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[Photo by Alan Romanczuk, used with his permission and that of the Rigney family. Mr. Rigney’s pirate hair ornaments by Elise Matthesen.]
Companion photograph here.
Shiver me timbers, 'tis a likely lad.
I like the nautical print in the background, too!
Aaarh, mateys! It be a fitting memorial, and so say all of us.
Spell it out, me lads --
Yargh! I'm not very good at this day. yargh :(
'Jim Rigney' even sounds like a pirate's name. Arrrrr!!!
Teresa @ 6
Garrrghh -- I think that's the next letter.
This would not seem remiss.
Yaar! That be a fine swashbucklin' buccaneer.
Yo heave ho. Now for the bottle of rum, swabbies.
Avast, ye lubbers! It's past six bells o' the first watch about here, and ye're only talkin' like pirates now?
At eight bells it'll be the feast of Saint Eustace, and we'll be roastin' people inside bronze bull statues, so we will, arrrrhh!
I be gettin' together with friends for a mighty pillage over on Puzzle Pirates. Then, in the evening, rum! How better to celebrate such a day?
Arrr, mateys! Me bf (a likely lad he is, aye, and fair and well-spoken too) texted me thus:
All hands on deck! Hoist the mainsail! Batten down the hatches! Weigh anchor! (someone shouts: the anchor weighs 45 lbs!)
The big wheel o' the time be turnin', and captains come and go, leavin' t' memories that get fogged with lots of rum, wenching, fighting, and grog. Grog and head injuries fade the memories to myth, myth to legend, and even legend drowns in the deep sea of rum when the scurvy dog that birthed the bonny tale be comin' round again..."
indeed, that's still the first thing i think of whenever "talk like a pirate day" is mentioned.
still cracks me up. & still makes me wistful to think of how late i came to both mr. ford & mr. o'brian.
Ahoy for St Eustace! At eight bells all hands start roasting raw slices of bull and venison on slabs of bronze over bonfires. Mainbrace splicing to follow. Dance, me hearties, dance 'til ye drop! Arrrr! (Hopin' I'll need t' liberate a new shirt from some unlucky lubber by the end of the last watch.)
Dancin' Jenny Jade
Jim @ #16:
alas, said fair day be long past on this fine Southern island as I be inhabitin'.
Call me Ishmaël.
Yarr! NNNRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH is the next letter I be thinkin'
Serge, I'm listening to Steve Goodman's Moby Book right now. ARRRR, and you can listen to it, too!
re:Cass R #19
Who is this Jim person? My name's actually Joe.
Ishmael actually did originally compose his epic in his native Pirate tongue, which Melville transcribed into English:
"Call me Ishmael. Some years ago--never mind how long precisely--havin' little or no doubloons in me purse, and nothin' particular t' interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see t' watery part o' t' world. It be a way I have of drivin' off t' spleen and regulatin' t' circulation. Whenever I find meself growin' grim about t' mouth; whenever it be a damp, drizzly November in me soul; whenever I find meself involuntarily pausin' before coffin warehouses,and brin'in' up t' aft o' every funeral I meet; and especially whenever me grog gets such an upper hand o' me, that it requires a strong moral principle t' prevent me from deliberately steppin' into t' street,and methodically bustin' people's caps off with me cudgel--then, I account it high time t' get t' sea as soon as I can. This be me substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Captain Salty Cat-o-nine threw himself upon his cutlass; I quietly take t' t' ship. There be nothin' surprisin' in this. If they but knew it, almost all landlubbers in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly t' same feelin's towards t' ocean with me."
After a hard day carousing, looting, and pillaging, the older pirates have turned in to their bunks and are reading their favorite comic artist (ARRRRRGH Crumb), listening to their favorite hip-hop singer (ARRRRRGH Kelly), and shooting pieces off the bust of their least favorite philosopher, Marcus ARRRRRGHelius...
In the spirit of the thread, this post is brought to you by the letter EARRRRRGH (the REAL name of a certain slow-talking donkey of literary and cinematic fame). A.A. Milne just couldn't spell...
Aye, me beauty. I see ye be tuggin' on yer braids again.
I am going to hell for that.
The two bits of the series I wanted to see pirated have now been done. Arrrrrrrrr. I be happy.
Q: What goes "Pieces of seven, pieces of seven?"
A: (now now, don't yell out if you know the answer - you'll spoil it for the lifeform/s that haven't)
A Parroty Error.
Aargggh ... snicker ... arrgh ... oh me achin' ribs ... uurrgh!
Well, you can't work all the time, even parroty has to take a vacation, so any remaining bird must be odd.
But seven has the same parity as eight! It wouldn't be a parroty error at all. Pieces of nine, now, that'd be the ticket.
Ye have *no* idea how happy seeing this entry made me, on so many levels (not the least of which is the fact that I just removed my own Elise-ian pirate hair ornaments at the end o' a looooong day of listening to other people talk like pirates...)
22: Are you listening to it on NPRRRRRRR?
Vian @ #29: No, a parroty error is `pieces of nine, pieces of nine'.
Has anybody read The Pirate Queen: Queen Elizabeth I, Her Pirate Adventurers, and the Dawn of Empire,
by Susan Ronald?
Numbers 16, 20 and 25 are responsible for coating my keyboard in a fine spray of tea. Arrrgh. :)
Just for the record, last night's dinner toast was a rousing "aaarrrr". (Usually we toast the weather or something.)
"Went the day well, Jack?" Doctor Maturin passed his cloak to Bonden, shrugging energetically to settle his jacket. "Was it not some nautical ceremony?"
"You mean International Talk Like A Pirate Day? It is but an American conceit of little significance, but I found it refreshing to recall my time as a common sailor."
"I know your tale Jack," said Maturin, hoping to defuse the retelling. "And I admire you for it."
"Why... ...You do?" Jack was taken aback by the comment.
"Indeed," said Maturin. He stepped across the room to look out of the window. "How many of your brother officers could have adapted to the change. You know of my activities: it is a talent which is of value. But, unlike me and my associates, you would have struggled to meet the need to lie." He smiled slightly. "Avast there you lubbers!" There was a clatter outside the room, as if somebody might have dropped a plate. "Is that the style, Jack?"
Jack laughed. "You have the voice, but I can never imagine you as a sailor."
"Nor can I," came the admission. "I have my talents, you and your crew have theirs, and I am deeply grateful for your tolerance."
"As we have reasons to be grateful to you." Jack came and stood by his friend. "I could imagne you as a storybook pirate."
"Oh yes. And if some enemy had arranged to have a letter of marque disavowed, we would have been as piratical as Captain Kidd."
Maturin bowed his head for a moment and crossed himself. Jack murmured something that might have been a prayer.
It didn't really matter which of them said what.
You guys, I should tell you that I was down in Charleston for the funeral while this was being posted, and everybody's good wishes were much appreciated, as was the humor. (Niall, your #13 in particular was much quoted by Harriet, who was greatly amused.)
IP address: 188.8.131.52
Still spam, though.
The Tillinghast Resonator clearly shows #39 to be linkspam.
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<strong>Strong</strong> = Strong
<em>Emphasized</em> = Emphasized
<a href="http://www.url.com">Linked text</a> = Linked text
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