Smelly Pants Jim
By: Special Guest Pirate, Smelly Pants Jim
Land ho, 3.5 readers. Smelly Pants Jim be the moniker I be saddled with fer the last time my festooned pantaloons were laundered it was by a saucy maiden on the Isle of Tortuga ten years past.
Trust not just anyone with me fancy pants and they’ll never see the inside of a wash barrel again unless its toted by the same sweet lass that won me heart so many moons ago. Some day I will retire from piracy, find her, and make her mine.
Stuck at home with the wee urchins, are ye? I’ll translate fer ye and help turn family time into pirate time. Yarr.
TRANSLATION #1
Billy, stop bothering your sister!
Ahoy, yon Billy. Fancy making a shambles of yer kin’s life do ye? Cease this madness or else its to the grimey, brimey depths of Davey Jones’ locker with ye, a place where dead men tell no tales and even demons dare not tread.
TRANSLATION #2
Finish your broccoli.
Shut up tight I was in the bellows of Captain Deathbeard’s ship on a far flung jaunt across uncharted waters all the way to the furthest points of the Orient, the sights and sounds of which a boy like you coulds’t nary dare imagine. Deprived of sustenance I was for a dozen nights for the galley’s wares had turned gangrenous and foul. Upon reaching land, offered I was a sprig of a green leafy vegetable, given me by the hand of a bare chested native wench. Took it I did and devoured it giddily for sure, for beggars cannot be choosers, lad.
TRANSLATION #3
Do your homework.
Aye, read a book I once did. ‘Twas a tale of swashbuckling sword play, damsels in distress and all manner of villainy. Learn ye your letters lest ye end up dumber than a red assed baboon’s backside.
TRANSLATION #4
Do your chores.
YARRRR! Swab the deck and bring the planks to a fine shine till I can spot me face in them, boy. Batten down the hatches, trim the main sail, empty the slop buckets, scrub the galley, rub the bunions on me feet and take ye five minutes of shut eye before we do it all again in the bright and early morn.
TRANSLATION #5
You want to sing a song? OK. “Do you want to build a snowman?”
Song? Aye.
Sixteen skulls sat in a row and to the deep all the bodies did go!
Food for sharks and sea creatures too.
The King’s Royal Navy be octopus poo!
So pour me an ale and to the tropics we’ll sail!
To a place where it’s warm and bright!
Pour me an ale and to the tropics we’ll sail!
Unless death lays a hand on me shoulder tonight!
Bookshelf Battle 