[ occasional pirate ], [ scribbly fellow ], [ hat devotee ], [ improviser ], [ cat dad ], [ sometimes unhappy in the brain ], [ AFOL ], [ consumer of eye-candy ], [ beer drinker ], [ enraged cyclist ], [ please talk to me about Transformers ], [ very bad at DIY ], [ enthusiastic duct-taper ]

A Tale O’ Brief Lamentation

Gaargh, tis a day of woe for ye naturally cheery crew of The Grim Bastard.

Me pet albatross, Peregrine, was tragically immolated in a freak slave-brandin’ accident.

Twas the fault o’ no man. Peregrine’d often shown a peculiar fondness for nuzzling up to ye fortune- and freedom-free passengers we sometimes carried.

Billy No Mates (envious o’ Peregrine’s pal-making skills) postulated this as an attempt to pluck at their man-eggs in an unspecified avian plot.

I suppose ye hottened coals might’ve struck the bird as in need of nestin’.

As the mad old thing dove upon them his beautifully varnished wings caught light. We’d only just shined him up, so’s he’d look his best at the Pirate Pride swim-off next Tuesday. Gaaargh.

O’ course he were not content to simply smoulder away, oh no. He flew in a sparking arc through me sails and crashed blazin’ into me good rum.

Now I’ve got to glue feathers to Neville, me tortoise or I’ll never outshine Captain Aaaarsbeard next week.

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The Missing Metacarpal Adventure

A tale of me best mate, No Hands Mick. Gaargh, his name’s not for nothing, rather it aptly describes the absence o’ those fancy paws that elevate we men over the cunning beasts that continually plot our downfall. Aye – fear ye bears and ye fish for they mean us ill. Mayhap they’ve tails but tis ye crochet-enablin’ fingers and thumbs that let us bob on the waves, but Mick’s fisty mishaps began on land.

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