Radio show! As promised.
Dungeon Walls by the Briggs plays over the loudspeakers.
Shaun: It’s the Capt’n and Shaun’s Pirate Punk Radio show! Not many requests, but who cares, you all have no taste. Which is why I’m ‘ere.
Barbossa: *grumbling is heard off microphone* Aye, aye, and meself. The lad and I think yer all severely lacking in taste. *low chuckles*
Shaun: Anyway, we should get to things, right? Every radio show needs to start off with a little patriotism! *snicker* It’s how the BBC do it. So, I bring you God Save the Queen…by the Sex Pistols, of course.
Barbossa: *a little off mic* God Save the Queen...God set fire to the Queen's house, God flip the Queen upside down so we can see her petticoats... *into the mic* Quite like tha'. What be next, m'boy?
Shaun: That’s the spirit, Capt’n! Next is the first of our requests, then, from Cayce, A New England, by Billy Bragg. She swears this is punk. We’ll see about that.
Barbossa: *gasps* There's a new England? *laughs himself hoarse* A bit o' humour there, laddie. What's this button do? *sounds of slight fiddling with the control panel*
Shaun: CAPTAIN, NO! Be careful!
Barbossa: *huffs resignedly and stops tapping the buttons* One o' mine, next then, lad. A real song, fer a sailin' man. What Shall We Do with a Drunken Sailor! ...beside give him a whore t' look after his sorry arse.
Shaun: Awesome stuff. By the way, I decided, on the merit of being awesome that the last song was punk. Drunken sailors are always, always cool.
Barbossa: *muttering* Dunno what this punk even is...
Shaun: This is punk, captain. All about rebellion and fighting the man and stuff like that. Next, tho, I'm bringing you sommat relaxing, for chillin' in the sunshine by the lake. Sun is Shining by the one, the only, Bob Marley. That's reggae, captain, and not punk.
Barbossa: Drinking songs, then. Punk be drinkin' sea shanties fer ye modern lot. *the tapping sound is heard again, this time very softly and sneaky-like* What's next, Shaun m'boy? Sommat fast then?
Shaun: That’s why I teamed up with you, see. Not just because you have a kick arse sword. Another request from, um, Cayce? Again? Radio, Radio by Elvis Costello and the Attractions. Well, it sounds appropriate.
Barbossa: ....tha' song were terrible.
*more clattering in the background*
Shaun: Sssh, I didn’t listen to them first, did I? I trusted people. And it wasn’t that bad. *slowly gets quieter as he steps away from the mic* Captain? What are you doing?
Barbossa: *grumbling* It's givin' me sass, boy! *more banging, then the sounds of a panel flipping up and the ZAP of mild electric shock* SON OF A WHORE, I'LL TEACH YE TO GET THE BETTER O' HECTOR BARBOSSA! *pistol cocks*
Shaun: *frantic shuffling* OH CRAP. PUT IT DOWN, CAPTAIN. CAYCE’LL KILL ME. You’ll break something! *more frantic shuffling and what sounds like something hitting the floor*
Barbossa: THA' WAS THE BLOODY POINT! *more sounds of a struggle, then on-air static for a brief minute or two* *speaking with a forced calmness* And we're back, hallo me lovelies. Here be a lovely little tune called Hoist the Colours.
Shaun: *coughs* Back to normal. Some minor technical difficulties there, nothing serious. Here’s a classic, from The Clash it’s London Calling. Proper song, that is.
Barbossa: Tis a good 'un, give ye that, Shaun. *grumbled* Evenifyemademedropmepreciouspistol. What be next on our list?
Shaun: Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that, Captain? It’s an anonymous request, and a damn good one at that. Ever Fallen in Love by the Buzzcocks. Apparently, ‘if you think it’s for you, it probably is’ *said with an air of scepticism*. All that tells me is people in this bloody park are bloody cryptic.
Barbossa: Lad, not all people say what they mean. Lot o' dishonest people in this world. Ye can always trust a pirate though.... Speakin' o' which, hows about another sea shanty? Blow the Man Down, a classic. I once had this one-legged bos'un who could pass wind like he was singin' this song out his arsehole. Brilliant man.
Shaun: *bursts in to fits of giggles* *tries to breathe* Blow…the…man…*outright laughter*
Barbossa: ...down. Aye. *ruffling as Barbossa kicks Shaun's foot* Snap out o' it, boy. *low and said away from the microphone* Pay attention to the helm, lad, or I'll start pushin' buttons.
Shaun: *said through suppressed mirth* Yes cap’n. Next is a song about being a prisoner, which, you know, I figured is one for all of us. 54-46 was my Number by Toots and the Maytals, who are ska legends, I promise you all. Next one, captain?
