Crabbage Snatch Open - The Voyage of the SS Natch

The Stlange Voyage of the SS Natch - Book 4

don't be foor

MS: Arggh, Mr. 'Ackett, see to it that yer Slaptain's a seat a' th' Gayme, 's well, then. I'll nae miss a chance t' bring me yardarm t' bear on the quarters o' any a man what's leanin' o'er the railin' aspewin' Big Beers unta the lower bleachers! Be jez like Fleet Week, it will. Who've ye got s'far, lad?

M'A: Sar, they be nought but them's whats cummin' from afar. 'Oi've 'eard only from Long Schnack Sliver an' 'er majesty, the grand Duchess Phillippia du Kerrigge.

MS: Arggh, well, no one cun round out a section 's well as those, but what of the rest of the puling spawn, then. Nought from Cummondoor Brunt? M. Parshall du Bois? Sure, ye've 'eard fum Navigator Rhagg, then?

M'A: Nae, Sar. They be mostly pullin' they own halyards of late. Methinks, they be afear'ed o' parting with a quid or two. Fucking lawyers.

MS: Arggh, ye best be kerful w' that "fucking lawyers" shite, thar 'Ackett. Fuckin' lawyers be a solemn duty fer some o' us these days. 'N many th' men'n'd not cum to th' Snatch if'n they'd not be promised a chance t' gorge their brine up the scuttle of a barrister or two belowdecks. 'N what of Lt. Bambi? Sure ye've 'eard fum 'im?

M'A: Nae, Bambi's stuck in the bilge, 'n 'e's taken to a rictus, Sar. Seems 'e's cum t' 'ave a spheroid o' horsehide wedged up 'is bum. 'Appened when 'e was divin' fer warm water clams in McCovey Cove a fortnight back. Noone cun work it free. Now, 'e be all swoll up so's 'e's taken the shape o' a parsnip, Sar. We cun't fit 'im back up the aft companionway n' longer. At night, 'e lights up like the fire o' St. Gom, 'e does.

MS: Arggh, well, borrow ye th' carpenter's mate's double-ought bung-ream n' 'is eight-pound cudgel. The good Lieutenant'll not notice iffn ye bring it t' bear just so's ye cun wedge a pipette in thar 'n titer off 'alf a hogs'head o' th' fumes each watch. Butt, see that th' men be stayin' in the upper decks whilst ye do it. That stuff be 'eavier 'n air, 'n ye don't want the men t' takin' t' sniffin' the stuff like they wuz in Calais. I'll be needed they senses sharp when they cum on duty.

M'A: Eye, eye, Sar.

MS: Make it so.

Slaptain's Log


Captain: Ayyyee, we'll see about ford'in the moat, men. It cunt be more than a fathom from here..we'll take the backside of Covey Cove we will.

Lt. Phillippe: Hell, no, sir, that's no freaking moat! That's a fold under Marshall's jowels that's filled to the brim with salty seamen, sir. The poor bugger's never had a chance, what with their tired tails an' all. They got no jump..

Nav Rag: Let's all calm fucking down, damit. I say there's a passage and I aims to prove it.

Cmdr. Brundt: Could it be you've forded this passage before? In a short, slender ship of yur own design?

Capitain: None more o' that slander men, we've a job to do here an it's on with it! We needs a few good men ta volunteer fur an exploration party. Step lively now..arggh..


Arrgh. I hear tales o' men runnin round in but their knickers, grabbin their long poles n' smackin' their balls inta McCovey's Cove. Why men tell tales o' boys adivin' head first inta the bag n' holdin' on fer dear life lest the ump givem a big thumb and then a hearty yank. Ya don't have ta tell me 'bout the joys of shovin' a big weiner in me mouth as I watch the men playin' with themselves. Aye, n' I'll be there wi' me spyglass to see the game from the Crow's nest o' Sec333.

-Cumondoor Brandt


Arrgh. So's ye be tellin' me yer a nautical man are ye? Well, see 'ere 'ow a man what knows 'ow to 'andle a barge cun do. Ye best be able to pull one o' these off, afore ye cun hold a glass on th' poop o' my ship, ye Mudlubbers! Me nephew sent me th' 'ttached. Actually, yer Slaptain 'as been to the Mississippi, 'n 'e's seen these 'ere barge tugs*. Ye cun 'ear 'em, too, ye can.

Ye know why they's sounds like a Diesel locomotive, guppy? That's because they be packin' up ta' four o' the same engines whats the locomotives use ta' pull a train.** No, not that type o' train, Rhagg. 'N keep yer 'ands up wheres we cun see 'em, too, ye old gummer.

Aye, the Cummondoor's an inspiration to se'men in every port from Rotterdam t' Kowloon. Ye don't git to see a master helmsman like 'im awork often enough, buckos! Point yer clicker below, hove to, 'n see a man w' spirit take t' the waterways!

(*It's twue, it's twue)

(** I mean that about the locomotive engines)

Check this one out ….. It’s Totally Amazing ………….

How to drive a boat.

Want to see how the professionals do it? Then check this one out...


Cabin Boy Thibley: Cap'n thir...Cap'n thir!

Captain Mudshark: Arrgh. Can't ya see I'm busy? Uuuunnnnhhhh...OK, yer excused.

Knavigator Rag: Mmmank mou.

CM: OK, boy, now spit it out!

KR: Ptoooie!

CM: I weren't a talkin' ta you, Raggie. Now clean that up.

CBT: Thir, yeth thir...thlurp!

CM: Not shit! How the hell c'n I be runnin' a ship if'n ya pathetic wankers can't follow me orders.

CBT: Aaaaa!'th orderth I jutht thecured from the purther. They thay, thir, that we thould thoon thail the Thnatch potht hathte thinth thummer theemth thunk.

CM: Orders? Ah me boy...ya be makin' me whell up...if'n ya catch me drift.

Meanwhile aboard the Japanese Mini-sub Fukahomo...

Rear Admirer Snoid: Rook!! Sryry using peliscope we have successfurry lead papels aboald SSNatch.

Head Seaman Boikzawanka: Brimey, sounds rike a broody good time!

Cabin Geisha Thibley: Tharr we throwry and thryry rulk, thil?

RAS: Arways. Ling Untelseebuut Die Ruhlkels. Lig fol sirent comaladely, onry. foor! Lun sirent, lun deep.

CGT: When you'le deep, thirenthe impothibre, thil!

HSB: Lue Blitannia, brokes!


Cabin Boy Thibley: Cap'n thir...Cap'n thir!

Captain Mudshark: Arrgh. Can't ya see I'm busy? Uuuunnnnhhhh...OK, yer excused.

Knavigator Rag: Mmmank mou.

CM: OK, boy, now spit it out!

KR: Ptoooie!

CM: I weren't a talkin' ta you, Raggie. Now clean that up.

CBT: Thir, yeth thir...thlurp!

CM: Not shit! How the hell c'n I be runnin' a ship if'n ya pathetic wankers can't follow me orders.

CBT: Aaaaa!'th orderth I jutht thecured from the purther. They thay, thir, that we thould thoon thail the Thnatch potht hathte thinth thummer theemth thunk.

CM: Orders? Ah me boy...ya be makin' me whell up...if'n ya catch me drift.

Meanwhile aboard the Japanese Mini-sub Fukahomo...

Rear Admirer Snoid: Rook!! Sryry using peliscope we have successfurry lead papels aboald SSNatch.

Head Seaman Boikzawanka: Brimey, sounds rike a broody good time!

Cabin Geisha Thibley: Tharr we throwry and thryry rulk, thil?

RAS: Arways. Ling Untelseebuut Die Ruhlkels. Lig fol sirent comaladely, onry. foor! Lun sirent, lun deep.

CGT: When you'le deep, thirenthe impothibre, thil!

HSB: Lue Blitannia, brokes!


With the mighty vessel, the S.S.Natch, heeled to starboard in a hoary beam reach gale, we find our Slaptain and the good Cumondoor Brunt savoring the last bits of their traditional St. Flavinus' Day feast of braised auk, salt pork and sea cabbage. Enjoying a few quiet moments together, the two brave cummunders hunker down to resume their running game of Wads.

Suddenly, the companionway hatch bursts open, and with eyes bulging, the witless old purser, Swede Bjornckabincke, tumbles into the Slaptain's chambers. His schlong, discolored and misshapen from years of abuse, is draped down the front of his trousers. The ship's proctologist, Bones Hackettaway close behind him, the addled old Viking repeatedly points to his head and then his schlong, frantically babbling in his incomprehensible tongue, trying to make himself understood:

S.B. "Furgeburgeburgeburge Yurngeburngeburngeburge Gedoornge Kenurnge Faloorngene Oberngenboorngene!!!"

M.S. "Bjornckabincke, reef a sail, thar, lad. Nary a one ab'rd cun make out a word ye be spouting, ye Nordic wanker, ye! Arggh, but yer head's bin pinch'd 'tween one too many floes 'o sea ice. Bones!!! Git yer pus-oozin' mug in har, 'n see wha' ye cun garner fum th' old queer!"

B.H. "Aye, Slaptain, Oiy'll see 'ut Oiy cun doy...... Bjornckabincke, wh' th' fug' ye be say'n? Speak plain fer, th' Slapain, thar now....

S.B. " Gedoornge Kenurnge Faloorngene Oberngenboorngene!!!"

B.H. "Nae, ye blithering idjoit!!!" swapp..... "TAYLL" swatt... "TH' CEPT'UM" swapp "WH'ET YER ATREY'N" swatt "T' SOIY" swapp..... "CLAR'LY," slappp. "YE MOINDLASS GUMM'R!!!!"

Then, Cumondoor Brunt, gently dabbing some of his winnings from his chin, injects:

C.B. "Mayhaps, th' feeblemind'd dullard be act'n' out 'is words. A pantomime o' sorts."

M.S. "Arrgh, Brunt, ye be a cunnin' linguist, indeed! See's wh't ye cun make out, thar."

S.B. "Gedoornge....."

C.B. "See, thar. "Gedoornge." Th't'wud'be "Dick"!"

S.B. "Kenurnge ....."

C.B. "Aye, 'n this'n mus' be "Head"!"

S.B. "Faloorngene ......"

C.B. "Un' 'at 'ould be, "Fallen"!"

S.B. "Oberngenboorngene......"

M.S. "Arrgh,, 'n Oberngenboorngene mus mean "Overboard"!"

