A quick story to get the juices flowing.
So in a spin of writer's block, this happened. Writer's block is not the inability to write for me, but an inability to write anything but silly things that have no point.
The Story of Pirates
There once was a pirate that liked to dance. He danced so much that the other pirates sometimes made fun of him. It wasn't like they hadn't broken out in a jig or two after a few handles of that rum they were so fond of, he mused. Maybe he was a pansy, after all. I mean, what kind of pirate MUSES, anyway? He stood up and marched over to his pirate friend and punched him in the face. "HEY!" his pirate friend screamed, "What in the bloody hell was that for?" "I am a man, damn it!" screamed the dancing pirate, and he kicked his friend in the gut. His friend huddled over, clutching his stomach, wondering if perhaps finally this dancing fool had gone mad.
"Alright, ladies!" grunted the captain. "It's about time you stopped with this nonsensory. Now what the bloody hell is going on here, you dancing idiot?"
Hawkeye, which happened to be the dancing pirate's legitimate, manly pirate name, squinted his eyes at the pirate and stoop up, removing his knee from his friend's stomach. "I was not but provin' a point, sir! This bloody fool considers himself manlier than I am, only 'cause he don't know what and how dancing is done, sir!"
In all of his pirating years, Captain "EyePatch" Simmons had never come across a pirate that danced in his free time. Were pirates even really supposed to have free time, hmm? What with all of the Police boats roaming the seas these days, business was a little rough, so there was more free time floatin' around on the good vessel. Captain Simmons looked Hawkeye up and down and told him that if he could, please, go ahead and just stop assaulting his friends, it'd be alright with him that Hawkeye could go to the deck and practice a little bit of his dance moves there, and then perhaps everything would be squared away by the time suppertime rolled around?
Hawkeye had never understood why Captain Simmons was the captain of a ship, let alone a pirate ship. He seemed like such a nice and rational guy, and who has room for nice and rational on a pirate ship? It's all plunder, rape, plunder, burn, steal, go go go! Hawkeye jumped up into another spin as he pondered why, in fact, was HE a pirate? How did he get here? Maybe if his dad had never left his mother and himself to fend for themselves when they were young, he could be a doctor, or perhaps a cook for a nice, attractive young lady or something. Or something. It didn't really matter now, because Roberto Sinclair was Hawkeye Brownbeard. Hawkeye-friggin-Brownbeard. What is the use of pirate names, anyway? Hawkeye finished up his practicing and grabbed his skullcap to retreat back into the bed quarters.
Simmons sat in silence at the edge of his bed, looking over some papers the head honcho had dropped off for him to review. The crazy bastard floated all the way to the ship from shore, which was a lengthy 16 miles away. Good thing the winds were in his favor, otherwise he could have gone the wrong way for 20 miles well before he realized his crucial mistake. No matters, thought Simmons, there's work to be done. Work, who calls this work? Simmons heaved a brown sack onto his desk and began rummaging through the contents. Excitement rushed into his heart at first glance. There was a map, a shovel, and hiking gear for 5. They were finally going to leave the ship! They were finally going to do something worthwhile! No more time for dancing fools or bar fights; this one was really important. The thrill of finally having an assignment that was going to change the life of him and his crew mates filled his heart and Simmons slipped into his cot and fell into a deep, contented sleep.
As an honorable storyteller, before I tell you the tale of Captain Simmons and his eccentric crew's adventure, I should tell you that they all die in the end.
THE END.
The Story of Pirates
There once was a pirate that liked to dance. He danced so much that the other pirates sometimes made fun of him. It wasn't like they hadn't broken out in a jig or two after a few handles of that rum they were so fond of, he mused. Maybe he was a pansy, after all. I mean, what kind of pirate MUSES, anyway? He stood up and marched over to his pirate friend and punched him in the face. "HEY!" his pirate friend screamed, "What in the bloody hell was that for?" "I am a man, damn it!" screamed the dancing pirate, and he kicked his friend in the gut. His friend huddled over, clutching his stomach, wondering if perhaps finally this dancing fool had gone mad.
"Alright, ladies!" grunted the captain. "It's about time you stopped with this nonsensory. Now what the bloody hell is going on here, you dancing idiot?"
Hawkeye, which happened to be the dancing pirate's legitimate, manly pirate name, squinted his eyes at the pirate and stoop up, removing his knee from his friend's stomach. "I was not but provin' a point, sir! This bloody fool considers himself manlier than I am, only 'cause he don't know what and how dancing is done, sir!"
In all of his pirating years, Captain "EyePatch" Simmons had never come across a pirate that danced in his free time. Were pirates even really supposed to have free time, hmm? What with all of the Police boats roaming the seas these days, business was a little rough, so there was more free time floatin' around on the good vessel. Captain Simmons looked Hawkeye up and down and told him that if he could, please, go ahead and just stop assaulting his friends, it'd be alright with him that Hawkeye could go to the deck and practice a little bit of his dance moves there, and then perhaps everything would be squared away by the time suppertime rolled around?
Hawkeye had never understood why Captain Simmons was the captain of a ship, let alone a pirate ship. He seemed like such a nice and rational guy, and who has room for nice and rational on a pirate ship? It's all plunder, rape, plunder, burn, steal, go go go! Hawkeye jumped up into another spin as he pondered why, in fact, was HE a pirate? How did he get here? Maybe if his dad had never left his mother and himself to fend for themselves when they were young, he could be a doctor, or perhaps a cook for a nice, attractive young lady or something. Or something. It didn't really matter now, because Roberto Sinclair was Hawkeye Brownbeard. Hawkeye-friggin-Brownbeard. What is the use of pirate names, anyway? Hawkeye finished up his practicing and grabbed his skullcap to retreat back into the bed quarters.
Simmons sat in silence at the edge of his bed, looking over some papers the head honcho had dropped off for him to review. The crazy bastard floated all the way to the ship from shore, which was a lengthy 16 miles away. Good thing the winds were in his favor, otherwise he could have gone the wrong way for 20 miles well before he realized his crucial mistake. No matters, thought Simmons, there's work to be done. Work, who calls this work? Simmons heaved a brown sack onto his desk and began rummaging through the contents. Excitement rushed into his heart at first glance. There was a map, a shovel, and hiking gear for 5. They were finally going to leave the ship! They were finally going to do something worthwhile! No more time for dancing fools or bar fights; this one was really important. The thrill of finally having an assignment that was going to change the life of him and his crew mates filled his heart and Simmons slipped into his cot and fell into a deep, contented sleep.
As an honorable storyteller, before I tell you the tale of Captain Simmons and his eccentric crew's adventure, I should tell you that they all die in the end.
THE END.