It was a balmy, steamy day, that one particular day, in the year of our Lord 1716. A southerly wind pushed at the sails of H.M.S. Glasgow, a merchant trader out of Southampton. She wallowed sideways in the troughs between the westering swells, hauling her load of goods towards the West Indies at a good clip. She was a stout ship, strong of beam and sleek of keel.
Her Captain, Jedediah Longbottom, stood in his cabin, legs braced wide against the shifting oaken planks. He stared hard at the chart laid out on the table before him, and was pleased with the time they had made. Two more days should see them safely to port. His first mate, Mr. Stubbins, stood near at hand. Tim Lackey, the cabin boy, was placed so as to refill the ship’s master’s cup from the bottle of port that held down one corner of the chart.
The cry of the lookout floated down from the crows nest far above. “A sail, Captain, coming on fast on the port quarter.”
The master and the mate exchanged glances. No need to panic the boy yet, for these were well-traveled waters, but dangerous waters as well.
“She seems to be flying a black flag, Captain, but I can’t make it out yet,” came the call from on high.
There is no good can come from a black pennant, the Captain thought to himself, though he remained outwardly calm.
“It is a pirate, Sir. I am quite sure of it. White bones on the black flag. And she is bearing down hard.” The lookout, a young lad fresh off a farm in Jersey, had let his voice rise to a shrill screech by the time he finished relaying the message. Panic could spread nowhere faster than on a ship on the high seas. The Captain had seen it before.
He turned calmly to young Tim. “Go below and fetch me my red shirt, there’s a good lad,” he said, in a tone of one ordering a breakfast.
As the boy rushed off, the mate cast him a questioning look.
“That way, if I receive a wound, the men wont see the blood,” the Captain said by way of an answer.
The lookout cried from above once more. “It is Blackbeard’s ship, Captain, I’d bet my life on it. I can see the horned skeleton and the heart of blood on the flag, clear as day.”
The Captain thought for a moment, then leaned over the hatch that led below decks to where his sea chest was stored.
“Oh, Tim,” he said with infinite resignation, “you better bring up my brown trousers as well.”
Arrrgggghhhh.
Pouring My Art Out 
Oh my Gawd! Loved it (course I’m American so the toilet humor was appreciated…as well as the pirate humor!)
You can’t go wrong with that combo. Thank you.
Dear pmao,
It’s still turning me into AMY.
I was enjoying the story, you’re good, (seriously) and then your American toilet humour spoiled it for me. You need to write another story now to make up for it. 🙂
Love Dotty xxx
I will get back to that stuff soon.
That story did not end the way I was expecting it to at all. But it was pretty freaking funny.
I just wanted to see if I could make a joke sound like an actual story and still be funny. I am all about the surprise endings. Thank you.
I like to think it’s what Rod Serling would do if he did comedy.
That is a nice complement.
Oh man, does that kitten have a freekin sniper rifle? That is so cool…
You betcha.
I have never been more jealous…
I can send you a photo of a squirrel launching a bazooka if you want to use that one.
I appreciate the offer. I may let the idea coagulate in my head and then make my own… but I have no idea exactly what it will be yet. I did a post about crack squirrels. Crack squirrels with bazookas would be scary.
argh, toilet humour……..and i had such high hopes for you too…….
I did Elvis as a plumber a while back. We are, all of, never that far from a toilet, if we can help it.
you made elvis look like he was a plumber, or you dressed up as a plumber and had coitus with elvis?
still slowly working my way through…..your blog that is, nothing to do with my digestive tract
Oh, I DID Elvis as a plumber… I get it… wait, do fantasies count?
I am going to start rooting through your old posts tonight or tomorrow, because now I am curious.
don’t get too excited; i’ve yet to re-read all the stuff i’ve written in order, so have no idea how i come across……and i do pray you’re not a cat, as i don’t think my conscience could cope
Nope, not a cat.
phew; read on macduff
Oh ho, a Shakespeare reference. Well played.