C.B. "See, then.., Dick.....Head.....Fallen......Overboard..... , hmmm.. hath that meaning a'b'rd the Snatch?"

M.S. "Aye, 't'does. Dick Head be mean'n Navigator Rhagg. 'N, Fallen Overboard, be meanin' the men'd best haul they flaccid arses t' the railin's 'n find Navigator Rhagg, th't warthless bag o' bile 'n offal, afore'n 'e gits too bloated t' gaff back a'b'rd! Arggh!"

S.B. "Yashooor, verbin goorn ter foornd der Noorverdegerber Rhooorgemergher, derferngbernge Gedoornge Kenurnge!"

M.S. "Aye. Wh'te'er."

to be cuntinued......


Straining and jostling to peer over their shipmates' shoulders, the se'men of the mighty S.S.'Natch behold a terrifying sight. There, tangled in the anchor chains hanging from the forward scuppers the inert, flaccid body of their beloved Navigator, Rheambert Swallowmore Rhagg, lies trapped in the foamy wash churning from the bow of the 'Natch. In a strangely familiar pose, the good Navigator's trousers are tangled about his ankles, his face is buried in surging froth, and his arse is pointed upwards.

Mudshark: "Arggh, ye puling shankers, ready the grapplin' 'ook 'n th' gaffin' poles. Sink 'em int'a flesshy spots, now. Ye'll not git 'nother chance a'tit, Lads.... Steady.... Steady.... Good, now land 'im!"

rrr rrrrrrr rrrr floppp

Cabin Boy Thibley: "Thir, 'tith tho thad. Look at hith glathy eyeth, purple lipth and thallow complexthion. The Navigator'th 'ad hith head buried in th' thurgin' froth fer at leatht two bells! Thurely 'e'th lifeleth. Alath!"

Cummondoor Brunt: "Ne'er ye worry, Thibley. Methinks Rhagg's 'ad 'is 'ead engorged w' foam fer a lot long'r'n that!"

M.S. "Aye, a'b'rd me ship, no one's dead 'nt'l I say 'e's dead. Bjornckabincke, ye misborn cretin, sidle up abaft th' Navigator, thar, 'n ready yerself to 'dminister the Heimlich Maneuver. All ye Swede's know th' p'sition, dain't ye?"

S.B. "Yashooore voorkin gemoorkeboorkebooorke der Heimlichy purzershoorn!"

M.S. "Good, then. Strong pulls, ye'll give 'im, Rhythmic too. Bones, a cadence, if'n ye please."

Bones Hackettaway: "Aye, Sl'p'tun......POILLL.....POILLLL....POI...what th'?!?!..."

swooop flopppp

S.B. "Omigoorsh! Heoorder schooped gedoongefloorped geboorgeboorgeboorge"

M.S. "Bjornckabincke, Rhagg be aslipp'n' outen yer grip! Arggh, ye be's mindless as a pint o' sparm. Commondoor Brunt, 'elp Swede ploink 'is pud up Rhagg's balwarks, thar. 'At'll give 'im some purchase, it will."


C.B. "Thar, 's'at better then?"

S.B. "Unt ya! Oorkin boorkinboergeboorge boorge....."


M.S. "Cabin Boy Thibley c'm'ere, lad. Ye're t' blow life back inta Rhagg."

C.B.T. "Yethir. Like thith? Mgllmm mgllmmmm glorblmmmm..."

M.S. "Nae, ye queer bastard! 'Ow much air cun ye git thro' th' 'ole on th' end o' 'is pud?!?!? Stand up; squeeze 'is prodigious nostrils closed, seal yer lips around 'is saggin' jowls thar, 'n give 'im a proper blow what'd do sum good, then."

B.B.T. "Butt, Thir, Rhagg'th all thlimy with thpittle, 'n thputum, 'n theawater 'n thperm. 'N bethideth that, methinkth 'e giveth blojobth and lickth the artheth 'o any thailorth what'll pay 'im a thixpenthe."

M.S. "Aye, 'e does, lad. It should be quite the treat fer ye. Enjoy."

to be continued, even longer.....


Aye Cap'n...tis good ta hear ya workin on th' ship's log. Now dontcher ferget t' wipe.


Overcumming his initial reluctance to put his lips on the slimy, sagging jowls of Navigator Rhagg, Cabin Boy Thibley bends to his task of resusscitating the the glassy-eyed, flaccid body of the beloved old gummer. As the rest of the crack crew of the S.S.'Natch moves with practiced precision as they bear down to save Rhagg, Ship's Doctor, Bones Hackettaway continues his cadence to coordinate Swede Bjornckabincke's Heimlich thrusts with Thibley's blow job:

B.H. "POILLL......BALOIWE.......POILLL......BALOIWE.......POILLL......BALOIWE......."

Lieutenant Bambi: "Sar, we c'un't 'fford t' lose Rhagg! Nie'one'll read 'is binnacle since 'e's planted 'is butt cheeks o'nit."

M.S. "Arggh, 'tis true, Bambi. Ye be th' head bugler 'board. D'ye reckon ye cun git some wind to 'im through th' 'ole on the pointy end 'o 'is sclonge, thar?"

L.B. "Oooh, lemme try.... hmmmplgph.. glugglgll.... hmmphphph..."

Cummondoor Brunt: "Slapt'un. Ye've a spirited crew, thar. See the way they've tak'n t' they duties so."

M.S. "Arggh. 'At's the reason fer the incessant drills they run each night. So's they's cun pull together in a crisis."

C.B. "Aye. They'll not be easy t' pull apart, either, methinks."

Then, with deliberate precision, Rhagg's hand slowly cums up and plants a grip on the back of Cabin Boy Thibley's head. The decks of the 'Natch are filled with the lad's muffled screams:


B.H. "Arggh, Sl'p'tm, Methings auld Rhehgg be acummin' raund!"

C.B.T. "MUMMMPHRRFPPH!!!! MURRMPHPHPH!!!! ACCKK! Ptui. Ptui. Thar, Rhagg jutht thtuck hist tongue down me throat! Ackkk! Ackk!! RAAAAALPHPHPHPH."

B.H. "Avast, thar, lads. Lay to, 'n let th' old whore regain 'is bearin's."

M.S. "Arrgh, Rhagg, ye be a crafty ol' quaer! Trick'n th' crew t' 'ttend t' ye so! Thought we'd lost ye, we did!"

N.R. "Nay, sar, th' boys parfarmed right adm'r'ble, they did."

M.S. "Wall, then, 'oist yerself onta yer binnacle 'n lay in a course. Put th' wind a' our backs, 'n th' fair seas a' our loins."

L.B. "Butt, Rhagg, afore'n ye do, methinks ye owes me a sixpence!"

N.R. "Aye, 'tis true 'nough. See if'n ye cun take it in trade fum Bjornckabincke!"

C.B. "Mudshark, sure th' crew be prime fer sum gay 'dventures, Oy says."

M.S. "Make it so...."


Meanwhile aboard the SS Ese

Pirstmate Chui Deek: Deed choo seedat? Demdoods ongdat pirate chip jus sabed datguywit de beegnose. Itta pucking meercle.

Captaing Pucho Tongondeez: Mang, dat nutting. Demdoods deyalways geebing mout to mout...or mout to chewcher. Now pinich loding dat cheet. Webeway too high eende water.

PCD: Choogodit, Captang. Chai...joo, Marchall, choo dun bringingdem doods ongbord?

Chip's Madam Marchall: Joo stay way fum my bitches!

Manguel de Beegnos: Choo gotta chare, mang.

CMM: Choo puckop. De ongly teeng I chare weechoonow ees my pinkter. Later choo cang geeb me pibedollar por dees nagletoot dood. I teenk he Englich. I alto godda newbeesh dat talk alldetimng. All he say ees, "Chit, Chit, me puck Gardiser".


dripp..... drippp dripp...... splitch.... dripp....

Slaptain Wriggley Mudshark: "Arggh, Bambi, yer pud be dripp'n onta th' decks. Ye've gotta tend t' them sores afor'n ye climbs aloft t' take watch. Thibley'll ne'er git yer spume fum me epilets!"

Lieutenant Bambi: "Aye, aye, Sar, but th' red tide be so yeasty this forenoon, it summoned me wankin' ways."

M.S.: "Jez' keep yer both 'ands on th' spyglass. Ye be watchin' fer enema' sails up thar, ye feelthy poinker, yer not bugger'n some midshipman, ye know!"

L.B.: "Arr, but Sar, act'll'y, Oi've got young Gardiser up 'ere w' me."

M.S.: "Wall, see th't ye keep yer sparm free o' 'is eyes. Th' 'Natch be asail in mighty troobled waters. Seems we gits a red tide 'bout ev'ry two fortnights. Arggh, 'n this'n be a sight mar viscous 'n frothy 'n we be us'd ta'. Mus' be these trop'cal climes."

Cabin Boy Thibley: "Flot'tham, Ho, Thar, flot'tham, Ho. Thar'th a piethe of flot'tham thwimmin' 'long our thtarb'rd thide, Thar!"

M.S. "Arggh, gaff it ab'rd, Thibley, mayhaps we'll larn what be cuzzin' these fetid seas."

C.B.T.: "Har it ith, Thar. Why Thar, it'th theemth to be a large cat. Why'd'ya thuthspothe a puththy be thwimmin' tho far out to thea, Thar?"

M.S.: "Bring it forth, lad. Give us a look at it. Arggh, 't'be a feitsy wench. See it writh'in' thar so.

C.B.T.: "It mutht be thomeone'th pet puththy, Thar. Thee, it hath a thilver tag 'bout itth neck."

M.S.: "Arrgh, 'Oi cun jiz make out th' writin'......hmmmm.....seems it's name be "Mensie"."

C.B.T.: "Ith'n't that cute? Cun we keep it, Thar? The Eth Eth Thnatch thimply needth a thip'th cat! Let'th thee what thex it ith!"

Navigator, Rheambert Swallowmore Rhagg: "Hold, thar a minute, Thibley. Oi w'lnd't be a'doin' that jez now. Better ye let me check a thang or two afor'n ye bury yer mug 'tween it's loins. Give us a waft, will ye Thibley?.....

sniff sniff.......sniff sniff......

