Oh, Do Get A Move On

Perhaps Gus should think about getting a Blackberry or a Treo to better aid in his conscienceous but misguided attempt to update his journal while actually attempting an escape from his prison cell. They are both more portable, and more stealthy.

Otherwise Guz & Co. will find themselves thrown right back in the pokey.

Edited to add: Customers at last! Well, thank goodness I stocked up on grog.

Someone is signalling Nelson!

BERLIN (Reuters) - A German madame has been taken to court for hoisting the national flag that once fluttered above the country's Reichstag parliament building onto the roof of her brothel.

It seems unlikely, but anything to do with sporting houses is fair game, I say.

Pirates Everywhere On The High Seas: Malacca Strait

Countries in South East Asia have agreed to tighten security in their waters in a bid to ward off piracy.

Malaysia, Indonesia, and Singapore agreed to launch co-ordinated patrols of the Malacca Strait from next month.

Good Lord! I had no idea how widespread the piracy problem was. Just look at all the references the "Beeb" (if I may be so bold) lists.

However, these pirates (see photo) do not appear to be all that cut-throatty. Perhaps their tactic is to simply swarm like rats up the lines and crawl in the scuppers. They make the entire area unsafe and unfit for decent people and charming rogues, such as Captain Gus and his merry band.

Gus' picturesque island prison, redolent of gastrointestinally challenged elephants, seems more pleasant by comparison.

Corrupt Coast Guards Imprisoning Innocents: A Trend?

A Norwegian spokesman told BBC News Online that several bullets had hit the Fridtjof Nansen and its captain was detained overnight by coastguards.

The captain and chief engineer were released on Sunday afternoon after being detained overnight in the port town of Luba on the island of Bioko.

Good heavens! Apparently being detained by coast guards is quite the done thing these days. Captain Gus, all unbeknownst, is a sea-going trendsetter.

A Powerful New Ally For The Gaolbreak?

Techno DJ Moby, a direct descendant of Herman Melville, and punk rocker Theo Kogan of the Lunachicks were crowned as King Neptune and Queen Mermaid at the 22nd annual event on Surf Avenue.

Moby thanked the cheering crowd, then announced tongue-in-cheek that he was 'enjoying the fruits of my power.'

Certainly this is the man to aid Captain Gus and his stalwart crew of miscreants in their escape from the foetid Venezuelan hoosegow and the clutches of the Venezuelan brown-water bobbies?

Fortunately, Gus still has a good Internet connection. He can contact this powerful Moby person, and also perhaps ingratiate himself with his lone fan amongst the mud ducks with a few suitable gifts garnered from eBay. I happen to know that a certain type of entertainment machine is or was available owing to a young man's unfortunate delinquent tendencies.

In the meantime, best continue to monitor the counter-cetaterrorist surveillance satellite. I do hope something comes of it!

Speaking of which... it seems there might be a way to take care of the judge problem as well with something obtainable via Gus' connections - and it can easily be accomplished in a few strokes of yet another type of entertainmant machine.

Languishing in the Lock-Up

Oh, the poor dears! Seven desperate men in durance vile! Shackles on the walls, crowded conditions, horrible stenches, and little likelihood of speedy parole.

At this point Gus had better assert himself quickly, or find himself riding pillion with Flarq as stallion, if you take my meaning.

Your pardon, I feel an attack of the vapours coming on.

The Horrible Bass Tod: Know Him

What an implacable adversary.

Deus Ex Machina, Caveat Femina

Goodness! Now the Norse god of thunder, Thor, offers a mighty bolt of lightning to aid in the killing of the Blubbery B., who shall be known as Tod from now on. It seems appropriate, since "tod" is the German for "death" and Gus' quest seems to be veering into the mythological.

However, Captain Gus had best tread carefully. Thor, mighty thunderer, may not be all that he seems.

Meanwhile, the BLOODY coppers are still in hot pursuit.

I ask your pardon. Language. For my part I become enraged at the thought of that blubbery bass, Tod getting away yet again.

Oh, when will the dour but gallant captain have his revenge?

Quel Horreur!

Except me. I hardly paid it heed. That .357 Magnum I’d gotten off Nelson, I was emptying it into the bastard. I was fully aware bullets couldn’t do squat to his ass. But you know, sometimes, when a whale’s ate your wife, kid and arm, you just want to shoot him anyhow. Cost me my eyebrows and most of my arm hairs in the fire. Half-hour later, we’d got it put out, but the deck was dark as night from smoke. Also, all our computerized engine controls and navigational crap had crashed.

D*ckhe@d's pod was long gone of course. But unless they’re going ashore for dinner in Venezuela, they’re heading south. And we’re on his tail.

Unfortunately, with lights and sirens going bonkers, a police boat is on ours.

Whatever will Captain Gus do this time? He'd best come up with a suitable gift for the jumped-up little naval wannabees in the Venezuelan Coast Guard. Dear me, a boat full of wannabee pirates hauled to by a decommissioned shrimper full of wannabee commodores dressed to the nines in gold braid and brass buttons.

