Hook

If'n ye remember what it be like to be my years with the blood boiling then ye'd remember all those that were as to "went before" They havn't yet went fer me lass. . . At my tender years :) but I be trying hard rather than hardly trying. Me mudder says I be tryin' indeed!

Arrghh lass, yer persona is as well developed as I have seen these many years and I been lookin' at personas for quite a few days indeed. Yer've got a fair pair of personas I might add

More Screech (clap of thunder rum) Belay Purchasin' of me own pocket More landlubbers for me cat Me hands in more coffers Crimpin' more wenches No dancin' the hempen jig Keepin' clear of the bloody Provost and the rope's end . . . arggh! Yo-ho-ho!

Totally agree with you mate. These be fine waters for sailing wordplay so the gangplank twer opened yesterday. Bosun's piped "Call"....

Match be met indeed. Well met fer shure!

His wench put a bullet through his hat, But he'shad closer shaves than that. PyratePhil has it all and a bag of chips, So what if'n his rum he now sips. His taste has enobled to a fine delight, With arms as strong as his cleary sight. Life so full that he has been fully blessed, And a wife that is most times hardly dressed. Here's to a man 'o who sources the word, Into prose and humor that which I heard. Enjoy this life and all that it brings, Jewels indeed with clarity sings.

Yer mind be moving right fast yerself thar matey and slipped the gun twicet allready. The Hook? The Bosun blew call, piped to be passed, Next came all hands, with Hook steadfast. Launched and full laden for gettin' our share, The Deathmark'd Serpent sailed 'out there'. :)

Arggh! A wench must have that most indespensible quality for which there is NO substitute and without which I would not set me eye on. She must have that thing I require most of all, that being she must be. . . A woman!!!! That quality being filled there's grounds fer discussing her trussing Hook

But to PyratePhil's certain surprise, What should be born to his eyes. The hook leaned and with head in hand, Pulled hard the Hook mask fell to the sand. T'was ne'er the Hook had been brought to sight, But PyratePhil's old hand name of "Snee" afright. You stranded the lot of us here ye are now, To hold the hand of a rich *itch cow. Oh to see what's come of that great powerful boss, Holded so straight by one so frightfully cross. To wear frills and be proud brings shame to me eyes, For to be kept for jewels, gold and crown I cries. I best be off to jibe with me pyrate keen brothers, For now I see ye've had your coddled druthers. Once gruff and proud to make your own way, Now sittin' at table belly large and butt splayed. Thar's loot to be had and wenches fer th' takin', So I leave you por Phil to your table 'o bacon. Our ship be at port and lined ready for cast, I take my leave of Por Phil and his large repast. Hook

And then he awoke to such a fright, A dream it were as black as night. And looking on forward as in a trench, 'twas PyratePhill in tow with the wench! Strange it seemed for one such as Phil, To be held in hand and holded very stilll, His cape and coat traded for a frilly nightshirt, Ah poor Phil, on his face shows the hurt. At one time his best t'were enough to fear, But now he's heard to growl . . . "yes m'dear" And follow behind the one I had robbed Thus is PyratePhil so bent and knobbed.

Admiring her ring and such a locket, My mind was to gettin' it, right in me pocket. The good laird forbid I be gettin' caught, For they would find all the booty and lot. So as I eyed this wench and her shine, As in sooth I wished it to be all mine. It gleamed too well for her sweet chest, And would suit asure my own fine vest. - Hook