N.R.: "Aye, jez' as Oi thought. Don't be lettin' loose o' old Mensie, Thibley. Oi've seen this sart o' thang before... 'At 'ain't no ship's cat, Slapt'n. Th't thar be a ship's tampon. 'N 't'be a wretch'd, hate-fill'd one a'that!"

L.B.: "Sails, Ho, Sar! Sails, Ho! T' windw'rd, 'tis a crimson bitch, full o' sail! She be broad in th' beam, bristl'n w' cannon, 'n bearin' t' take us squar 'n th' face!"

M.S.: "Arrgh, ye dain't mean...."

N.R.: "Aye, Sar, 'tis our auld nemesis, th' ballbreakin' brigantine harse'f, P.M.S. New Krusty Menstral."


m.s.p.s. Ye cun all chime in anytime, ye know, ye limpid lurkers, ye.


Meanwhile aboard the PMS New Krusty Menstrual...

Captain Krusty: Keep swabbing the decks, ladies. We can't be slipping on our own juices. Use the maxi know... the ones with the wings.

Cockswoon Julie: Pink aye that Ma'am. Tis good to see you manning the post.

CK: Now, you know that's what they do on that SS Natch. You watch yer tongue.

CJ: Wouldn't YOU rather watch my tongue?

CK: Oh you little you know if I can see yer tongue it ain't in deep enough.

They share a hearty hee-hee.


Meanwhile aboard the SS Ese

Captain Pucho Tongondeez: Deed Madamng Marchall lodebeeshes?

Pirstmate Chui Deek: Cha, mangsir.

CPT: Pullsail, cwayangker.

PCD: Wachootawkingbou?

CPT: I ted choo pilldem mudderpuckin sails ang pullde ankershain. We be lodedtodemax ang low.

PCD: Chai, Captang! We be crooz'nlow, beesh!


CPT: Whatdepuck deedwe jus rung eento?!!

Manguel de Beegnos: Puckeepino! Alldere eese eesum kinga pericope!

Beeshes eende cargohol: Chit, Chit, Me puck Gardiser!

Meanwhile aboard the Fukahomo

Rear Admirer Snoid: Shivel me timbels, we've been lammed! Brow barrast!

Cabin Geisha Thibley: Thiltainry, thil! Mmmmph......mmmmphhhhh!

Head Seaman Bojksawanka: Broody herr! Prug that hore!!

CGT: Thrave dlivel!


Arghh, lad, 'at 'un'll wark, butt, oonly if'n ye be clingin' close t' shore.

Ye'll be need'n' a might larger vessel, fer where we be goin'.

Har ye go....

This'n's got th' toonage 'n th' girth t' sarve ye right proper.

Climb ab'ard, bucko.

'At's th' spirit!




Arrgh, Cap'n. I be seein' a mite perty sight yonder. Me glass be a'spyin' them mount'ns. Aye but if'n that ain't some crab a dancin' and reemin' hard a midship some mashee. Be we makin fer them lands, sir? It be a might risky sailn' past Frisco as the crew be likin' t' jump aport t' git jumped aport- if'n y' catch me drift. What say ye?

Cumondoor Brandt


Knavigator Rhagg: Sar, Oi've 'escovered th' cause 'o th' airie quietude o' th' mens lately.

Mudshark: Aye? Out w' it, man. Th' heavin' decks o' th' Snatch 'sbeen 'silent as when Thibley won the World Hummer Open in Bangkok in ought one.

KR: Aye, wall, 'e also won in ought three, ought two, ought ought 'n nin'ty eight.

MS: 'N 'e placed right high in nin'ty nine 'n nin'ty seven, but that war'n't a peep out o' 'im in ought one, when 'e swept all the classes. 'E's got the knees 'o a monk, Oy tell ye. Butt, th' 'ole crew sounds t' be in a rictus o' a threeway liplock d'n't they?

KR: Arr, ac't'lly they be, Sar. Butt, this time we've a spoy in our midst. Seems th' purser we shanghai'd in Calais, ain't really 'oo 'e says 'e be. 'Is name ain't Lt. Eaton Tampoinze. 'Is real name be Phillipe Kerigge d'Guaneaux. 'E 'as a position as a mission'ry fur th' Lurker Church 'o th' Wholey Whimperers. Seems 'e bin c'ruptin' th' men w' promises o' buggery 'n f'llatio, t' kip 'em quiet.

MS: Arggh, 'ssemble th' lot o' those puling spawn on th' foredeck. 'N summon M'sters Bambi 'n Snoid. W'll larn our crew wh't 'appens to Lurkers in this man's Navy! Whither it be banter or screams, I'll not 'ave silence in amid th' glistn'ng loins o' this vessel.

KR: Mmm gluggk mmphn glugg glugg mmmm urgghlglgl.

MS: 'At's th' spirit!


Cabin Boy Thibley: Thir, thir the thpy theems theemed tho thorry and thintherely remorthful, tho I thought I thould thervith that thcallywag. Captain Mudshark: 'Ats just wat that boy be wantin', arrrr. Now go gargle yer maw n get that thar taste out.

CBT: Blathmemy!

CM: Well, git yerself o'er here then.

CGT: Thir, yeth thirggglllllllllmmmmmmmmmmmph.

CM: Now men, we be needin t' run the colors t' call the men. Lieutennent Bambi: Aye cap...'ow's this? It be sayin' "Rear Admirer Snoid sucks Tubeshtuffer Voghtlikker. And fuck Timpson, Halbach, Crua, Chance, Gardiser, Wright, Floodman, Lodwig, Field, Field, Hackett, Bojkovic, Schnack, and just fuck Field and Field again, oh and what the hell, fuck Field and fuck Field."

MS: Arrrr, and don't ya be fergettin that Cumondoor Brandt jus' got the whole summer off 'n don't have to report fer duty 'til nigh after Labor Day!


Whoa! Bjoink speaks! Velkommen to das SSNatch, das Unterseeboot Die Luhrkers ist down to zehr few semen now. We'll be delighted to have our way with ye, Margie.

At last we can agree on something. Fuck the Frogs. And fuck Kerig. Hang on a minute. All right, go below.


Nein! Zere isht many shtill aboard Die Luhrkers...Herr Brig Bitch Brad, Tubeshtuffer Voghtlikker, Perianalscope Master Crua, Ballast Shniffer Lodvig, Chichimepuk Gardiser, unt das Two Teutonic Twats Tommy unt Timpson. Zey vent down mit each odder on many a voyage.

Herr Pielicher


MS: Arrggh, Cummondoor Brunt, 'as Thibley stowed yer gear below, right proper?

CB: Aye, 'e did. 'E gots me full load 'nta a wee hollow astern, 'n 'e 'ad a s'prising amount o' room left o'er, fer such a small lad.

MS: Arggh, trained 'im meself, Oy did. No one packs a finer hatch, 'n young Thibley.

CB: Whats 'at ye be fondling thar, Mudshark?

MS: Me pecker, fool, sure ye h'ain't fergot!

CB: Nae, Slaptain, in yer oother 'and.

MS: Arggh, 'at be th' new listening device, whots the Admiralty be callin' BONAR. We be usin't t' track die Luhrkers. They're sure t' be below, caus'n the oilslick whats be glist'n'ng on the surface abouts us. 'N last watch, Rhagg spotted th' mut'lat'd corpse o' ol' Swede Bjornckabincke pop t' th' surface after many a year.

CB: Lemme bend o'er 'n take a listen on yer instrument, then. Hmmmm Hmmmm

.......ppphhhhweeeep phueeep brddddrap brdddrap phweeep...

Hmmmm Hmmmmmmm

.......clackita clackita clackita clackita....

MS: Whot'd'ye be hearing, Cummondoor?

CB: Ollgllmmmllgugggowllng ....spllurp.... Oy said, Oy cun't make it out. Mayhaps it be a sparm whale summonin' 'is pud t'gather, 'n sumpin' whot sounds like th' clackita clackita noise Oy'm used t' hearing, 'board me barge.

MS: Arrgh, we 'ave 'em!!! Those sounds be 'nmistak'ble. 'At be noone oother th'n Lt Bambi 'n Field Marshall Marshall Field a'sign'l'n us. They'd sneaked 'board die Luhrkers in Calais, posin's a coopla five pence whoores. Arggh, Oy'll drop depth charges on'em. Show 'em whot silent runnin' gits 'em. Seems Oy cun spare a coopla eighteen-pounders!



WHUMP...... WHUMP.....



Cabin Boy Thibley sleeps gently while on watch after a brief, romantic rendevous with Cumondoor Brundt on the poop deck. Specifically, Thibley was ordered by Slaptin' Mudshark to be on the lookout for some of the men who were supposed to return to the ship before the expiration of curfew at two bells. Apparently, however, the visit to the brown light district ashore was too appealing, and now Quarterbumster Snoid and Chief Petting Oiler Bjoink row quietly toward the SSnatch in a surreptitious attempt to board without detection. Unfortunately for them, however, the ceremonious stripping of their DieLurker patches tore their trousers. One full moon thereupon shines upon two others, neither of which have seen the sun in decades, though both have seen sons where the sun don't shine on a regular basis ever since they got married and the old wetches stopped giving it to them. As Oiler Bjoink bends to lash up he turns his cheeks, causing a reflection bright enough to cast an image inside the brain of a blind ma

Slaptin' Mudshark leans over the rail and yells: "Lt. Bambi, it's not fair for you to take advantage of the boy like that. Pull your tongue out of Oiler Bjoink's ass and go wash Thibley's cum off the back of your ear. And you there, Quarterbumster Snoid, give your wanking a week off lest ye rub your torpedo down to a nub."

The moral of the story: If you're a DieLurker sometimes it's best just to stay below.

P.S. That Margaret is a fresh little tart.
P.P.S. Fuck Frodo Dodir.



Congratulations are in order to Paul Sarkisian!!! This fabulous and gifted writer has just had his script "Voyage of the SS Natch" awarded a Bony. Now he is in talks with Hollywood and has signed on quite a few prestigious actors for the big screen version. Captain Mudshark:Richard Chamberlain, Knav Rhag:Andy Dick, Cumondoor Brandt:Vin Diesel, Captain Krusty:Ellen DeGenneres, Cabin Boy Thibley:Himthelf.

Don't forget to watch Paul receive the Bony from presenter Elton John.