Barbossa: Spoonboy Tis a new one, by some bloke weren't 'round me time, but it reminds me o' home. No lyrics here t' make ye giggle, lad. *audible sigh*
Shaun: *audible pause* But…it’s called Spoonboy. *bursts into giggles again* Are you sure this playlist is suitable for the kiddies, cap’n?
Barbossa: Tell ye what, Shaun m'boy. Ye stop laughin' at me songs and I'll learn tha' little dance ye were doing with yer legs in the air.
Shaun: Done, but you better stop playing them songs with dodgy names. Next is a perfectly sensible song. I Fought the Law by the Clash.
Barbossa: I'll try me best. Pirate's honour.
Shaun: Request time again. From…Cayce. Anyway, it’s Body of an American by The Pogues.
Barbossa: *practically roars* MUCH BETTER!
Shaun: Quite right, capt'n. Now. Another request, this time from Crowley. You Are a Pirate? Self explanatory, I suppose. By Lazytown. *song plays* *After about five seconds, there's an abrupt interruption* I think we've been had, captain. I also don't think he means it about the drinks.
Barbossa: *sounds of a pistol cocking again* Crowley. Aye, I'll remember tha'. *pauses* Oh, the one who was supposed t' go searchin' for the golden rivet with the ol' cap'n! *laughs hysterically* Aye, aye. Jus' move on, m'boy.
Shaun: I think I should have listened to these requests first. I’ll trust this one, tho’, as Cayce sent it… Again. Sheela Na Gig? By PJ Harvey.
Barbossa: ....ever seen a sheela na gig carvin'? *audible shudder*
Shaun: Not even sure what you’re on ‘bout. Not sure I want to know. But I bring you some Morning Sun by Alan Barry.
Barbossa: It'll scar ye, lad, and....
Shaun: CAAAAAAAAAAPTAIN... what the hell? why is the fat welsh bloke singing? he's not cool.
Barbossa: *clatters of Barbossa attempting to bang his fist back into the control panel, and then a pause* ....'ang on, lad.....
Shaun: ...don't tell me you like it. Please. For the love of god. My MUM listens to this...
Barbossa: ...how old is yer Mum?
Shaun: I dunno. Old. thirty sommat.
Barbossa: ....and ye say she fancies this Jones fella....
*low chuckling, followed by a whistling*
Shaun: ...don't you even go there. he wears leather trousers. LEATHER TROUSERS, d'y'hear. prolly a nonce.
Barbossa: ...and does yer Mum like leather trousers, lad?
Shaun: I should bloody well hope not. She likes me dad. Not some welsh pansy who has to squash into far too tight leather.
*song stops*
Shaun: Sorry, folks, a minor accident there. I hope everyone’s sanity is all there.
Barbossa: *still humming sex bomb* This 'un is after me time, but it warms me heart. The Mariner's Revenge Song, by...The Decemberists. Whoever the hell they be.
Shaun: Maaaaaate, stop humming. I think I have to get this out me head. Pressure Drop by Toots and the Maytals again. This, you better skank to, or I’ll be cracking some heads.
Barbossa: *groans quietly* Aye, and fer those o' you not here with us, this ol' pirate jus' skanked his leather boots flat. meback.... play another song, Shaun!
Shaun: For those of you not ‘ere, the Captain is a damn good bloke. Message to Rudy by The Specials. Bloody awesome stuff.
Barbossa: Think we've got another song by some man named Ashley, called Sleepy Maggie. This one's in Gaelic. If ye've never had your tongue fightin' one of a Gaelic-speakin' wench, ye don't know what yer missin'. ...no lookin' at me like tha', lad.
Shaun: You mean if I’ve never snogged a ginner Scottish lass? I think’ll pass. Instead, I’ve got a proper love song right here. Stick by Me by John Holt.
Barbossa: ...aye. Snogged, is what I mean. *snickers secretively* Not bad, lad, not bad.
Speaking o' love, I've got this 'un by...Man Man. Odd name. Nothin' says love like bending over backwards oe'r a heathen sacrificial altar t' get yer heart ripped out.
Shaun: I…am pretty sure I do not want to know. Or even think about it. Nice. I’m going to finish off on something to get everyone skanking, or it better bloody do, Teenage Kicks by the Undertones. You know you want to. Ring us, request crap music, or just dance to this. Oh, and I was good, I didn't even say fuck on the radio. *snicker*
*Nothing is said from Barbossa, just the sound of somebody jumping up beside Shaun and knocking things over*
((I noticed some of the links are a bit off. Mainly two of them. I'll do my best about that asap. Not my links so I can't do that right now.))
