19 September 2018

Naught But A Slip

T'day tis the day we speak as pyrites belike!

T'day tis the day yon alphabet begins in ARRRRRRR!

Fifteen men on the dead man's chest—
...Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest—
...Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!

I t'ink Siesta Key will be the rum of choice.


  1. Arr, I could tell ye a saga.
    A yarn of an ill fated mariner.
    Who sailed from a harbor
    twixt Cancer and Capricorn.
    Embarked on a vessel, quite minute.

    An Irish first mate, with arms like timbers.
    The Cap'n knew not the meaning of fear.
    Pilgrims five, were also aboard
    To reconnoiter for a half day.

    Storm clouds appeared on the horizon,
    Their barquette floundered in the waves.
    Only the fortitude of the officers
    Saved the tiny tub from the briny deep.

    Their vessel's hull was ripped open by a reef,
    By God's mercy, All souls made it ashore.
    Some comely wenches, men, both rich and poor.
    An idiot and a scholar, as well as the captain.
    Here on Gilligans Isle.


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