On the Entertainment Beat


Knavrag: Aye, Slaptin, sir. Ye mentions me Red Badge of Courage, butt nary forget the Purple Fart, the Brownze Star, the Sliver Star and the Congruntional Metal of On Her. Keep these in the forefront of the minds o' the men, sar. Keep 'em scared. Keep 'em on their toes. Keep 'em awake and alert. Make 'em a constantly afeared. That way they'll be ready when Cum'on Brundt tips a tad too much o' the rum and goes a-spelunkin', iffin' ye get me meanin'.



Arrgh, not w'out me knavigator, Rag, 'n me farst maite, auld Bambiwan Patel, I don'ts.

I tell ye, yooung Thibley'll feel th' scald'n o' some buggery, fer 'is failure t' waken 'is Slapt'n ere th' vessel 'ad cum s'far inta th' shallows, 'e will.

T'will be a red sky t'night, if'n ye catches me meaning....



Ye're right. Ye've caught many a seaman at the Snatch, but thankfully I've never seen ye try to pitch to one. And those funny little bumps all over yer groin ain't spike marks, let me tell ye. Ye've taken a few too many line drives t' yer face as well, if'n ye catch me drift. The only thing nice and slow about ye is the way ye drop yer trou.

What say ye now, Captain?


Belay that Phillippe de Guano de Boca. Arve seen that ol salt pitch, I tell ye. He be pitchin' a fit when ya wanna hear moren' the Carrrrpenters, arrr. Times too he be pitchin mud in his breeches. N' donya be askin him to pitch no slider. He be likin' to come inside on ya.

Cumondoor Brandt



A judjin' by that thar stain upon 'is drawers, Ol' Hackman 'imsewf seems ta 'ave the one flap down, home run trots perfected. But lest ye let down yer guard, men, a lemme a warn yuz, don't ye be lettin' the Hack round all the bases with ye unlessen yur a willin' to take the ol' knuckler up yer arse. 'e'll go yardarm on ya. Take ya deep.

'e's not like yur Slaptain, yuz knows. The Slaptain thar, e'll finish the job with the suicide squeeze.



Maritime News Service
Port of San Francisco, CA

The long anticipated launch of the SSnatch after six months in dry dock was delayed yesterday as crewmen madly searched the streets of San Francisco for their mate, Cumondoor Brundt.

After its record setting seventeenth consecutive autumn sortie the SSnatch put in for routine maintenance in its home port of San Francisco back in October. Repairs were expected to take some four months, but immediately upon docking crewmen Lt. Bambi, Ensign Bjoinkabitch, Rear Admirer Snoid and Cumondoor Brundt disembarked and disappeared into the fog in this international port city known for its rampant buggery.

Rr. Admirer Snoid was the first to be found. Still suffering from the lingering effects of an encephygal blister, he only got as far as the third bus stop from Pier 51 before suckcoming to the fatigue of fervent pounding. He spent the next six weeks in sick bay insisting to the male nurses that his "vertigo" prevented him from holding his own penis while urinating.

Ensign Bjoinkabitch turned up a few hours later asleep on a bench in Golden Gate Park. When local police could not wake him emergency crews were summoned and the ensign was rushed to the emergency room. Medical personnel observed that his lips were turning blue and, fearing a drug overdose, pumped his stomach. There they discovered no drugs, however, in a scene reminiscent of one famous Rod Stewart concert, they did remove nearly two quarts of partially digested semen. One doctor, preferring to remain anonymous, wondered in bewilderment "how could a guy get so much of that so quickly when there are no horse stables in the vicinity?".

Meanwhile, both Lt. Bambi and Cumondoor Brandt remained unaccounted for for another ten weeks when, again, emergency personnel were summoned, this time to a tatoo parlor in the Castro District known among locals as "Hackett's Slackjaw Pricking Service". Unconscious due to excessive blood loss, Lt. Bambi was found with numerous open and festering wounds caused by tatooing. On one arm was a naked man wearing a teddy, fishnet stockings and stiletto heels with the name "Dukey" underneath it. On the other was a toothless mouth emblazoned among the letters "GUMMER". His back had the most massive intrusion, large, black cursive letters that spelled out "I'll Tongue IT For Ya". On the inside of one thigh a dog licks an oozing cat and on inside of the other a smiling pig smokes a cigarette. During his recovery onboard the hospital ship the Alsuxtahmmy, Lt. Bambi passed in and out of consciousness, occassionally moaning "Cumondoor, ooohh, hhunchhhhhhhh, uhhhhh, Cumondoor, oh please, let me tie up your sagg........

Eventually, the door to a bathroom stall was kicked in and revealed the Cumondoor unconscious with his drawers at his ankles. The fingers on his right hand were encrusted with dried semen and a People magazine rested on his lap, open to an article on Pee Wee Herman, George Michael and other Hollywood stars arrested for public masturbation. Upon the arrival of emergency medical personnel, when the Cumondoor was placed on the gurney they discovered a tatoo above his butt crack depicting the pop band The Village People and removed a Tootsie Roll wrapper from his rectum.

When the SSnatch sets sail again remains to be seen as the San Francisco Bay Harbormaster has ordered the vessel to stay in port pending a HazMat investigation into a mysterious trail of slime left behind the stern of the ship as it entered the Golden Gate.


So, me stepson's t'graduate fum th' Los Gatos Highschool 'e is. 'N they invites us t' 'elp out w' the Grad Night, 'ere we cun. An' a high-toned wench starts up t' holds forth a might. Cha'rw'man o' th' D'cratin' Committee she was. In charge o' d'cratin' the Entry Way, she says. 'Tis a Las Vegas theme this yar. "Cun't anyones but knows nothing 'bouts building a Pirate Ship?", ehe asks.

W'll, yer Slaptain reckons 'e mights be able t'elp with a pr'ject such as this. "Arggh, me Lass," I says, " I mights to knows sumpthin' abouts Pirate Ships. Mayhaps I c'uld 'elp w' yer efferts, thar. I'm shar if'n I puts me mind to it, I cu'ld festoon up yer entryway right proper fer ye."

'Course, me'd j'iz 'appen'd t' know whar they be a ship 'ut'd be parfect fer th' 'ccasion. Th' good Cummondoor B. wuz laid up in 'arbour jiz then, w' 'is vessel 'nsconced o'er th' dry dock a ways up t' Dodirr's Hole. I know'd the Cummondoor c'uld be found offerin' 'is loins to se'mens 'long the waterfr'nt, 'n usin' th' proceeds t' buy a plate or two o' Trouser Mussels down t' Olde Tom Halbadildo's Bathe House. Likes 'em raw 'tseems. Mayhaps 'e'd let 'is old friend borrow 'is vessel fer th' nights' festivities.

"Fuck you, Mudshark!" 'E says, wipin' 'is chin, 'n shruggin' off a number o' midshipmen fum the Gardiser's Gaye, what 'e was servicin' 't th' time. "Ye'll not lay a 'and on me vessel, ye falthy quar!"

"Nae, ye wormshot cake o' amberdegris." I tells 'im. "Thar's nought ye c'uld pay me t' touch th't diseased pud o' y'ur'n. I wants th' use o' yer ship, L'Tampon du Pussee Mentrualle fer a while. Fer the 'oung 'uns."

'E pulled some dropl'ts o' dried cum fum 'is beard, while 'e c'nsidered me request. "I'll play ye fer it!" 'e says.

"A game o' Blind Billy?"

"Aye, wanker take all!"

'Twas lik' th' good auld days. Th' two o' us ploinked our gamepieces 'unta th' table w' a c'oupla meaty flops. Then, we flipped our knives inta the air, so's we c'uld lag fer who goes farst. 'E 'ctually nick'd 'imsulf a bit, so's i gives th' farst roll. Arggh, but 'twas lusty cuntest. Th' Cummondoor be truly on 'is game th't night. 'E be rollin' unts 'n sixes 's sure's's pants be stained. I'd sooner need a Welter, 'n I'd get a Kerlew. I'd need a Kumst'in, 'n th' I'd get nought butt a T'mpson. I'd need a T'mpson, 'n I'd roll an Ev'nbleux.

After only three hours, e 'ad me t' th' wall. I be caught bloody in a Legs Up Seven Up, 'n e' war'n't usin' no l'brication neither. 'E only needed to pull out a Wedgie, 'n I'd be done fer.

Buttwasn't't'be. 'E got a Chancre! Th'n a Limpdick! Th'n two mor' Chancres! 'E be g'ttin' a mouthful o' 'em! Th'n 'e rolled a Bungrash. W' three men in 'is hole! Aye, 'e be fuckin' 'imsulf purtier'n a Castro Street mortgage broker. Sure, butt me worm 'ad turn'd. By sunup, I be on top; 'n be bearin' down a might merciless. I couldsn't lose. I needed nought butt a Crualix, or a Chindrip, or a Catarrh, or a Sphinctrippe. I couldst even drive me gamepiece Home w' a Thibley!

Arrgh, butt I looked down at 'im. Slowly I shooks the tokens in me cup, I did. Halbadildo's oother patrons be still. Waitin'.

I drops th' bones, one by one. Ev'ryb'dy be lookin' on, as th' last piece be spinnin' to a stop.

The Cummondoor c'unt b'leives it. 'Twas a Dr. Percy!!!! A FOUCKIN' DOUBLE GAME!!! The Cummondoor's jowls w'nt slack.

The luckless blighter lost 'is 'hole boat t' me! An' 'e owed me a sovereign an' a 'alf t' boot! The crowd 'rupted!!! We all starts down t' Dodirr's Hole, 'n we takes a look at L'Tampon du Pussee Mentrualle in the mornin' light, thar on 'er chalks....

Oh we had a little party down in Newport
'Twain't long afer she be afloat, 'n I brings me in a brace o' guns 't outfit 'er proper....

Oh we had a little party down in Newport
Arrgh, those don't be yer Slaptain's dick draped out yer hawsers thar. Later, I takes to giv'n th' men some pointers in th' maritime arts. 'Ere's 'ow ye board a galleon. Watch me puts me pecker upsides auld Snoid, up thar in th' Crow's Nest....

Oh we had a little party down in Newport
Wahl, ye miserble, puking, misbegott'n, scarvy hermapradites. Thar be just one thing t' say to th' like o you.....

Oh we had a little party down in Newport



Arrggh. 'Twas a rather queer post I be inerceptin' a fortnight, Sir. Aye queer in word n' sender. Methinks it be from the Chief Deck Polisher Harris 'board Die Luhrker.

