Swigs a throatful of Cap'n Sandra's world-famous grog and starts pointin' wi' her daggerI'd carve each and ev'ry name of each and ev'ry wench onter that bilge-sucking blaggard's barnacle-covered prick wi'a dull, rusted surgeon's knife an' gi'him a lengthy parley wi' the gunner's daughter! That scurvy, loose-britches son of a priest's oft-soiled codpiece! Beggarmouth! He'd be keelhauled until there was naught left of him but strips of his decievin' flesh that even Davy Jones hisself wouldn't bother with the leavin's!
An' what I'd do ter her fer beggin on her weak knees on the scurvy dog's deck?!? That lass needs ter have the sense knocked back inter her by a good cat o' nine! That kind o' treatment by a man? Scupper that! slams down her pint, sheathes her dagger. That's me say, just got me ire up and all.
Ah, I have me doubts that ye would be wantin' to set sail wit' the sort of wenches that squiffy be beddin', matey. Ye'd be better served findin' yer own "treasure".
Comments 56
An' what I'd do ter her fer beggin on her weak knees on the scurvy dog's deck?!? That lass needs ter have the sense knocked back inter her by a good cat o' nine! That kind o' treatment by a man? Scupper that! slams down her pint, sheathes her dagger. That's me say, just got me ire up and all.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
Reply
Leave a comment