Yo ho ho.
Parrots, patches and prosthetics.
It's talk like a pirate day again!
Time to splice yer mainbrace, stow yer bilge, avast yer scurvy dog (or amedium if it's a terrier), walk the plank, keelhaul the mutineers (did they have mutinoses too?), set sails for the Spanish Main, get the clap in irons, go friggin' in the riggin', and have a jolly roger. Um. Or whatever.
Questions abound at this time of the year. What are poop decks for? What really went on in the fo'c's'le? How come pirates always talk about their booty? And why are they always calling each other 'ho'? (Sail, ho! Land, ho! etc)
All rather confusing. Especially after a few bottles o' rum. Still, sitting down is often beyond me after the first bottle. After the second I usually have to hold onto the floor.
But it's a great time to trot out fishboy's crappest pirate joke (tm):
Pirate 1: "Where's your buccaneers?"
Pirate 2: "Under my buckin' hat!"
I know, I know, I'll get me coat..