Pirates for Sail

Over the years where I’ve worn the attire of  a pirate to make it easier for otherwise committed wenches to fall down at m’feet, I have often found myself mistaken for a certain other pirate celebrity.  That man shall for now remain nameless, but rest assured there is about as much in common between my appearance and his as there is between fine Irish whiskey and a red table wine.  I’d say a Spanish galleon favors a French brigantine (as it appears after having been blown out of the water for lack of ability to find and raise their whites fast enough) more than I look like this man.  Still, the general voting public calls out his name frequently when looking upon me.  Why do I raise this point?  After all, we pirates are called out on a regular basis when traveling, most often by landlubbers cruising in their land conveyances who only associate our noble profession with the shouted letter “R.”  I raise this point because I, Bryan McCrae, have determined why it is that we are so often mistaken for certain Disney characters.

The public is willing to accept the lesser evil as a pirate.

So, Internet, with a roguish heart and a whiskey-craving stomach, I say unto you in the words of my uncle: Accept no substitutes!”  The pirates in your life are the genuine article, complete with piratical injuries, piratical egos, and in some cases, piratical body odor!  We need not be compared to those pretenders of the enchanted picture box, for there should be no comparison!  Why, Black Dog Nate’s beard could singlehandedly destroy the entire fleet of the illusory East India Company, while defeating the Kraken and saving a score of lasses far less androgynous than those so fervently sought by foppish protagonists!

Good people, bad people, and Englishmen, all I ask of you is this- when you see a pirate on the street, recognize him for the treasure he is!  Praise him with kind words of welcome, or regard him with the respect and fear he so readily deserves!  If you receive no response to the first, then clearly the second is appropriate!  If you are greeted warmly in kind, offer him a drink and some bonny company!  And if, by some chance, you happen upon a pirate wench, RUN IN THE OTHER DIRECTION WITH THE GREATEST POSSIBLE HASTE!

I just received word from CD Baby. The money they raised for Haiti relief amounts to…

$23,498.

Not a bad haul for a bunch of landlubbers. Thanks to you lot for buying our CDs and helping ‘em out.

About ready t’go have a small “talk” (only with less talkin’ ‘n more fisticuffs) with a certain corset-maker from the not-so-good ship E-Bay that I commissioned some months back who has yet to deliver… I do believe that grants me one courtesy shot.

On the bright side, if all goes well I should have some lovely new boots sometime soon. If not, well…I cannot be blamed fer the consequences.

So I walked into a small room, buried in the catacombs of the vastness that is the New Carrollton Federal Building.  It is in this place that I pass as pirate-at-large among the unsuspecting masses of my day-to-day employer.  Well, not in that room specifically, that room was a special trip.  You see, today brought to that room a legion of the second-worst scourge of the lands- vampires.  The worst scourge is so terrible as not to be named, but the bitter rivalry and feud that brews between the kind piratical and the members of this honorless bunch of pajama-wearing nancies is well known to all who sail the seas of the Internets.  Were I to face said scourge in single combat, the world would learn in short order why the fiddler focuses so intently on the music and the lasses- only those two, with the addition of whiskey, can hope to sate his rage.  Still, today brought me toe-to-peg with the second-worst scourge, the vampire.  They came to my place of employ with but one goal- to drain the place dry, one pint at a time.  Did I face them?  Yes.  Did I defeat them?  Yes!  Their pint-draining attack was no match for the sheer volume of Irish whiskey in my blood.  They even jokingly suggested I lay off the sauce for the evening, as in my “diminished condition,” I might have the alcohol tolerance of, say, the Reverend Doctor Skipford von Toumalou.  What farce!  What nonsense!  The British speak truer things than that!  Oh, wait, I’m feeling a bit dizzy… Is that Flint over there, or a boy with an artificial bosom?  *staggers away*

Pirate blogger and podcaster extraordinaire Bilgemunky gave us his stamp of approval last week. It seems that a listener wanted to hear “Mingulay Boat Song,” so ol’ Bilge picked our rendition to fulfill the request! If you’d like some proof, here’s the setlist. Download the MP3 of the podcast here. We show up at just about exactly the one-hour mark.

And incidentally, if any of you scoundrels feel like sending Bilgemunky a message to say you’d like him to play more of us, we wouldn’t complain. He does like bribes, though.

So this weekend past I accomplished two most noble life goals.  Goal one came in the form of taking the especially bonny, especially glorious, especially lascivious web-wench home from the Tavern.  Did I give her a ride?  Count on it.  Did she thank me after, and extend the invitation to do it again at some future date and time?  Count on that too.  Did she ask me to come back and see her again later on in the weekend?  OH yes.  This leads to goal two.

Goal two came in the form of the especially bonny, especially glorious, especially lascivious web-wench inviting me into her most private bedroom, wherein I did, and with full knowledge and intent of the act to be performed, take her to her bed.  With her husband, unsuspecting, in the next room!  It’s good to be the Fiddler.  The world may never know or fully appreciate the mysteries and glories beheld by me that day, in that room, in such singular company as hers.  It is, truly, good to be the fiddler.

Today it was my civic duty to present myself down in the fair City of Anna to sit upon the panel of jurors.  These American rights, so inconvenient for a visiting pirate.  Needless to say, I escaped the sentence prematurely through a cunning mixture of craft, resource, and convenient timing.  The jury commissioner’s gender helped a bit as well.  The lasses, they can nae resist the Fiddler’s charms.  Shirking civic duties while giving a civil servant a lesson in true… civil servitude… life goal achieved.

Later on, I learned of an alternate place on this great, wide Internets wherein the people gather to worship and appreciate us pirates even more than here!  That place- freepirateporn.com Facebook.  That’s right, the Fiddler is on Facebook.  Commence with the cyber-wenching!

And in the vein of wenching, I’ll be at Tavern for the next few weeks!  Lasses, come out and be entertained!  Or wenched.  Or mayhaps even seduced.  That works too.

…Otherwise known as “Flint Goes to Ohio Fer Some Reason”.

T’was probably a bout of madness that caused it, but I braved the cold and gray to walk among thousands of strangely dressed people fer three days, though to my surprise I found several of my pirate brethren in attendance at this ritualistic gathering.

Also managed to partake of some music by one Sir Jonathan Coulton of (New) York. (He happens to sing a catchy tune about animated gray matter-devourin’ corpses that the crew’s quite fond of.)

And, bein’ a self-respectin’ pirate, I made sure to at least steal a part of his soul before I left.

A good weekend if I do say so m’self!