'is post be sayin: "Just be quiet!!! You be quiet too!!!"

Aye, these be sad times 'ndeed. Perhaps ye might be launchin' a salvo 'r two cross 'is bent o'er torso a midship. Recruitin' fer 'is worm-eatin scowl, nigh a days after we sails back t' port, be akin t'speakin' a war. What say ye, Cap?

Cumondoor Brandt

ps Be we still afuckin' Kerig? Fuckarris be a fine closin' too.


Arrggh, Cumondoor, 'tit seems a might queer'd we be riggin' fer silent runnin', what w' we be layin' aslack in a friendly 'arbour, as we is.

Th' new lads do seems t' be a little in their nerves, d'ain't they? It be the slappin' o' the loose halyerds agin the masts, 'n the lack of wind in the sheets, what's puttin' th' weevils in their arses, it 'tis.

Needs be we git sumpthin' what'll desensitize 'tm, whiles we gots 'em right 'ere in port. Sort of settle their nettles, ye might say.

Lt. Bambi, this'd be jiz' the time 't break out th' last keg o' that Mallacca salt port renderin' ye bin hidin' 'neath yer berth b'lowdecks.

Yeoman Yarrow, blow the men t' the f'ck'astle, ifn ye w'uld. Times be we put sum' rigour int'a th' trainin', methinks.




Aye, Cap. B't doncha be fergettin t' use th' wil's o' the fair Brig Sprite Billdoh. He be greasin' whips n' readyin' manacles fer jus'n occasion.

But I ask ya, be it wise t' have Lt. Bambi a puttin' wind in'r sheets? I seen many atime at night, while th' cock be asleepin' n the moon arisin', fillin' h's sheets with a fell wind, I tells ya. 'Ave'm slap 'is pork n n'more, Cap'n. He be a pro.

Cumondoor Brandt

ps be the Ides O' Fuckarris


Aye, Cap'n Mudshark, sar, this be 'Navgator Rag, sar. All hands reports weeza reddy to set sail, sar. Me thinks ye oughtta know few details afore we shove off.

First, sar, looks as iffin' we picked up a monkey below decks somewheres along the line, likely Porneo, I'd say. The 'arbormaster asays we can't send 'im ashore for fear a startin's an epidemic. Looks like he's along for the voyage, sar. Mayin't be a bad thing, tho, seein' as how the men been takin' a likin' to 'im beloe, iffin' ye gets me drift. Might lay off Bungler Kerig fer awhile and then maybe we'd get a little more pull outta his oar, so to speak.

Also, found a stowaway, sar. A cleric, liken to call hisself Monksenior Beave. Insists he can help out with morale. Within' the reputation of 'is cloth, sar, me ways we gives 'im chance cuz it'll give the men some other orifices to relieves themselves in.

And, receivin' reports of a vessel lurkin' just outside the harbor, sar. Can't seem to make 'er out an' she's only flyin' a solid red flag. Judgin' from Lt. Bambi, tho', sar, beein' that he's got a bulge at the dolphin striker, 'e's pushin' clouds a stern, an' the musk is drizzlin' out frum behind his ears at a rate of about four knots, I'mma suspectin' 'e's picked up the wiff of a few ferimones an' am guessin' she's the P.M.S. Cunt, fixin' ta follow us around and oppress the fruits of our plunders.

'Ave ye any oarders, sar? Woujda like me to plot a coarse, sar?


This 'ere be Cumondoor Brandt. I be a settin out fer a might bit o' scoutin' out the waters yon. If'n I see them billerin' red sails o' the Cunt , I'll giver a round fr'm the st'rberd line. Kap'n Krusty be one orn'ry bitch, I tells ya -but she sure gots a perty load o' iguana tits.


Arrrgh, fer near a fortnight, yer Slaptain be scoutin Cape Cod fer a deep water op'nin' whats th' S.S.Natch cud ride th' flow o' th' red tide ta open waters 'thout be puttin' t'much strain on th' bulwarks b'lowdecks.

W' th' missus Oi was.

Arrgh, ta makes matters worse, th' plane run inta a squall, 'n 'ad ta lay up a night in Dallas. Lucky twern't 'Ouston, 'r Oi'd be pickin' th' lice outa me own pubes yet, as it were.

Butt, wa'll not be makin no 'eadway iff'n we lets that viscous red spoo croost up 'ard on the sails. 'Ave Cabin Boy Thibley send th' ship's boys, 'n th' midshipmen aloft w' booterknives. They cun scrape th' crimson scum wots loadin' down the sheets, 'n slather it onto a coopla days rations o' 'ard tack.

Once the sails lighten a mite, ye cun take th' luff outa 'em 'n make sum 'eadway.

Sarve th' men th' menstr'l exudiae fum th' sails as an hors d'eurve whilst we await th' tide.

Teach 'em t' moor t' lee o' th' likes o' th' Rustic Unt, twill.

Boonch o' cretin morons, ye be!




Aaaargh, Cap'n, sar, Knav. Rag 'ere's got that little runt Cabin Boy Sibley on it, an' was plain an' clear what ye meant by that, sar.

Me's bettin' the clams 'round the Cod be smellin' a might like the twats 'board the Cunt after a three month heave to iffin' ye be there a full fortnight. And me's pities the poor red lobstahs what be bottom feedin' all those mudsharks ye left behind.

Wee still awaitin' a report frum Cum. Brundt as ta whats he finds out there. Check'd in 'round 'bout half a clock ago. Said 'e saw nigh more 'an usual buggery, this time a'tween Lt. Bambi an' Quarterbumster Snoid. Sais Snoid wazza a restin' 'is 'ead on Bambi's shoulder, 'e did. Gueesin' that'n there bloomin' into a bleedin' Wutherin' 'eights romance, itis. S'pose Ensign Bojk'll be hotter'n Cum. Brundt on leave in the Castro when 'e finds out Lt. Bambi been pokin' 'is thinghy inta the eye of 'is 'urricane o' love. We'll afta keep an watchful look at that afters we make sail.

'nythin' else, sar?


Aaaaaarghgh, Cap'n Mudshark, sar. Be Knav. Rag here, sar. Yer, uh, log book, so ta speak, sar, be sayin' weez gotsa berthin' scheduled fer a month away in Sequoia Woods 'arbor, sar.

Me thinks it's 'bout time ye gave an order tellin' Lt. Bambi and Quarterbumster Snoid to remove themselves frum their little private "brig" of lockin' up their cocks on each other's lips, sar. Iffin' ye don't, theys main't be able ta barks theys orders when weez needs it as theys slack jaws be too weary to do the work.

And, sar, ya really should insist that Ensign Boijky pull up 'e's drawers an' get out 'is flags. "e's surrendered so much below o' late that I'm afeared 'e won't be waivin' nothin' butt the white flag just outta habit, sar.

Mes 'spects we'll be sailin' through some lurker infested waters, as well, sar, but theys such a bunch cowards we needn't worry, sar. Even Tubeschtuffer Voughtlicker be love drunk down on Buggery Lane, and not to be a bother. Me thinks ya outta send Cabin Boy Sthibley down the Lane, sar, ta'z makes sure Cumondore Brundt gets 'is arse voided in time ta make sail. Rumors iz 'e's been gettin' plowed by every sailor frum 'ere ta Abiline. Be's assured to tell the Cabin Boy it ain't one a 'is pleasure trips, tho'.

What say ye, Cap'n?


Cap'n Mudshark! Cap'n Mudshark! Cap'n Mudshark, sar, wake-up! Aaaaaarrrrggghhhh, wake-up, sar! CAP'N MUDSHARK, BLIMEY, FER THE LOVE OF BUMS, WAKE-UP, SAR!!!

CM: (yawn) Hmmmmph?

KR: Wake-up, sar!

CM: (rubbing his eyes) Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaargrgrgrghhhhrghrhgrhghr! Oooh, that smell, canna ya smell that smell?Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrghghghghghghhgg! What's this all over me 'ands, an' a squishin' in me eyes?!

KR: I cain't rightly tell, sar, only it's plainta see ye've been a lyin' 'ere 'n the poopdeck fur sum time, sar. Adjudin' frum the layer a dung about, sar, me'd be gueesin' ye probably 'ad yer lips roun' the jug o' rum, sar, perhaps'n yer blood be a bit outta balance there, sar. Seems ye collpased at the 'elm, clipped the end 'o the dock there afronta the bank, an' got us temporarily grounded on that thar sandbar, sar. Durn' yer slumber I oadered Lt. Bambi ta make wind and push out ta deeper waters, sar.

CM: (sitting up) Ow, ow, ooh hoo, eeeeh hee, ooh hoo, eehehhehhehhehhehhe, yeeeeeeooww. Feels I've ripped me colon. Eeeeeeeeeh heeeeee. What happened?

KR: Me hates ta admit, sar, but the evidence be suggestin' yez passed out, one a the mens 'ad 'is way with ya, the Greek grenadiers on leave caught a wiff of ya an' they all wanted ta fuck ya, so they sneaked aboard an' played a little game a Turkish Prison with yer stern quarters, sar. Lossen'd ye up quite a bit by the looks o' it, sar, bein' that ya pinched a mass o' mudshark the likes ta which win three o' the Snatch awards, sar. Ya been lyin' there in yer own shit fer nigh on a couple o' hours, sar.

CM: Alright, then, tell Lt. Bambi ta get Mishipman Swiss Misspiss up 'ere to swab the deck. Ooh, hoo! Ehh, ehh. Oww oowww. Aaaarrgggh, me jaw hurts. Hurts even to jus' say "Aaaarrrgghh".

KR: Well, sar, I was gonna save ye's the pain, sar, but, no keepin' it frum no longer, then, eh, sar? Seems ye's got yerself a little 'xcited by the Greeks, sar, started playin' a varitation of All Hail the Chubby Bunny, but it tweren't how many marshmallows ye'z could fit yer mouth, sar. Iffin' it's any consolation, sar, the word down in the red light is ya done broke records set in every port frum 'ere ta Shanghai, even those set by the famous bum runner, Ol' Brown Eye. Seems by the mood down there, iffin' yez went down there right now you'd right start quite a gay parade, with lotsa pride me thinks. Yer new nickname on land be "Cap'n Dick Smoker". The Spanish sailors be callin' ye "El Cubano" fer short, sar.

