For the whole of the year, you may be a land lubber, but today be the day of talkin’ like a buccaneer. All those found not takin’ part will be labeled a lily-livered scallywag if e’er there was one. And any scurvy dog who dare insult us gentlemen and ladies o’ fortune, will soon find themselves countin’ doubloons in Davy Jones’ Locker.
Now, to further the celebratin’ of this great, grand day, I present to you some of the fiercest swashbucklers to e’er hoist the Jolly Roger.
o He be most likely killin’ ye in the mornin’, but he serves a fine grog in the evenin’. I hear it be laced with iocane powder.
o A lady o’ fortune willin’ to scalp her dear departed father for a treasure map and kill her uncle in pursuit of the booty? Not a lass to be trifled with.
o Now, here be a man of sweet trade who be most impressive. At least when speakin’ of his mustache. When it comes to fightin’ children? That thar be a different topic.
o Any buccaneer who attempt to bring such sweet treasure, be good enough for me.
o He be sportin’ a peg leg, hook hand, and but one eye. I pity the wretch who tries crossin’ ‘im.
Who be your favorite buccaneers? Leave their names below, so we may all lift a flask in their honor.
Now, be on your way. It be time for each of us to go on the account. But, avast! If you be looking for more information, or perhaps just needing a bit of advice, cast your attention in this direction or, perhaps, here.
Fare thee well, me hearties! I’ll be seein’ ye on the Fiddler’s Green.