Shiver Me Timbers, Matey!

Here we are, another Wednesday. Or not. Today is September 19th, which is the official "Talk Like a Pirate Day." Today's flash fiction is actually two bits of pirate-themed nonsense, each based on random video clips I found on Bing. I'm not going to tell you what the clips are about, but if you watch them and then read the flash fiction, you may get a chuckle out of it!
 

“Shiver me timbers and bring me my rum!”

Dan glared balefully at the bar patron who’d just yelled his “order” across the whole bar. Talk Like A Pirate Day used to be one of his favorite silly holidays, too, until he started working at a bar. The hilarity was much less entertaining four hours and forty fake pirates later.

“Bring me another cabin boy; this one’s tore!”

“Lamar! Enough already!” Dan looked back and saw that Jamie was trying—unsucessfully—to reign the half-sloshed Latino Blackbeard in, so he just shook his head and walked over to the specialty drinks menu board. he changed the name of the top one from "Cabin Boy" to "Land Lubber's Delight." Leave it to Lamar to make something as benign as a drink name something much dirtier. And he really didn't want to spend the rest of his shift listening to people declair that their cabin boy was tore...
          He shook his head again, trying to get THAT mental image out of his head before it stuck and made the previous loudmouth another rum and coke. He looked at the clock and signed. It was only nine PM. On a normal Wednesday, things would be winding down by down. Tonight, the party was still reving up.

“Avast, ye scurvy dog! That wench is mine!”

Dan closed his eyes and grimaced. If he was not mistaken, and he probably wasn’t, Max was hitting on the ladies. This wouldn’t be so much of a problem except that Max, when he was drinking, tended to go for ladies who were with another guy, usually in an effort to get the guy pissed off enough to chase him. The irony this time was that Max wasn’t a dog. He was a werestallion and therefore much faster  than most of his hapless targets.  A loud crash filled the tiny bar room and then a horse whinnied and a dog barked. Yep, sounded like Max found a gullible one.

This next clip is a little boring to watch, but it made for a very nice plot bunny:

                “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Sam bleated nervously.

                “Shut yarr scurvy mouth, ya tricorn-sportin’ hairy hammock monkey! I’ll be having no mutiny on my ship!”

                “Really, Tom? A hairy hammock money? What the heck does that mean, any way,” Sam snapped back at his older brother. “Besides, we are not on a ship. We are on the side of the highway, hiding behind some bushes!”

                “Well, of course we’re on the side of a road, yarr fake-bearded rudder raider! We’re land-locked pirates. Pirates hijack ships. But we got no water, right? So we’ll hijack us a car!”

                Sam shook his head, not sure if he should be amused at the moronic drivel pouring out of his brother’s mouth or terrified of how badly this all could go.

                “Car ho!”

                “All right, yarr foul, lice-infested land lubbers! On my word, we charge that car. One—Two—THREE!!!”

                Sam couldn’t help himself. When the rest of the guys charged out, he joined them. It was all good to talk the talk, but at the end of the day, he was still a sheep and he knew it.

                “Ah! Retreat! Retreat!”

                Sam looked up and got even paler than usual. That wasn’t just any ld car they’d just run out in front of—it was Tigar Yakooza. CrapCrapCrapCrap…

**********

That's about all I have for you. Should you like to swear like Tom the Pirate Sheep, here's a nice pirate insult generator for you. Have a great day!

~ Rebecca