CM: Yea, but . . oww, oww. KR: Here, sar, let me take my kerchief and tie up that saggin' jaw. Steady, now , sar. Sar, as soon as ye gets the chance, sar, the mens really do need some oarders, sar. Theys all a feelin' like there's a some kind purpose fer 'em out there, sar. They been musin' to themselves, sar, wonderin' what it all means. Me thinks it's time the good Cap'n earned 'is bars, sar. Perhaps ye'd like ta bite down on that wheel spoke whiles yez thinks 'bout it , sar. No, not that one, sar, Cumondoor Brundt been 'avin' 'is way with that one fur some time now, sar.

CM: Uh oh, (click click click click click click click click click click). Hhhuuuumph. Pbeeeeeeerrip. PPPPPPPt. Huuuhnc. (Splash)!

KR: As soon as yer done, sar?

CM: Ahh, Knavigator Rhagg, I'll be whistlin' again soon, I tell ya.


tooo-WHHEEEEET... WHEEEET.... twit... twit.... TOOOOOOOT..

CUMMONDOOR BRUNDT: Cabin Boy Thibley, who th' 'Ell be a'callin' 'ands t'deck? Nobutty's stole yer yeoman's whistle 'ave they?

CBT: mmmmmpphllluggmmmmuffffflllug....(slurp)...No, Thir!. My yeoman'th whithtle ith right here in itth thpethcial pouch in me pantth. I wath blowin' thumthin elthe, ath you well know!

CB: Wahl, git ye offen yer knees thar, 'n 'elp me hoist me trousers. The crew be 'ssemblin' abovedecks. I'll not be down 'ere in th' bilge indulgin' yer parvarted proclivities iff'n th' Slaptain's be callin' fer action.

CBT: Butt....what about me? Don't I get to finith?.... Am I jutht the thip'th bitch?

CB: Aye, mayhaps ye be. 'Magine it, Thibley - Th' ship's bitch on a vessel o' bitches....

(sounds of zippers, snaps and the running of many feet on wooden decks and gangways)

KNAVIGATOR RAG: Arrggh, Slaptain Mudshark, ye've s'prized us agin' ye 'ave. All th' 'buse yer colon's wit'stud, 'n ye still kin pipe sum dulcet tones outen yer arse, ye cun.

SLAPTAIN MUDSHARK: Arggh, it'd take a mite more'n a crew o' Greeks, t' garble me woodwind. Shar'ly ye've bin oonder me, long 'nuff t' know that!

KR: Aye, weary I yam, butt not worn through! (to the men) SLAPTAIN'S ADICK! SLAPTAIN'S ADICK! DROP TROU FER 'NSPECTION! Arggh, Snoid, uncanny 'nticipation thar, 's always, I see. Good man.

SNOID: Sar, jiz seems t' saves toime t' keeps me pants thar at me ankles. 'Specially w' th' men s'long fum port.

SM: Wahl, don' be poolin' yer bloomers up jiz yet, then, Snoid. (to the men) Now har this. Yer Slaptains be takin' sum shar leave fer a fortnight er two. Oonder th' best o' circumstenses, ye falthy reprobates cun't barley* find time t' tram sails nor swob dicks, wot w' ye alwees b'lowdicks, arse-foockin' 'n fallatin' 'chother like 'smany Swedish farmgarls in a pag-pen. Wahl, thar'll bay none o' that in me abcess! Nay, th' good Rear Admiral M. Parchall DuBoys ass-igned an auld New Orleans raver pilot t' cumhandth' 'Natch whilst I'm ashar. Men, this har be Master Bateauer Phillipe du Kerigge. Now, tho' 'e looks a might like a senseless idjit, dain't ye thenk jiz 'cuz 'e's got a salver doubloon hammered inta th' back o' 'is skull, an' thar be spittle adrip fum 'is toothless slack-jawed gums, an' 'is pants be stained fore 'n aft, an' 'is gaze be a might clouded, an' 'e dain't respond t' light nar sound, an' 'is flesh be putrid, an' 'e's got 'is hand down 'is pants foondling 'imsuf day 'n night, THAT 'E CUN'T CUMHAND A SHIP!!!!

Nay, dain't fool yersulves. N'matter wot befall this mighty surgin' vessel o' yurin' - whether in storm 'r battle 'r fetid doldrum - ye cun allees find th' good Master Bateauer du Kerigge at the conn, lashed fast t' the pintle - 'is hollow gaze unchangin'. An' if things turn they allees cun ab'rd ship....know ye, that ye cun go t' 'im, an' feel free t' fuck 'im. An' iffne ye do, fuck 'im 'as 'ard as ye needs ta', 'n as ooften as ye please.

Ye'll 'ave me blessin's. An' 'e won't know wot ye've done.


*Slackett reference


Cumondoor Brandt: Cap' gots me all'a teary eyed. Th't aint s'good to narry see wuts about seein how we's got a fair load o' first timers a'bord.

E'ery time I head atop to scan fer the red sails o' The Cunt th' damned Monksenior be a tryin to shiver me timber n' 'is l'l pet monkey be a humpin 'me leg.

Capn Mudshark: P'haps ye be a wantin' to git yer mind off it a bit. A foredeck ye can catch th' Phlegminco stylins o' Chorro. When y'ear "Coochie, Coochie" drop'm. She c'n sure finish a show, if'n ye catch me drift.


Aye, 'n soon will me 'ips be aswayin' t' th' Smegm'mba rhythms cummin' fum th' throat o' th't saucy Latin bitch. It matter nae, iffn she dain't know th' words t' th' tune, naither. Fer auld Chorro be hummin' all the varses, likely as not. 'N th' chorus, too.

Oi'll be missin' th' 'doctinatin' o' th' new 'cruits sumwh't fierce, tho.

Bay share t' break 'em in proper fer me. There's the good lad.



We interrupt your reularly scheduled forays into various websites that show where the best Frappacinolattemochaspresso with Splenda can be found (what a bunch o' prissy bitches) to bring you this exciting new saga...


Captain Hauptmann Tommi Halbacher: Unt haf ze mosht eshteemed Capitan Mudshark of zee SSNatch mit us. Unt velcomenzeehaben, Herr Shark.

Captain Mudshark: Arrgh, mein matee. Times be achangin' n I'ma bit tired o' bein' th' only Snatcher what posts a banter. If'n ya wants me on board I be glad t' Captain yer crew.

CHTH: Unt...Meister Tubeschtuffer Voightlicher...vat say?

Meister Tubeschtuffer Voightlicher: Zees eesht zee momenten ve haf vaited for. Eet calls for die celebrityenzehaben. Ve musht geev zee velcum...Zay don't call me Tubeschtuffer for nuzzeeng....eins...zwei...drei...

MTV: Oh...Capitan are so hung!

CM: Aye...but that's me poo, not me jooger ya be grabbin'.

MTV: Achh...vere's zee mop?

Toont be cuntinuoont...


Captain Mudshark : Arrrgh might I suggest we gives a tad bit'o room t' the likes o'the 'Natch? They be wankers n' narry a one save Cumondoor, Knavigator, n' Brig Whench Floodman might'nt join our tender li'l soiree. The menses what likes t' cum'board might sink this here tin can what with their girth 'roun thar midship.

Captain Hauptmann Tommi Halbacher: Eenzat case, take her down.

Meister Tubeschtuffer Voightlicher: ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZIP!

CHTH: No, divenzee dumkoff!

CM:: (Plop). ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZIP! (lick, lick, lick) Schschllslslslslslslslslslslslslsuhp!

CHTH: Unchn, uhncn, Ooont, ooont, vis all due respect, Mein Hair Mudshark, I mean zee Die Lurker. Rrgrgrgrgrgrgit now vee are all still on duty. Perhaps later you can meat me in mein quvarters.

CM: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh, ya silly ol' fuck, thinkin's ye gonna make me's heart grow fonder by amakin' wait, does ye? Well, I'll jus' go jack off silently and thens waits fer ya ta stiffen' me mizzen in roundabout half a bell.

CHTH: Ooooohoooooont, Mein Hairpei, shall ve play a little Up Periscope?

CM: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh, an maybe fire a couple rounds from yer deck gun.

CHTH: OOOOOOoooooooooohhhhhhooooooooooooooooohhhoooooooohooooooooooohooont! Toobschtuffer!

CHTH: Greasenze za two torpedoes for insertion into toobs oont unt toont.

MTV: Oh, mon Capitan.

CHTH: Not your torpedo, clar?

MTV: Nicht mein torpedo?

CHTH: Nicht!

MTV: Nuts.

CHTH: Not zoze, eiser.

MTV: Unt bro!

CHTH: Not now, Toobschtuffer! Vhat ein vancherensehaben.

Toont be cuntinuoont...


Meanwhile, topside aboard the SSnatch:

Knav. Rag: Awful quiet 'ere 'board the SSnatch, sar. Where's Cap'n Mudshark?

Cumondoor Brundt: Me ans afeared 'e went AWOL.

KR: Anuses With Out Limits?

CB: Yaz shoulda learned yerself in yer schoolins there's no need to state the obvious. Me thinks 'e's aboard the Die Luhrker, absent without leave.

KR: That's treason.

CB: Aye, but there's one small hope.

KR: Sar?

CB: Well, Rag, ye knows that the Luhker is a Phallus class sub. Bein' as how the good Cap'n been actin' stranger than a Frisco queen what can't get a stiff mast in monsoon of fallin' arses, me thinks 'e mighten be designin' to take the whole bloody boat up his hindside.

KR: The ENTIRE crew?

CB: Rag, ya bloody fool. I told yaz, ya shoulda learned yerself in yer schoolins there's no need to state the obvious. We know iffin' he's a down there he's a fixin's ta ram the stern of every sailor what's aboard. Me thinks it's not enuf' fer 'im anymores. Sorta like Lt. Bambi and sixteen year olds. Bambi's been hangin' roun' the grammar schools of late. Me thinks the dear Cap'n is gonna try to take the Luhrker itself up his hairy arse.

KR: The whole bloody vessel?

CB: Likely to be so when it's over.

CB: Only one way ta find out if's down there. "Ping" it once. If the Luhrker heads fer the bottom we knows 'e's in there debasin' hisself.


...toont be cuntinyoontenzehaben


........... aboard the Die Luhrker.

Midshitman Hackeet: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Sthome ping just interrupted Fantine singing "I Dreamed a Dream" from Les Miz. Sthomebody sthink that Bitch.