Shaun: It’s the Capt’n and Shaun’s Pirate Punk Radio show! Not many requests, but who cares, you all have no taste. Which is why I’m ‘ere.
Barbossa: *grumbling is heard off microphone* Aye, aye, and meself. The lad and I think yer all severely lacking in taste. *low chuckles*
Shaun: Anyway, we should get to things, right? Every radio show needs to start off with a little patriotism! *snicker* It’s how the BBC do it. So, I bring you God Save the Queen…by the Sex Pistols, of course.
Barbossa: *a little off mic* God Save the Queen...God set fire to the Queen's house, God flip the Queen upside down so we can see her petticoats... *into the mic* Quite like tha'. What be next, m'boy?
Shaun: That’s the spirit, Capt’n! Next is the first of our requests, then, from Cayce, A New England, by Billy Bragg. She swears this is punk. We’ll see about that.
Barbossa: *gasps* There's a new England? *laughs himself hoarse* A bit o' humour there, laddie. What's this button do? *sounds of slight fiddling with the control panel*
Shaun: CAPTAIN, NO! Be careful!
Barbossa: *huffs resignedly and stops tapping the buttons* One o' mine, next then, lad. A real song, fer a sailin' man. What Shall We Do with a Drunken Sailor! ...beside give him a whore t' look after his sorry arse.
Shaun: Awesome stuff. By the way, I decided, on the merit of being awesome that the last song was punk. Drunken sailors are always, always cool.
Barbossa: *muttering* Dunno what this punk even is...
Shaun: This is punk, captain. All about rebellion and fighting the man and stuff like that. Next, tho, I'm bringing you sommat relaxing, for chillin' in the sunshine by the lake. Sun is Shining by the one, the only, Bob Marley. That's reggae, captain, and not punk.
Barbossa: Drinking songs, then. Punk be drinkin' sea shanties fer ye modern lot. *the tapping sound is heard again, this time very softly and sneaky-like* What's next, Shaun m'boy? Sommat fast then?
Shaun: That’s why I teamed up with you, see. Not just because you have a kick arse sword. Another request from, um, Cayce? Again? Radio, Radio by Elvis Costello and the Attractions. Well, it sounds appropriate.
Barbossa: ....tha' song were terrible.
*more clattering in the background*
Shaun: Sssh, I didn’t listen to them first, did I? I trusted people. And it wasn’t that bad. *slowly gets quieter as he steps away from the mic* Captain? What are you doing?
Barbossa: *grumbling* It's givin' me sass, boy! *more banging, then the sounds of a panel flipping up and the ZAP of mild electric shock* SON OF A WHORE, I'LL TEACH YE TO GET THE BETTER O' HECTOR BARBOSSA! *pistol cocks*
Shaun: *frantic shuffling* OH CRAP. PUT IT DOWN, CAPTAIN. CAYCE’LL KILL ME. You’ll break something! *more frantic shuffling and what sounds like something hitting the floor*
Barbossa: THA' WAS THE BLOODY POINT! *more sounds of a struggle, then on-air static for a brief minute or two* *speaking with a forced calmness* And we're back, hallo me lovelies. Here be a lovely little tune called Hoist the Colours.
Shaun: *coughs* Back to normal. Some minor technical difficulties there, nothing serious. Here’s a classic, from The Clash it’s London Calling. Proper song, that is.
Barbossa: Tis a good 'un, give ye that, Shaun. *grumbled* Evenifyemademedropmepreciouspistol. What be next on our list?
Shaun: Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that, Captain? It’s an anonymous request, and a damn good one at that. Ever Fallen in Love by the Buzzcocks. Apparently, ‘if you think it’s for you, it probably is’ *said with an air of scepticism*. All that tells me is people in this bloody park are bloody cryptic.
Barbossa: Lad, not all people say what they mean. Lot o' dishonest people in this world. Ye can always trust a pirate though.... Speakin' o' which, hows about another sea shanty? Blow the Man Down, a classic. I once had this one-legged bos'un who could pass wind like he was singin' this song out his arsehole. Brilliant man.
Shaun: *bursts in to fits of giggles* *tries to breathe* Blow…the…man…*outright laughter*
Barbossa: ...down. Aye. *ruffling as Barbossa kicks Shaun's foot* Snap out o' it, boy. *low and said away from the microphone* Pay attention to the helm, lad, or I'll start pushin' buttons.
Shaun: *said through suppressed mirth* Yes cap’n. Next is a song about being a prisoner, which, you know, I figured is one for all of us. 54-46 was my Number by Toots and the Maytals, who are ska legends, I promise you all. Next one, captain?
