The Making of a Pirate (revised)

From The Logbook of Pick Ass Bill The Ass-Killing Pirate…Final Entry For The Intention of Being Read Aloud to The Crew of She’s a Screamer:
Goodbye my loyal mates, it’s been one helluva ride. Squirley Sue, I’m sorry I never made you a woman, but it hurts when I pee. Whippin’ Willie, you keep whippin’ till the day you die…for me and all the dreams that were thrashed by your sonic boom. And lastly, to all the good ole’ boys on She’s a Screamer, you saved my life when I never knew I had one.

Pay attention kiddies, for this sordid tale may not be for the likes of you. You’ll find Pirates and Billy goats and Scurvy and yes, even anal butt rot. So if you don’t feel up to it, piss off and go play with your dollies and fat free yogurt. This is a story for hearkened maties. Now perk your ears and hear the deathbed confession of Pick Ass Bill the Ass-Killing Pirate.

Nary a day goes by when the events of that terrible Tuesday play like a movie seared into my mind…or was it Saturday? Aye, Saturday it was because I had just picked up me cream for the ole butt rot. It began with a little swamp ass, but after days of neglect and lack of showering; it progressed nicely into a hollow cavity that kept gettin’ bigger each day…aye, Saturday indeed.

We set sail that mornin’, that is, me and my wife Sherry. She was a stubborn old goat with a love of the sea that was second only to myself. I distinctly remember her brays of excitement as I pulled up to the beach outside of our humble abode in an 8 ft pram style duck-boat I built specifically for Sherry on this occasion. It was a beauty at 42 square feet of raw sea faring fury…the boat I mean. Just thinking about that boat gets my crotch a stirrin’. Anywho, Sherry and I loved to snuggle up together under the stars late at night out on the water and make sweet, sweet animal love till the early morn, so, seein’ as though it was our 6-month wedding anniversary, we were gettin’ extra moody. Just as we were gettin’ to a gropin’ and sucklin’ though, a gigantic beast leaped clear out of the water and rocked the boat a bit with its wave. It scared me nearly to dickens, and Sherry too.

Peering over the side of the boat I scanned to water to see if I could get a clear look at the fearsome beast, but all’s I saw were minnows and guppies. Then, just I got to calmin’ Sherry down and offered her a bit o’ tin can to nibble on, the beast leaped onto the front end of the boat and faced me eye to eye. It was a sea monkey…the deadliest of it’s kind with fangs as sharp as a fiddler’s wit and arms as thick as tree trunks to boot. I stepped in front of Sherry and squared off with the beast, prepared to fight to the death to keep my beloved safe. The beasts blood-red eyes narrowed to slivers as he started swinging his arms faster and faster like that of a windmill. A frightening bellow escaped it’s gruesome lips as he charged, teeth barred like the demon he was, headin’ right toward me.

Instinct took over. Facin’ his arms o' death I tightened my chin, let out my own fearsome battle cry and started kickin’… first with the right, then with the left alternating as violently as my little twigs would allow. We must have made quite the pair as we dueled like gods… exchanging mortal blows of fist and foot with each lurching assault on our battleground of fate. I was hit twice before I gave him a good kick in the shin, but managed to right myself quick enough to put the swiftest boot in my arsenal right up the turd-cutter. The beast must have soared nine feet strait up in the air like a bird, except he was a sea monkey, so when gravity once more gripped it’s icy dry hands around his fur-covered ankles, he slammed violently into the end of the boat and sent Sherry and me flying like we was on the wrong end of a teeter-totter. We hit the water in the same fashion as a great Beluga, but was flappin’ like fish in an oilcan before you knew it. Thank god Sherry pulled me ashore seeing as though I’m not a very strong swimmer or I may very well have met my end at the bottom o’ the pond.

We slept strait through the night and woke up with the sun beating down above us. The first thing I did was roll over and kiss the end of Sherry’s wet nose and stroke her silky beard… happy that she was ok. Then, surveying our damning situation, I walked a bit around the unfamiliar land looking for tools and such that may have washed ashore. We had only paltry provisions at one orange, a peanut butter sandwich and half a bottle of lube in addition to the pocketknife, ball of yarn and 45 cents I had in my britches’ pocket. It would be hard coming if Sherry and me couldn’t find some way off this island, and hard it was as I learned in the next few weeks that followed.

At first it was no sweat. I built a ramshackle hut out of wood and palm fronds from the nearby trees and glued them together with globs of semen while Sherry gobbled up any nuts and berries she could find. We survived on that for a good week, drinking fresh water from a stream across the way, but my butt rot was getting worse without me cream and Sherry was startin’ to feel awful sick. I managed pretty good on my own while parts of my anus turned black and blue and a curious shade of green before dripping off like melting wax on a barbeque grill in the hot summer months of June, but Sherry wouldn’t get up till nearly nightfall and even then couldn’t muster the strength to do any bit o’ exercise. I was gettin’ real worried too when I saw her gums bleedin’…then I knew it was scurvy. Luckily I still had that orange (which was a bit fuzzy around the edges), but she wouldn’t have any of it. I tried lubing it up a bit and shoving it down her throat seeing as though it would do her good, but she bit two of my fingers clean off at the tip. If she wouldn’t take it though, she’d die…

Sherry died three days later. It broke my heart so much to see my beautiful wife go, but in the end I knew she didn’t suffer too much. She just laid her head to sleep, convulsed for six minutes strait, hawked up a glob of blood and never woke up. I cleaned and dressed her up real nice-like, but after a while just starin’ at her body all done up like that I was really startin’ to feel the hunger pains. I hadn’t eaten in days, and god darn nit, I knew Sherry wouldn’t want me to go hungry. I hope the good lord kept a special place in his heart for me on that Saturday, 3 weeks after we were crashed by that monster, because that was the day I had to eat Sherry.

I’ll never forgive myself for how good she tasted, but I can’t help it, I was starvin’. It’s because of her that I survived a few more days till you fellers came to my rescue. Course, by that time I was skinnier than an anorexic on crystal-meth, and had absolutely no butt on account of the rot as you all well know. It was from you fine folk that I learned the true ways of the sea and became the renowned pirate I am today. From the day you found me on that island with Sherry’s picked-clean skeleton hanging around my neck to this day on my deathbed nearly 2 years later, I’ve been proud to be known as Pick Ass Bill the Ass-Killing Pirate. I’ve never loved another creature as much as I loved Sherry, but I can’t swear against the good book and say I didn’t try.