Achtung....Achtung...Dashtishtder Battleshtasunz...Enemy blip on ze radar...isht das SSNATCH unt zay have relayed zee messageenzehaben...Her zee eesht: t ain't over until WE say it's over...


Back aboard the SSNATCH

CB: What was that?

KR: (peering over the side) It'n Mudshark inna frogman outfit.

CB: Aaaaaaargh, whattaya mean "inna".

KR: Well, sar, 'e seems ta be awearin' it this time, sar.

CM: Throw the good Cap'n a line 'ere, sailor. Ooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwww! Don't make me reach too far or'll split me colon even further.

KR: Soundin' a bit like the ol' Cap done took the bow o' the Luhrker up the rudder o' the HMS Brownie indeed, sar.

CB: Bein' the case then hoist 'im slow. Seems 'e's been hoisted 'nuf fer one turn o' the moon, iffin' ye gets me drift.

CB: Oh, ack! Look at that.

KR: Ayeeeeee!. Oh! Oh! Oh!. I canna believe it, sar. His poop deck looks like the eyes of a cod what's been brung ta the surface a might too fast, sar. Oh, look at it, sar. Done split from 'ere to shrove Tuesday, sar.

MS: Raggie...Raggie...throws me a line...arr

KR: Aye, Cap'n...this'ere Cabin Boy walks inta a bar n' drops trou...

MS: No ya hawknosed pile o' seal droppins...a rope...I gots the Luhrker rights where I wants'm. Haul me 'board n' I'll tell ya how much these 'ere lurkers likit up me arse.

KR: Aye Cap'n. So Timpson...?

MS: ...likes it up the arse.

KR: ...'n Schnack...?

MS: ...likes it up the arse.

KN: ...'n Chance, Lodwig, alls them'05 rookies, that Limey Fuck...

MS: Aye...all bottom dwellers, ya might say.

CB: Wills we be seein' them anytime soon?

MS: Well, I might crap 'em loose come October. 'Tis a great time t' clean me bowels.


Cap'n Kristi Ragsmuffin: ........Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz........zzzzzzzzzz.........

Knavigator Rhagg: psst..psst....honey, are ye asleep'n thar?

CK: ........zzzzzzzzzzzz........zzzzzzzzzzz...

KR: Arrgh. Mayhaps ifn I's be rall stalthy-like, I's cun climp ''board th' auld Witch o' th' Seas thar, n' 'ave me satisfactions afore th' wench cums to, so's t' speak.

CK: .......zzzzzzzzzzzzz........zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....

IT: grrrrrrrr.........grrrrrrrrrrrrrr........grrrrrrrrrrr...

KR: Arrgh. What be that? Sounds lak some sorts o' low, faline purrin and a growlin' acummin fum below. Why, seems butt the auld puss sorts o' 'as a mind o' its own, it does. S'best me gets me mug down thar 'n reconnoiters this a might aforn I's go 'n stick'n me thangy up thar blind-like...

CK: .................zzzzzzzzzzzzz.................zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..........

IT: .........grrrrrrrrrrr.............grrrrrrrrrr................grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.....

KR: Har puss, puss, puss, puss. Har puss, puss, puss....

IT: grrrrrrrrRRRRR WWWWAAAAEEEOOOOWWWWW.....SNAP. CHOMP. grrrgrrrgrrrrrgrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

KR: Doh by God! Duh man-gy dings cot by dose!!!! AHHHHHH, Det go ob by dose gya grab-geaten she-debbil gya!!!

IT: RRRRrrrrrrrRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

CK: wha the.....oh, my, Knavigator Rhagg.......hmmmm......looks lak th' ol' snappers takin' a likin' t' ye. Mayhaps ye'll be a'drankin' a might deeper draught fum th' auld bung 'n ye 'ad plann'd.

IT: gggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

KR: Bake id glet go ob by dose, gye inberdal khore!!!

CK: Oh, I'll 'ave it lets go o' yer prodigious schoz, I will. But ye be a'stayin down thar 'n a finishin' whats ye started.........Bitch.

Talk about a "Luhrker"? Rarely seen by the human eye, the near prehistoric Domed Fistee Fish emerges from the black bottom to lodge a post. I really love the "Snatch fatigue" line, butt, it was, I think, inappropriately applied. You see, I've been suffering Snatch fatigue, but not because all you wussy luhrkers are too busy "gassing your Escalades", but because I'm getting about as much trim these days as the heavy rough at St. Andrews. You guys know the feeling . . . you really want to drill her because you haven't had any since, well, that ram buck back in Abilene (or there 'bouts), so you pull back the covers . . . and there it is. Except, after twenty-six years of marital bliss, she doesn't even have the energy to reject me. Rather, she just lies there and IT, yes I mean IT, is snoring like some Popeye or Seven Dwarves cartoon. Yes, snoring. IT'S lips quiver as IT makes an audible inhaling sound, then IT starts a slight exhaling pheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-like whistle and ends with a visibly flapping ppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppffft, before IT starts to inhale again. She has delegated celibacy to IT itself, which in itself turns about to be a passive-aggressive little bitch. I mean c'mon, have you ever heard of a snoring headache? So Little Fistee my friend, don't you try to claim Snatch fatigue for yourselves, like some kind of Republican claim to God. The Snatch fatigue is mine, yessssssssssss, mine, my little preciousssssssssssssssss.

Now, do FUCK OFF.

(P.S. Really liked the siberiansuckjobs link. Those toothless Cossacks can take a choad, that's for sure.)


Aye, Capt'n, ya wants me to gets the mens all worked up fur ya...

Thar's a ditty we speaks of fur Evan the usually gets them up a bit. Goes like this......

"Though he be cloaked in a speedo,
nary a dry eye be seen.
Cause he preens in the open,
like some whales baleen"

"Whether to wash, or to swim,
he sports his white flesh.
His loin cloth bares all,
his back door says 'come in'.

"Moby Dick was a fast one,
butt, our mate be true.
He's a one-of-a-kind,
ain't we all had at him?"

"Now, these are the facts,
of a whalers glory.
Lest it be told,
by the mates in the story."

"Hoist him up, break the silence,
he'll be singing all night.
Crack a ditty, call him tight,
he'll like you fur that."

etc.....damned ditty... got some all over me...



Arrgh, Oi carries all th' critical mass we'lls be aneedin' right in me arse. Thar'll be ballast 'nuff fer any seas we be likely t'ncounter thas roundin o' th' 'Orn.

Twill be valuable afern the new lads, t' feel 'ow th' 'Natch rides when she be a might lighter in th' bilge.

Thay'll be noone the warse fer wear, jez cause thay be droppin' trou a coopla mar toimes th'n narmal.

Narmal tisn'ts sooch a big part o' life in th' Cummondoor's fleet, as'tis.

Ye falthy 'ores, th' lot of ye.

Cp'tn Mudshark


Knavigator Rhagg: Aaaaaaaargh, Cap'm M'dshark, Sar. Seems a spot o' the mens been tad anxious ta gets started with theys 'Natchin', Sar. Ones ovum done laid a strand a cable off the aft, Sar, an' done jammed the rudder full aport, Sar. 'tis a multi-strander, Sar, the sort with a wide, thick crusty head, a mottled girth, anna long tail, Sar. Me thinks it musta been Semen Tossedthesauce, seein' as how e's a regalurly (no pun intended, Sar) irregalur. 'e tens to workem up an holdem in ferawhile, an then let fly, usually a releasin' round about 12 cm, Sar. The good ship's doctor bethinkin' 'tis some kinda self gratification a splittin' 'is colon like that, butt that tain't no solution ta maneuverin' the Snatch, Sar. Weez gottsta send a man over the side, Sar, ta work that cable loose anna set the rudder free. Whoo shall I send, Sar?


Arrgh, Snoids be th’ oonly man whats fit sarts o’ wark like thisn.

‘E’ll touch nar anythin’ fers little as a sixpence. ‘N ‘is brains don’ts seems t’ need smuch oxygens as th’ rest of th’ mens.

Let’s ‘im free oop th’ rudder farst, ‘n we cuns find out ‘oo’s t’ blame fer sparmin’ up th’ riggin’s, once we be undersays agin.

Cpt. MS


Knavigator Rhagg: Uhh, Cap'n, Sar, 'tis lookin' like the good cap'n 'tis a bit ova soothsayer, Sar. Seems the Snoid, twether on a lark or a dare or whatever offerins o' coin o' the realm, Sar, dun bent as far a bow as he coulds, Sar, and got 'is 'ead stuck up 'is arse, Sar. 'e's a lookin' bit like one them contortionists in a back alley in Singapore, Sar, 'ceptj'is hole be plugged like the cork in a cask. Worse yet, Sar, 'e didn't realize that while 'e was a jammin' 'is own head up there'e'd already by accosted by Quarterbuggerer Bimbus, Sar. It's an all jammed up awful mess, Sar, likley worse that the rudder tiself, Sar. The mens summoned Cabin Boy Thibley with the grease, Sar, but once 'e started slatherin' it 'round, a bunch of 'em got excited and now, dunno, Sar, Semen Gak, the Frenchy DuBoys, Beausin Bobbio, aw, yuck, Sar, they's be prancin' 'bout like fairies, squealin' and grabbin' one a tother. The below deck'll be slippery mess in minute, Sar, an' no doubt Snoid'll be unconscious fer holding breath with 'is head up 'is arse for nigh on some time now, Sar. 'ave ye another oarder, Sar?



Methinks th’ crewe be a’sooferin’ fum more’n whats cun be fix’d by jez a swallah o’ lime juice ‘n sum fresh air.

Nooooo. Theys bin s’long ashores, surely they be ahoongerin’ afer each oothers loins, a might fierce b’now. ‘S’bin nigh on a yar, sance theys ‘ad the access t’ ‘choother’s arses th’t they’d ‘cum us’ta abard th’ Natch.

‘N since th’t falthy landlubber, Gak, be so quar, ‘is spincter surely be atwitchin’ fer boogery. May’aps we’s cun kill two bards w’ one stone, ye might say.

‘Ave Tubeschtoeffer Vought tie auld Gak t’ the mizzen right proper, n’ fasten a tight line o’ monkey’eads inter Rhagg’s leather Spaydo. Clamp Gak’s flaccid jowls about it, drop ‘is trou, ‘n see th’t th’ crewe relieves themselves adequate t’ aff’rd th’ level o’ concentration we be aneedin’ afers our oppcummin’ voyage.

