Captain Jim

Happy Birthday to ye mate. May a large flaggon o' rhum find its way to yer mit.

No, in this case it's more like the short bus. Or special education, but with cat o' nines.

I shall echo Mae's sentiments: most excellent Sir.

Roll Tape!

Oh, no, I'm not going to go there...

Thanks for thinking of us lost souls, doomed to wander the purgatory that is a year without FTPI. Always plotting my return...damn I miss you drunken sots.

Happy Birthday, ye scallywag! Goin' t' Alafia this year?

Congratulations, mate. Make the cartridge box so's that it fits 'is bottle.

Ah, good times. Thanks for the Journal old man, it really helps with the missing of the whole thing (again).

Happy birthday mate.

I agree with Mission on this one. Like me, some folks have gotten busy or are struggling in this that passes for our economy. I still love this place but havn't as much time to devote as before. C'est la vie. Still pyratin' whenever I can.

Actually the odd thing is that it seems that everyone in the harbor has their canons run out. The usual state of canons is lashed inboard (to avoid the proverbial "loose canon"). Gun ports were often opened for ventilation, but running out the canon was an offensive/defensive move and yet here we have a whole harbor full of run-out canon. Odd.

Chrispy old man, you've come a long way in the pyratin' world and are certainly one of the best of us.

Happy birthday Diosa! Oh, wait: how can someone who is ageless even have a birthday? Too much to contemplate, so may you have many more, seeing as how they don't affect you. Jim

Beer, boats and a lightbender as well. Welcome aboard, mate.

(*Pssst! Mission! OH, MISSION! You have created/unleashed a monster!*)

A front-wheel drive rabbit...

Welcome aboard, Dani.

Excellent work, as usual FB. Hey, a question: what did you use to stiffen the cover? If it was some sort of cardboard/pasteboard, do you know the history of that bindery style? How far back does pasteboard go?

Happy natal day, Mr. Bagley. Once more around the great circle course, and many more.

Oooo! Late to the party again! Well, happy birthday anyway, mate.

*>Rim Shot!<* Thank you! Thank you! We'll be here all week! Don't forget to tip your waitresses and bartenders!

It never fails to amuse me how we rough, tough pyrate guys will geek out over the oddest things. A spoon. Stitch types and applications. Making women's clothing. Shoes. Hey! Nice spoon!

Mind you that you're going the other way but, still. Courtesy of Mr. Buffett: There's a cowboy in the jungle And he looks so out of place With his shrimpskin boots and his cheap cheroots And his skin as white as paste Headin' south to Paraguay Where the Gauchos sing and shout Now he's stuck in Porto Bello Since his money all ran out So he hangs out with the sailors Night and day they're raisin' hell And his original destination's just another Story that he loves to tell With no plans for the future He still seems in control From a bronco ride to a ten foot tide He just had to learn to roll Chorus: Roll with the punches Play all of his hunches Make the best of whatever came his way What he lacked in ambition He made up with intuition Plowing straight ahead come what may Steel band in the distance And their music floats across the bay While American women in moomoos Talk about all the things they did today And their husbands quack about fishing As they slug those rum drinks down Discussing who caught what and who sat on his butt But it's the only show in town. Chorus: They're tryin' to drink all the punches They all may lose their lunches Tryin' to cram lost years into five or six days Seems that blind ambition erased their intuition Plowin' straight ahead come what may. I don't want to live on that kind of island No I don't want to swim in a roped off sea Too much for me, too much for me I've got to be where the wind and the water are free. Alone on a midnight passage I can count the falling stars While the Southern Cross and the satellites They remind me of where we are Spinning around in circles Living it day to day And still twenty four hours may be sixty good years It's still not that long a stay. Chorus: We've gotta roll with the punches Learn to play all of our hunches Makin' the best of whatever comes your way Forget that blind ambition And learn to trust your intuition Plowin' straight ahead come what may And there's a cowboy in the jungle

For even thinking about answering back to your captain, you shall be whipped 20 lashes at the main come the dawn, there to remain the day! Oh, I forgot: pyrate! So, what's on yer mind, shipmate? I shall forgo a detailed answer so as to let Professor Foxe and Co. have the floor, but in my reading it depended a lot on the individual captain, but in the main even the slightest breach of protocol called for severe punishment.