse-sized slug wi' four legs an' a snout snufflin' around a trough o' snot; that may give ye some idea. I turned to Jones.

"What the bluddy hell be these things?"

"I don't really know," said Jones. "I found a couple of them on the beach one day - from a wrecked ship they were. They seem to like slime though - perhaps they were bred to clean out bilges. I don't know, perhaps they were bred as food animals."

I stared at the putrid, slime suckin' bastids. "Have ye no idea where they came from?"

"Not really," said Jones. "The only clue would be an empty crate I found nearby that had "BB Industries" stencilled on the side."

I buttoned up me coat an' headed for the door. "Where are you going?" asked Jones.

"Back to the Benbow," I sed. "There be someone there I wants a word with."
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Gristle

Postby black bart on Tue Apr 01, 2008 11:06 am

Well it was worth the wait... :D

I'll chew carefully on my gristle sandwich ternight!
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Postby anthrobabe on Tue Apr 01, 2008 1:54 pm

do this hexplain why someone be tryin to hide between the case of "processed cheese product" and case of "shrimp pot noodle" in the storeroom?
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Sandwiches

Postby black bart on Wed Apr 02, 2008 6:33 am

Lets be quite clear about the sort of sandwiches we are talking about here...these are the Admiral Benbow's best sandwiches:

Image

they've gone downhill since then!
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Postby The Black Spot on Wed Apr 02, 2008 7:02 am

Gah, ye fiend! I remembers them sandwiches.

Mind you, the ones that turned up last night were worthy of a place in the chamber of horrors.
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Gristle

Postby black bart on Wed Apr 02, 2008 8:06 am

I had nightmares about em...

Attack of the Fifty foot Red Cow Gristle Sandwich!
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The Lost Library of Los Windos

Postby black bart on Wed Apr 02, 2008 8:19 am

Captain Bungo and The Lost Library of Los Windos

Many years after the Spanish Conquistador Hernan Cortez had wiped the Aztec Empire off the map we sailed to South America in search of Eldorado.

The Captain's Log

Day 12

Jungle to the left, swamps to the right, men falling to the left and right, some from poisoned darts but most from the worst case of the shits I've ever seen...we should never have eaten those fishy Tacos!

How did Cortez do it?

Day 14

Discovered the skeleton of an old conquistador which seemed to be pointing the way to Eldorado with it's bony outstretched arm. A sign sticking out of the skeleton's teeth read:

'This way to The Land that Time forgot...Don't eat the fishy tacos or the gristle sandwiches.'


Day 16

At last we emerged from the terrible jungle onto a plateau. Here we found an amazing 'land that time forgot.' The villagers had never seen a white man and it was clear they had the blood of Montezuma running in their veins...as unfortunately did most of my men after eating those tacos!

Day 17

The villagers offered us a day trip to Cancun including lunch and all the cocktails we could drink. The men were up for it but I reminded them we had come for GOLD and Riches beyond our wildest dreams!

Day 18

I cannot understand why Cortez treated this people with such cruelty, they are wonderful hosts and have promised to show us their secret temple...which surely must be where they keep the GOLD!

Day 19

The villagers put on a display of exotic nude dancing. The grace and elegance of the dance was only matched by the flowing silky hair...all down their backs, none on their heads.

I asked chief Tescoquetzaltaco: "Are the women as graceful?"

Tescoquetzaltaco: "These ARE the women. They are bald so they can wear 'The Wigs of the great god Walkatoplanktl Tomorrow we will wear the sacred wigs."

"That's lovely" said I, "when can we see the GOLD...er...the secret temple?"

Tescoquetzaltaco: Tomorrow.

That night I could hardly sleep...tomorrow we would get the Gold! Why oh why did Cortez destroy this wonderful civilization?

Day 20

Chief Tescoquetzaltaco led us up into the mountains. The villagers were all bedecked with the most outlandish wigs I've ever seen. The procession came to a halt high above the village and there, set into the living rock, were two Great doors carved with elaborate Aztec figures. With the sounding of a great Aztec horn and by some mechanism unseen, the huge doors opened.

"Behold the Temple of Walkatoplanktl cried the chief. "We have saved all this from the murderous hands of the Spanish invaders."

"Marvelous." said I, and the men and I rushed in to grab the Gold.

Inside the mountain was a fantastic hall, with stone pillars and galleries, lit by huge torches. I could see no gold but on the walls were rank after rank of stone shelves covered in countless thousands of books.

I couldn't believe it, the legends were true...we had found 'The Lost Library of Los Windos'...

I picked up one of the books and began reading:

...Fernando vowed to escape and crept on to the deck having sighted an Island in the distance. However, he fell over a large object on the floor it was Spot himself who had gorged himself on Rum. Spot woke up enraged and threw poor Fernando overboard there and then. Surrounded by Sharks Fernando thought his number was up but before they could attack him a small blue dolphin appeared and suddenly the sharks scattered. The dolphin made a sign for Fernando to get on its back and he was carried to the Island he had spotted earlier...


Luckily, the chief roused me from my sudden torpor...

"small blue frickin dolphin!"

I turned to Tescoquetzaltacky and asked: "How many more of these books have you got on these shelves?" and he replied "150,000 all written by the hand of the great god Walkatoplanktl"

I turned to my men and said "Kill them, kill them all...and burn the frickin library to the ground!"