Such a predicament. A little Peruvian marching powder liberated from one of the yachts many (and rather mysteriously well-hidden) little nooks and crannys might get Gus off the hook.

Pity about the helicopter. Dear Gus' whale-killing expedition was starting to look like a going concern until that idiot Stupid George "helped" by blowing the chopper to smithereens.

I don't think the Captain's skint yet, but have no idea how he'll blow off the local gendarmerie.

Lessons Learned at Pater's Knee

When I was a young and innocent gel, my father told me that he'd never run a sporting house again, because of the "B133dy infernal racket the horses made a-go'in at it overhead, and the turrible damage they do to a man's privacies to be sure." When I became proprietress of my little shop o'grogs, I remembered my father's words and made sure that there wasn't a racetrack and betting parlour on the second floor. I certainly didn't want to be responsible for damage to the property or injury to my patrons by rampaging, inconsiderate horses.

The man looked at me oddly as I signed the papers. It was then that I realized that my dear Pater had actually said "whoreses."

He had a rather picturesque way of expressing himself.

As I said, I was an innocent gel, and I've always had a life-long interest in playing with the ponies, so it was a natural mistake. Still, must remember to warn Captain Gus should he grant shore leave to his gallant crew. Because, as stated previously, never trust a pirate that begins a sentence with the word

Tug-Of-Whale Suspended for Now

VANCOUVER, British Columbia (Reuters) - Efforts to capture and relocate a lost killer whale on Canada's Pacific Coast were suspended temporarily on Friday following objections from Native Indians who say the animal may be the spirit of a dead chief and who want it to stay where it is.

Oh, drat - this whale is nowhere near the right one. It's the same ruddy idiot that
thought he was an Indian chief a few days ago.

Silly gubbinses.

I don't trust that Nelson fellow

He says he owns a sporting house. I do hope it's nowhere near my genteel little grog-tippling establishment, or it'll send the custom down to Davy.

Meanwhile, where the Dickens is that dreadful whale?

10° 21' N and 66° 42' W

Racing southbound by the stars, having got word of a pod with a really fat straggler at 10° 21' N and 66° 42' W, near Venezuela. In the event it’s yet another false alarm, here’s the info from the Wanted Poster I've been sticking up at the docks, plus some extra explaining for the greenhorns:

He’s about 70 feet long and weighs about 60 tons, which means he’d be pushing the max if they had Big & Tall stores for sperm whales (this could be cause he’s psychotic and eats stuff his kind aren’t supposed to—guys named Gus’s families for instance). His skin’s battleship gray, like a prune in texture. He’s got a big fat box-shape head 30 feet long, 15 feet high, and 10 across. Blowhole on the front, just like in the cartoon shows. Now, here’s the key thing—even more key than the extra boatload of blubber: Right smack between his eyes is a lighter-color-of-gray scar in the shape of a “B,” as in bastard. Sperm whales get scars like this from their favorite snack, giant squids, who aren’t too pleased about getting eaten. - Captain Gus

Right after this Gus' luxury yacht (which he found, mysteriously abandoned, far out at sea) was attacked by pirates, but they turned out to be rather stupid.

However, I found a link to a spy satellite that tracks evil, blubbery B-type whales suspected of having links to international terrorism. Horrors!

Nothing much seems to be happening at the moment. At nighttime the lights on shore look rather pretty, if you like that sort of romantic nonsense.

Which I don't. I'm not like that Edna person, hauling her brood in full cry after Captain Gus. I don't know why she bothers, it's clear he's much more interested in Spermatoceti.

There now. I seem to have caught up on the salient points, as the mailman said who tripped over the hedgehog. Now there is nothing to do but wait... and watch.

Shiver me timbers!

It is only a few fleeting days that I have been reading the thrilling saga of Gus Openshaw's Whale-Killing Journal. Whenever I kick the pack of scurvy dogs out of the grog shoppe have no customers in my parlour I take the time to read of Gus' adventures in search of sweet revenge. Revenge on the rogue carnivorous sperm whale that ate his family (and his arm).

I'm so glad I stumbled onto Gus' sea-going log, it came highly recommended.

In spite of mad Vietnamese cleaver-wielding cooks and rather incompetent and none-too-bright pirates, Gus never wavers from his course; find the "blubbery b4$+4rd" (ooh, language! I do apologize) that devoured his happiness.

I should like to help, but there is very little that I, proprietress of a modest maritime-themed haven from the world's problems can do. However, needs must, do or die, all ship-shape and Bristol fashion! I shall "do my bit" in the search for the blubbery B. and hope that my efforts may aid the cause.

For now I content myself with watching for strange news from the high seas, such as the giant lobster found guarding a still-ticking watch... I'm sure there's a connection. Gus was wearing a watch on his missing arm. There can't be that many arms running around loose in the ocean.

Good Heavens! Completely out of grog.

Such a to-do. I have rather a lot to say but must first pop round to the pub and stock up.

This might take a while.