I'm beginning to smell a notBob. This is a far more accurate picture of Nelson - note the missing arm is the right, not the left, and though blind in one eye, there was no disfigurement, and thus no need for an eyepatch (and again, it was not the left, but the right eye). Of course, this image is a bit out of date... by almost exactly 199 years.
There is a sort of family resemblance - I admit there may be connection on the distaff side. The very distant, wrong side of the blanket distaff side. Also, if the heavily Scrimshopped (TM our own nikola) image at Gus' site is to be believed, Nelson has somehow become rather fetching in a rakehelly piratical sort of way. And he is certainly gladius to see us. Note a somewhat more historically accurate and appropriate sword in the above image. I shall have the new scrimshaw framed in any case, and shall supervise the process personally. You may all take assurance that it shall be well hung. And labeled *Nelson (Annotated). E'rm. Perhaps it's just Nelson's costume for tomorrow's bash. And that takes us to the next item of business.
As the annual TLAPD takes place on a Sunday, I did just wonder if our usual morning service would be conducted out of the Booke of Common Pirates' Prayers. Complete with "Y'aaaaar-men, vicar, that t'were a proper sarmon. Now p'int me in the direction of the rum-butt and some o' these saucy church-hen wenches."
However, at least one man of the cloth is undecided on the matter.
In any case, I shall be putting in a good word in for Gus and those of his crew (and Sybill and Bob) who are prepared to stand and fight like men. And women. And a rat.
4 comments:
*clears throat, hmm hmm hmm*
avast me bel'ved boss lady, i'll be blowed and shivered if i know how it happened, but we have twice the arrrrrrr-svps as invitations sent out to our annual piratannical fete. dear dionysus, i hope we have enuff rum on hand and spittoons on the floor for the bacchanal.
i noticed chad the cabana boy hammering out in the garden this mornin'....i thought you put a nix on the *walk-the-plank-into-the-hottub* festivities, since last year the mayor slipped on the diving erm, plank, and concussed himself? we still need another dozen parrot perches constructed, altho' i have ordered in extra fruit cocktail and cuttlebones for our feathered friends. oh, and hankules changed the signs on the wc doors to read *skanky pirates* and *saucy wenches*. keep an eye on cyrus mcfinster; last year i caught him selling chances for booty (pronounced boo-tay) which was most unfair to the wen-erm, girls---i believe his brother skep (short for skeptical; i'm wonderin' if their pater familias wasn't doubtin' the erm, genetic line, so to speak when he had the boys christened) was auctionin' off treasure maps to the liquor supply cabinet.
i'm off to check the laces on my saucy wench outfit; it wouldn't do to have a wardrobe malfunction while fast pouring harbour lights (chilled capt morgans, topped with a sugared lemon wheel, sprinkled with 151, lit). i just did grow back my eyebrows and would like to keep them. *nods*.
well, back to the plannin' and plottin'....
snuggs
saucy head wench
Oh, the humanity! I just stepped into the Ladies' Snuggery for a breath of relatively fresh air. The fug of cheap shag (that's tobacco, not carpeting, me hearties) is enough to warrant a Surgeon General's warning over the entry.
My poor snuggs, I have to tell you the McFinster boys are in rare form. They have posted a "flying lessons: cheep" placard in the hallway leading to the back garden, and they're back there now with a 10-foot step ladder, an old mattress, and a line of inebriated patrons looking less apprehensive than they ought. There was a holdup in the flight line a while back when one couple who flew tandem refused to vacate the LZ for rather longer than necessary.
Of course, the plank is back, but this year they affixed it to the hot tub with a system of ropes and wedges that they assure me will do no damage and leave no marks. *sniff* We'll see about that. However, the sales of Harbour Lights continue to be brisk, so walk the plank they may. I think the entire City Council is here this year, so I predict that our zoning and nuisance-abatement problems may be sorted anon.
I must say, Chad's cabana shorts are bulging with... is that a roll of Benjamins, or is he glad to be fully employed? It seems we'll have to have a little discussion on the matter of tips.
There's one young man here whose background in the great literature of the West evidently did not include reading "Treasure Island" under the covers with a flashlamp as a young boy. He's been sidling around trying to get in conversation with the various sorts of wenches, looking most un-swashbucklerlike with a duck decoy affixed to his shoulder.
Poor boy, he must be from Minnesota.
a duck decoy???? *dies*
i just *had* to take a moment to sit down; i'm thinking i'm developing carpal shot syndrome from all of those harbor lights.
i notice some of the girls got very creative fashioning bustiers, bikinis and eyepatches from those lovely lil purple bags that once held the crown royal. unfortunately (or fortunately for some of our guests) some of them neglected to use the draw strings appropriately. erm, i *guess* it could be called a thong.
i peeked in on the back garden for a moment; now that most of the drun, erm guests have been thru the flight line at least once, apparently the city council members have been appointed judges and scoring is in progress. take a very careful look at the judge with the polo (tm) insignia eyepatch. if i'm not mistaken, that's mr. svetlanger, that hoity toity bas--backspacebackspacebackspace curmudgeon who routinely objects to our permits durin' city council meetings. might be interesting to keep a watch on him and see if anything erm, noteworthy occurs. if the colonel and his glass eye are not available, perhaps nikola could saunter over when she finishes refereeing the ladies side-saddle banister sliding competition. i see myrtle won the cocktail sword duel for the third year in a row. she's a marvel, that girl.
right. *sighs and pushes self up from deep armchair* it seems my break is, by necessity, over. apparently chad just attempted to set an entire lemon on fire.
snuggs (")
not quite so saucy as sauced (151 fumes, dontcha know)
I know just what you mean, myrtle. A fencing championship with tiny little plastic olive picks is not likely to be an Olympic sport any time soon. However, I don't think you'll need to fly under an assumed name; with all the consumables our patrons get through, nobody remembers much for any length of time.
Usually.
As for matters of style and fashion, I'm a great believer in Zel moisturizer, Kevlar frocks and Nomex frilly unmentionables. All have stood me in good stead over my years on the Intercom net-thingy. I'm intrigued that that you say Teflon now has a makeup line, must check that out sometime. I hope it comes in the right shade for my delicate coloring.
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