Sunday, June 28, 2009
Carnival Of Elitist Bastards Fourteen
[cough ... hack ... moan]
What day be it?
What? Blistering barnacles!
The Bastard t'were supposed to set sail on yesterday's tide!
Pirates have birthdays too 'n yesterday be mine. A modest celebration t'were planned but ended as such things always do, with all 'n sundry hanging out the scuppers.
But as Decrepit Old Fool reminds us, consistency be important to a Bastard and a matter even of life 'n death.
'Tis no surprise that the crew be not stirrin' -- the layabouts -- when summer breezes waft among the masts and grog be free at hand.
Vice Admiral Dana takes to discussin' why even pirates can find they care about strangers. But I reckon that won't be applyin' to those who failed to be back aboard in time to hoist sail. There be some keelhaulin' in store for some.
That is, if the Admiral don't forget about it lookin' at the night sky.
Given the odds the Bastard always sails against, it wisely carries at least two physiks to mend bones broke by ignorance. Sawbones Steve of Science-Based Medicine warns of an enemy that sails under an ally's flag but turns its guns on knowledge at every turn. And Doc Barbara from ICBS Everywhere tells, not once but twice, of how distortion can kill.
As the tide was about to turn, stragglers began to make their way up the gangplank:
Z from It's the Thought That Counts came aboard hauling a chest labeled "Culture."
Heather from provisioners named Steingruebl World Enterprises stopped to tell the tale of fighting her way past bureaucrats to find a real treasure in community.
A gang of longshoremen staggered under the weight of Cujo359's sense of wonder he sent ahead from Slobber And Spittle. Then came another gang carrying Cujo's twin duffels labeled
Iraq Iran one and two.
Not happy with the crew, the Admiral sent out the press gang to round up some more:
A lubber named John Wilkins, from the Fatal Shore and a place called Evolving Thoughts, was hauled aboard. He is some sort of philosopher. He was warning of a danger to the crew if they mishandled the guns. Knowing the exact nature of the ammunition being loaded would keep the cannons from exploding in their face.
Taken from the streets of Ecstathy, Efrique tells of attempts to stop laughter because the forces of repression and fear know humor is their greatest foe.
The Admiral particularly wanted someone called PZ dragged aboard and forced to read drivel until he could stand no more.
Oh, and what of me? Did you expect me to work on my birthday?
The Admiral had asked about a prior engagement with a brig flying the ID colors. So here is an account of a running battle with four broadsides fired: one, two, three and four.
Now go away and leave a man to sleep it off in his own hammock.
Labels: Carnival of Elitist Bastards
Ye did a great job o' work, lad. It be a party to remember - if only we could remember....
Thanks for rounding up enough "volunteers" to make it a carnival. Hope it was a happy birthday.
I sadly missed the boat on this occassion: stumbled past the pier in my own post-revelry stumblings celebrating a birthday on another crew's ship, only to the masts of our dear HMS Elitest Bastard disappearing over the horizon.
Thankfully, though, I did not imbibe any of this during the celebratory occassion.