Day 43

Our search for the Gold continued, although we now do a nice line in exotic wigs.
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Postby The Black Spot on Wed Apr 02, 2008 8:43 am

Arrrr... I's heard tell o' the terrible library o' Walkotoplanktl. From the fragments that survive, we kin get an idea o' the long winded tales he told

library fragments wrote:"I emerged from my cabin and did up my frockcoat. It was fashioned from a dark blue material, serge perhaps, and had turned back cuffs which were decorated with small clusters of gold beads which were sewn between the parallel piping which was also of a golden hue. When I did up my coat, it was by pulling the left front flap of my coat toward my right breast, and holding it in position while fastening the coat shut with five brass buttons, each of which was inserted into a corresponding buttonhole. At this point, I could release my grip on the coat, as friction alone would prevent the garment from coming undone."


Ye has done humanity a great service, Bart.
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Cronan

Postby black bart on Thu Apr 10, 2008 9:59 am

Castle Cronan - a Gothic Tale of Terror

I am a young lawyer, though looking at me you would perhaps believe me to be much older. The tale I am about to tell you is one of unimaginable terror and is not for the faint hearted.

One day as I sat at my desk in Portsmouth, a missive arrived by the post from London, which at once attracted my ernest attention. As I opened the thick vellum envelope and removed it's contents, my nostrils were at once assailed by an odour of death and decay, as if the stench came from the bowels of a tomb (curiously after I'd removed the remnants of what appeared to be a gristle sandwich from the envelope the smell evaporated).

In the letter I was instructed to offer my services to one 'Captain Cronan' and when I looked at the advance payment therein, I made up my mind to act upon the letter's instructions at once. Without further ado I made my preparations and that very night found me on a tall ship bound for the Eastern Mediterranean.

I journeyed ever Eastward, by ship to the eastern shores of the Adriatic and then onward by coach into the dark and mysterious land of the Cronanian Mountains. In the foothills of the mountains we stopped at an Inn for the night. The food, though not to our fine Portsmouth standards and heavily seasoned with Paprika, was palatable enough and the wine was quite drinkable. As I made ready to retire to my room the young, buxom, peasant girl who had been serving my table, made inquiry as to where I was journeying in this land. In response I said I was bound for the residence of one 'Captain Cronan'...as the words left my mouth, the whole Inn fell silent at once and the peasant girl gasped and fell into a dead swoon!

"Do not mention that name within these walls" said the Landlord, "you will bring a curse upon our heads! ...I advise you not to continue with your journey Englishman...go back to Portsmouth if you value your life!"

As I don't speak a word of Cronanian, however, I went to bed wondering what all the fuss was about and next morning set off for Castle Cronan in good spirits.

As we approached the grim edifice of the castle by a mountain pass,however, my spirits soon dampened. Wolves howled and dark winged creatures screeched in the mist. Any other traffic seemed to be heading very quickly away from the castle. A horse and cart, with the words 'Laphroaig bulk shipment' on it's side, rattled by driven by a dark, hooded figure, Suddenly my driver pulled up his horses...he would take me no further. As the coach disappeared into the mist I stood alone, clutching my luggage and staring up at Castle Cronan.

With an odd feeling of foreboding I approached the great gothic doors of the castle, I rapped on the door with a huge knocker, curiously shaped like a bottle of Leffe Brune. After what seemed like about as much time as it takes to get served in the Admiral Benbow, the door slowly creeked open. A tremendous urge came over me to flee that place and never to return. But the doors opened wide and there stood Captain Cronan. I cannot describe the Captain well as the thick mist which clung to the walls of his castle seemed to envelope the man aswell. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor.

One strange thing I remember well. As I stood outside in the cold I had drawn a hip flask full of whisky from my coat to sustain my spirits against the chill air. When Cronan set eyes on the flask he shot out a bony hand, quicker than the blink of an eye, and drained the flask at one draft!

Although I had been engaged to help Captain Cronan procure the Estate of Earwax in Portsmouth, I was to be kept against my will in that castle for many weeks. In that time I saw many strange things, forever surrounded by the odour of TCP and the howling of the wolves without.

I dined alone for I never saw Cronan eat. One evening when I sat drinking some fine Moldovan wine, Cronan approached and I offered him a glass..."No, thankyou" said the captain, "I only drink...Barley Wine". What manner of man, or indeed creature, was Cronan. One day I ventured into the very bowels of the castle. In these dark, dank depths I found mounds of rotting paper fragments. The deepest of these paper slips had decayed into a pulp but the top most appeared fresher and strange words could be percieved on their surfaces: a number and always the word 'foode'. Imagine my terror when out of this mound of decay rose the figure of Cronan hinself!

Dear reader you can also imagine my horror when I learned that Cronan was about to take ship to my beloved England. What destruction would he wreak in it's sleepy towns and hamlets, what terror would he unleash on England's fair and unsuspecting people?
I lay awake at night, tossing (the thought of the buxom barmaid tormented my innocent mind), and fearing the worst if Cronan was to be unleashed on the British public.

I needn't have worried...the ship only got half way accross the Med before it sunk!
The smoke wafted gently in the breeze across the poop deck and all seemed right in the world.
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Postby pieces o'nine on Thu Apr 10, 2008 7:07 pm

Yarrr, oi loikes me a good shivery tale, oi does. Wot append neckst, bart?
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Cronan

Postby black bart on Fri Apr 11, 2008 5:17 am

Arrrrrr...I be workin on the next instalment:

Cronan Walks (staggers) Among Us
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Postby pieces o'nine on Fri Apr 11, 2008 6:10 am

Oi 'opes "Thee Brides o' Cronan" make an happearance in thee neckst hinstallment. They be strong female care actors in an ovverwise all-male cast.
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