Ye ocelot bounded out of the bush, seized me fine tricorn brim and dashed off into the grass. Ye first time twas endearing but the cursed half-deer half-aggravating vermin had been playing this game for days.
Though I’d attempted to blast the thing’s skull from off its neck I’d so far fallen short. Oftentimes I’d fallen in a river. At length the brute’d return it and prance gaily about. Gaargh, how I long to eat the creature.
Gaargh, me britches’re stained with the love juice of an impudent mermaid. ‘Twas but four moons ago. We were sailin’ North beyond the dire straits, escapin’ from the British and
A blast from the Captain’s past The third tale I ever wrote down (under the Captain’s keen and rum-filled eye) was The Chelonian Adventure. It’s a sweet tale of lost
Gaaargh, after months of plundering an’ the holing of many hulls, we was looking forwards to the King of Tarsus’ hospitality. In appreciation of the great man’s patronage we’d prepared
