28 July 2007
Out of the Frying Pan…
June, 1856
As I continued to sail my man-servant, Botter, across the ocean, I took the time to ask him about the events leading up to his kidnapping, back on the HMS Bastard. I was most eager to ascertain whether all the unfortunate events that had unfolded around me on that accursed ship were linked, or just terribly coincidental.
I enquired as to the identity of Botter’s captors, but all I could get out of the blithering idiot was that the kidnapper was a, “sea-faring man of some sort”. As we had been on a massive ship full of such gentle-men, Botter’s vague discription was about as much use as a prophylactic to a eunuch. Botter suggested that he might be able to recount some more vital detail, if he was allowed to rest up for a while. I told him that such an idea was completely out of the question at this point in time, and told him to hold a steady course so I could better enjoy my whisky.
We continued on in silence for a while, until Botter shattered the tranquility of our journey by loudly shouting and pointing at something to the right of us.
“Milord!” he cried. “Look! Look – a ship!”
I did indeed look, and there was indeed a ship in the distance, slowly heading in our general direction. I stood up, ignoring Botter’s cries of pain as I did so, and strained to see what sort of vessel it was.
“Hmmm,” I mused. “It seems to be a British vessel, I am fairly certain. Ah-hah! It flies the Union Jack, so must be British. But whether we should entrust ourselves to another ship, I am not sure…”
“Please, milord!” Botter wailed. “My back is killing me.”
“Hmph. Alright, then, Botter. We shall try and board this boat, but if it turns out to be run by blood-thirsty savages, it shall not only be your back killing you. Do you understand?”
“Hooray!” Botter cheered, accidentally swallowing some water as he did, causing him to start choking.
Eventually, after Botter had composed himself, we started to approach the new vessel cautiously. As we drew closer, until we were mere feet away, the Union Jack flag that had been flying proudly atop the ship’s mast was quickly lowered, and another was raised in it’s place. And this new flag was not nearly as inviting as the Empire’s red, white and blue.
It was a skull and crossbones.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I said, despairingly. “Now it’s fucking pirates. Hip-hip hoo-fucking-ray!”
This trip was becoming something of a headache, all in all.
- Lord Likely, hoping that these pirates are at least fans of Humor-Blogs.com.
Further Likely-related scrawlings can be enjoyed on Lord Likely: Stripped Nude.
