Bookshelf Battle

Mr. Fitzhume

By Special Guest Pirate, Mr. Fitzhume

Ahoy, 3.5 readers.  Capt. Deathbeard’s trusty first mate, Mr. Fitzhume, I is.

Find yeself in a tavern, do ye?  Whether ye be a peasant slavin’ away in the galley or one of the fancy folk at the tables, I’ll tell ye how to talk like a pirate when yer in the grub house I will.

TRANSLATION #1

Welcome to Flanagan’s.  May I take your order?

YARR!  What slop doth ye want to shove in ye filthy hole?!  Speak up and make haste or its off to the gallows with an empty belly with ye!

TRANSLATION #2

We’re going to start with the Wacky Wings and Skins Sampler and I’ll have the Surf and Turf Combo platter and a Cherry Coke to drink.

Bring me pig meat and grog, wench!  And tell the cookie if he fails to satisfy me I’ll slit him open from stem to stern with a rusty razor!

TRANSLATION #3

I’d like my steak well done.

Yarrr.  Stoke the fire with a thousand pieces of coal.  Fan the flames until they reach the sky and make an inferno unfit for the devil himself.  Only then will ye deliver mine meat to the blaze and retrieve it not until its blacker than the miserable heart of Captain Deathbeard himself.

TRANSLATION #4

I’d like my steak rare.

Blood is what I’m after.  The blood of mine enemies.  The blood of mine pirates.  It all becomes one giant red mess in mine eyes when you’ve roamed the ocean for as long as I have.  Bring me the bloodiest meat ye have and make sure a fresh trickle of crimson flows from the beast’s veins.

TRANSLATION #5

I’m sorry.  I think there’s been a mistake.  This isn’t what I asked for.

Avast, ye scurvy dog!  Bring me the cookie and tell him to say his prayers for he’ll surely be shark chum tonight and meet his maker by the early morn!

TRANSLATION #6

Check please.

Yarrr, how many pieces o’eight want ye fer this dirty excuse of a meal that will no doubt linger in the grim reaches of my belly until St. Peter turns me away at the pearly gates?

TRANSLATION #7

Here’s the check.  No need to rush.  I’ll take it whenever your ready.

ARRRRR!  Remove ye cursed hides from yon seats ye lousy sacks of sting ray testicles!  Yon seats be fer customers with britches brimming with gold pence only!  Away with ye and forget ye where ever here!