Barbossa: Spoonboy Tis a new one, by some bloke weren't 'round me time, but it reminds me o' home. No lyrics here t' make ye giggle, lad. *audible sigh*
Shaun: *audible pause* But…it’s called Spoonboy. *bursts into giggles again* Are you sure this playlist is suitable for the kiddies, cap’n?
Barbossa: Tell ye what, Shaun m'boy. Ye stop laughin' at me songs and I'll learn tha' little dance ye were doing with yer legs in the air.
Shaun: Done, but you better stop playing them songs with dodgy names. Next is a perfectly sensible song. I Fought the Law by the Clash.
Barbossa: I'll try me best. Pirate's honour.
Shaun: Request time again. From…Cayce. Anyway, it’s Body of an American by The Pogues.
Barbossa: *practically roars* MUCH BETTER!
Shaun: Quite right, capt'n. Now. Another request, this time from Crowley. You Are a Pirate? Self explanatory, I suppose. By Lazytown. *song plays* *After about five seconds, there's an abrupt interruption* I think we've been had, captain. I also don't think he means it about the drinks.
Barbossa: *sounds of a pistol cocking again* Crowley. Aye, I'll remember tha'. *pauses* Oh, the one who was supposed t' go searchin' for the golden rivet with the ol' cap'n! *laughs hysterically* Aye, aye. Jus' move on, m'boy.
Shaun: I think I should have listened to these requests first. I’ll trust this one, tho’, as Cayce sent it… Again. Sheela Na Gig? By PJ Harvey.
Barbossa: ....ever seen a sheela na gig carvin'? *audible shudder*
Shaun: Not even sure what you’re on ‘bout. Not sure I want to know. But I bring you some Morning Sun by Alan Barry.
Barbossa: It'll scar ye, lad, and....
Shaun: CAAAAAAAAAAPTAIN... what the hell? why is the fat welsh bloke singing? he's not cool.
Barbossa: *clatters of Barbossa attempting to bang his fist back into the control panel, and then a pause* ....'ang on, lad.....
Shaun: ...don't tell me you like it. Please. For the love of god. My MUM listens to this...
Barbossa: ...how old is yer Mum?
Shaun: I dunno. Old. thirty sommat.
Barbossa: ....and ye say she fancies this Jones fella....
*low chuckling, followed by a whistling*
Shaun: ...don't you even go there. he wears leather trousers. LEATHER TROUSERS, d'y'hear. prolly a nonce.
Barbossa: ...and does yer Mum like leather trousers, lad?
Shaun: I should bloody well hope not. She likes me dad. Not some welsh pansy who has to squash into far too tight leather.
*song stops*
Shaun: Sorry, folks, a minor accident there. I hope everyone’s sanity is all there.
Barbossa: *still humming sex bomb* This 'un is after me time, but it warms me heart. The Mariner's Revenge Song, by...The Decemberists. Whoever the hell they be.
Shaun: Maaaaaate, stop humming. I think I have to get this out me head. Pressure Drop by Toots and the Maytals again. This, you better skank to, or I’ll be cracking some heads.
Barbossa: *groans quietly* Aye, and fer those o' you not here with us, this ol' pirate jus' skanked his leather boots flat. meback.... play another song, Shaun!
Shaun: For those of you not ‘ere, the Captain is a damn good bloke. Message to Rudy by The Specials. Bloody awesome stuff.
Barbossa: Think we've got another song by some man named Ashley, called Sleepy Maggie. This one's in Gaelic. If ye've never had your tongue fightin' one of a Gaelic-speakin' wench, ye don't know what yer missin'. ...no lookin' at me like tha', lad.
Shaun: You mean if I’ve never snogged a ginner Scottish lass? I think’ll pass. Instead, I’ve got a proper love song right here. Stick by Me by John Holt.
Barbossa: ...aye. Snogged, is what I mean. *snickers secretively* Not bad, lad, not bad.
Speaking o' love, I've got this 'un by...Man Man. Odd name. Nothin' says love like bending over backwards oe'r a heathen sacrificial altar t' get yer heart ripped out.
Shaun: I…am pretty sure I do not want to know. Or even think about it. Nice. I’m going to finish off on something to get everyone skanking, or it better bloody do, Teenage Kicks by the Undertones. You know you want to. Ring us, request crap music, or just dance to this. Oh, and I was good, I didn't even say fuck on the radio. *snicker*
*Nothing is said from Barbossa, just the sound of somebody jumping up beside Shaun and knocking things over*
((I noticed some of the links are a bit off. Mainly two of them. I'll do my best about that asap. Not my links so I can't do that right now.))