Talk like a pirate day is coming! This is one of the happiest holidays we have here in the U.S. Most of the other ones have to do with somebody who died, (even Christmas, although he didn’t know it at the time.) Then there’s New Year’s where people actually do die. Talk like a pirate day allows me to celebrate the evil which lurks within and wants to f* with everyone.
Tomorrow I will probably lose my voice because I expect to arggh all day. I will be alone in my office most of the time so no one will hear me except when I answer the phone. That will be so much fun. There was a pirate pub crawl in Anchorage on Saturday night which I did not participate in as I saw the wonderful Wanda Sykes instead.
The outfits at the comedy show were better because no one was enforcing a particular genre. Some of the audience appeared to have just walked off their job as meth dealers. Others were dressed in short shorts with enormous stiletto heels which were supposed to be hip and trendy but did not coming off that way at all. There was a good deal of leopard around the bus tline amongst women my age and plenty of plaid flannel. I wore my Midnight cowboy jacket which looks better in the dark as it needs a bit of cleaning. There were no pirates at the comedy show. There were a couple of hecklers who got absolutely nowhere as Wanda does not f* around.
The word “dick” gave the word “f*” a run for it’s money in every routine which is just fine with me. This is the essence of really talking like a pirate. The funny voice is fine but sometimes a bit of sewer mouth is refreshing. My mother used to say, “I don’t smoke, I don’t drink so I swear like a sailor.” These are words I live by, except at the job at the half way house in Gloucester where they made you put a dollar in the pot for swearing. The supervisor bought marijuana for the staff with the money!
Now I know Somali pirates are bad but so are bankers and priests and just about anybody who lusts for power and/or wealth. Even the repression of these desires is bad which is why we have Mardi Gras ( again connected to the death of you know who) and talk like a pirate day. As many people know I am saddened by the modern “booby”- ness of Halloween and talk like a pirate day. I observed many lovely maidens clutching their chests while racing across the nippy streets of Anchorage last night. I am pretty sure that most successful female pirates would have dressed more ready to work than a corset would allow. I would really liked to have seen some giant codpieces to compensate for the enormity of the breasts displayed but alas that was not to be. My guess is that the Virgin Mary in the Christmas pageant will be wearing a bustier next year. Every American holiday must feature the female bosum as a tribute to the American man they seek to entertain.
I got many strange looks on my way from the comedy show to The Identity fundraiser. I believe drunken young people were trying to process my costume – pink tie dye fedora, fuchsia bell bottoms, fringed leather jacket. Perhaps just a male gigalo trolling for gay pirates? How about an old white lady who doesn’t give a shit? At midnight I saw three older men walking towards town in British admiralty regalia. What the F*? Then I figured that Dooley’s (the costume shop) had probably long run out of pirate wear and these fellows had improvised an adversarial role.
I admit I had my Facebook set to pirate talk for awhile but it’s really better to do it for just one day a year. Too much pirate talk is pretentious, like Wanda Syke’s wife speaking French even though I guess she was born there. A long time ago my old roommate Rose Anne and I had a very successful pirate party. We served hard tack and grog and I personally locked some children in the basement. I wish we would have given out prizes for the most body parts missing. That way women with mastectomies and hysterectomies could win more booty. I also remember playing the two truths and a lie game on a bus full of Princess tour people coming back from a violently truncated train ride. Working on a train crew was the closest experience I have ever had to an actual pirate’s life. We found out that our tour guide only had one testicle and the guy who cleaned the toliets had an IQ of 185! Guess which one I slept with? Arrgggh.