We’s dain’t t’ ‘ave morale a’flaggin, now do we?

Nay, ‘s me Moother alwees said, “Spare th’ boogery, n’ spile the Gak.”

Make it so.



Arrrgh, Cumondoor, methinks tisn’t a fooxier chick stoofin’ ‘er scarf oop ‘er snatch whats ye be a’loongin’ fer, ‘smuch as one o’ th’ slender yooung lads whats be crewin’ yer barge, nay?

Aye, ye musts remember th’t a much purtier lass might’n’t be s’ willin’ t’ parfarm ‘er tricks afer a man wot’s got so ‘idiously defarmed a mug as Kerig, now w’uld she.

Bott, a’watchin’ th’ fulsome wench prancin’ ‘er ‘eart out on stage so, boughts t’ mind sum o’ Lt. Bambi’s feats o’ gastonomical Magick whats ‘e used t’ parfarm t’ ent’r’tain th’ men on long voyages asea years back.

Oi ‘members Bambi as a spindly wee midshipm’n runnin’ nak’d ‘bouts th’ ship, th’n slatherin’ ‘alf a yard o’ sailcloth w’ a paste o’ sal ammoniac ‘n witch ‘azel. Th’n e’d gets six or eight o’ th’ men t’ cram th’ wad oop ‘is bum, ‘n ram it ‘ome w’ a bout o’ proper fistin’. Th’n yooung Bambi w’uld grabs fast t’ th’ st’r’b’rd gunnel, ‘n starts t’ rockin’ ‘is ‘ips about, sortsa Peaches style ye might say.

Th’ ship w’uld falls real silent like, ‘s the men’d gather close. Ye c’uld ‘ear th’ pingin’ n’ th’ growlin’ o’ th’ gaseous ethers a’gathern’ in Bambi’s bowel.

At joost th’ right moment, auld blind Jew, Yarrah, ‘ould creep up ‘n tooch th’ glowin’ end o’ a smaulderin’ punk match t’ th’ rim o’ Bambi’s arsehole.

Why, th’t’d cause t’ sets ooff th’ most f’arsome blast o’ fire ‘n brown smoke what w’uld ‘ngoolf th’ rear ‘alf o’ th’ ship. When th’ smoke clar’d, ye c’uld see th’t Bambi’d plant’d th’ ploog o’ waddin’ dead center o’ th’ mizzenmast mar’n twelve yards away, ‘e ‘ad.

Fer a sixpence, auld Yarrah’d walk oop t’ th’ smaulderin’ brown mass whats stuck thar, ‘n read yer fortune in it.

Nay, Vaudeville tain’t dead ‘b’ard th’ auld ‘Natch!




Aye...twern't perty. Themthar days be Yarra' be askin' the' mens to line 'is palm wi' gold n' they'd line 'is gums w' pearls. He'd also be askin' the mens t' light his "Shammes" but nary a taker on board there be. Mosta th'crew stays away cuz he sez it burns on its own when he's a w'izz'n anyways. Be'n thataway ev'since we told'm t' pass on th' salt pork after Knav'gat'r Rhagg had 'is way wif'r. Could'n a held'm back if'n we wanted t'. Sez he can't eat'r but sure c'n make it 'is wench fer a spot.


Arrgh, go blow yersuf, ye falthy buggerin’ whore.

Yer Slaptin’s got much on ‘is mind, whats with me ‘avin’ t’ drag me buttcheeks ‘round the deck by me ‘ands all the day. Oy’m troying t’ sever th’ ‘eads offen some o’ th’ roundwarms methinks Oy’ve caughts inta me guts fum th’t lowly cur!

C Mudshark


Aye, Cap'n, 'tis the Knav Rhag 'ere, sar. Me seen the ravages o' the roundworm, sar, and taint not a pretty sight, thar. Iffi' ye visits the Snatch's good doctor, Dr. Jel E. Fingar, sar, me thinks 'e may be able ta help ya with a colonic anna a coupla tablets o' some sort. But be forewarned, sar, not to let on to Lt. Bambi o' yer arse critters, sar, oren he'll be upon ye like that Frenchy DuBoys onna four year old street urchin on the docks in Rio, an he'll have 'is lips locked on yer arse like he were suckin' strands o' spaghetti off a platter in a Naples flop house 'tillin' theys tickles the backs of 'is throat an he can pull him through his nostrils.

Iffin' it's makes ya feel a little better there, sar, once ye done passed the little buggers, turns round and get a good looks at 'em wigglin' in yer stools. Take salt shaker an jus' give a slight dustin' and you'll be seein 'em squirm like the Turkish soldiers turned whores at the sight o' Cumondoor Brundt and Rear Admirer Snoid a cummin' ta delight in their fancies.

An, iffin' ye gets some splintars from draggin' yer arse round, sar, Cabin Boy Thibley be a better bet ta relieves the festerins than Dr. Fingar. Keeps an eye 'im, though, sar, cuz the little Cabin Boy liken take a quick lick o' th ol' brownie jus' like the Lt.



Why doesn’t ye works yer schemin’ ‘round th’ lads whats be a’cummin th’ farthest? Seems be iff’n Rear Admiral Fiste, er, say, Phillippe th’ Indian Boy, er, mayhaps auld deef-mute Schnack be a cummin’ fum afeer, we local lads oughts t’ hang fire a mites ‘til theys cun makes they way ‘rounds th’ Cape.

Or, mayhaps ye jiz say, “Fouck ‘em”, ‘n haul up ta th’ Natch soons th’ weather breaks.

‘Twat be a good time t’ lean on young Yarrah Staunchweed t’ hole up ‘is side o’ th’ bargain, methinks.

‘s oop to ye, Knavigator Rhagg.

Don’t be seens t’be a’mollycoddlin’ th’ puling brood o’ maggots, tho’.




knock, knock! knock, knock!

Knav. Rhagee: "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh, Cap'n Mudshark, sar, me's turned the compass over ta Lt. Bambi an' 'e's seemin' ta run the Snatch aground, sar. Lookin' like 'e scampered up ta the crow's nest ta have a time wif hisself, got tangled in the riggins, soiled the glass and when 'e couldn't sees where's we's headed stuck the bow inta the brown crevices o' the Aisle o' Kerig. Ya's knows how 'tis tryin' to prys yourselfs outta the the brown crevices o' Kerig, sar. 'Members the time the Pimento got stuck in there on her maiden voyage? Ain't been seen since, sar. Me's knows that the ol' gummer Cumondoor Brundt always liked to poke 'is head in there jus fer the sport of it, sar, but 'is slender little sloop the Dukie's jus' too small ta do much more than pop in, cause a little splash, an' withdraw. Kinda like a bald hackloafer mountin' a ram buck.

Anyways, Cap'n, once ye gets us outta this mess doncha fergets that its just as easy ta gets stuck in irons jus offshorts, sar. Me's knows Coxin DaBoys likes it sar, cuz it's kinda pieceful an all, butt bein' it's this time a year, sar, taint no time tas be floundrin bout. We's gots duties, sar, an tis only butt less than a couple months 'til the crabbin's done, sar.

Anticipatin' yar oarders, sar, me's sent Bows'on Snoidy below tas checks fer leaks butt he's not cum up on decks yet. I'm afeared 'e's hadda one 'o his relapses 'gain, sar, an got ta slurpin' 'bout with the Cabin Boy on the galley floor. Worse yet, I'ms guessin' Cabin Boy Sibling's in on it, so's ta speak, and ther'l be no controllin' the mens.

Sorry's to interefere's with your slumbers, sar, but yer command be aneeded a presently, sar."

Cap'n Mudshark: "Shhh, shhh. 'Nother second now make no differnce ta the status o' the ship there, Ensign LeBojk. Shhh, we're still runnin' silent now, ya snaggle toothed queen o' the royalty. There ye go now, quiet, quiet, justa another little push an . . . unh . . . unh . . . unh . . .aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaawawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwhhhhhhhh, I love ya Boyk!"

Ens. LeBoyk: "Aack, aack. Are ye finished, yet? Me hears Bobbio a whistlin' an that means there's squid on the barbie, iffin' ye gets me drift, sar. Likely 'is tartar sauce won't last long, sar."

Cap'n Mudshark: "Aye, run along, put's yer head on 'is shoulder an finish it up. Then meets me on the bridge. An gets Able Semen Colon up in the poop dick where he belongs so's we can start ta figger out how to get ourselfs outta this mess."

[creeeeaaaak . . . door opens]

Cap'n Mudshark: "Goddamnit, Lt. Bambi, how'd we get in here in the first place?"

Lt. Bambi: " Well, sar, it all started when me shoved the telescope up me arse, an I was playin's with meself, an as I was approachin' me zenith me arsehole done spasmed, sar, an the glass did slip itself out, an o'course me's farted which done fogged up the glass, an I's looked up to find the coordinates, an we's was run aground. Jus' right in the dirt, sar. Yessar, happened jus like that, sar."

Knav. Rhagee: "Cap'n, sar . . . Cap'n, sar?"

-- wrote:

Ahhh, longferrolwannabe,

Mole imoltant raw say; "body in motion tend to stay in motion".

Kelig rill nevel stop moving, if Paur can put pedar to metar. Betsy flom Pike not mattel then.


Also, if Mr Science Guy remembers his Newtonian physics; "for every action there is an equal butt opposite reaction". Which means Paul will get as good as he gives. Just, close your eyes and think of Kerig as a ram buck from Abilene..and let'r buck!
Heeee- Hawww!!


Lt. Bambi: "Nah, Capt'n. Tweren't like that et'all. Ya se's, thar was a right tasty treat in the galley, when me shift was on, an I did grab th' telescope, butt when I realized the predicament I was in, well,, let's just say the sharting was more than the ol' telescope could handle. Butt, I wasn't looking at the eyepiece befur I shoved it in me eye an got a right smart load o'crap befur I could pull away as it were sir. Betweenst the smarting and sharting me lost control o'my faculties and had to throw down as it were overboard - kind of in a panic. If'n ol' Cabin Boy hadn't cooked up them sweet bits, an laced them with laxitives, ther's be no problems. Now, I need some shore leave to clear up me vision. Last night was Boikin's turn an' he was a spewin' the side rail real good when a main missen broke loose an loosened up his slack jawls, but it turned out to be ol' Slakjaw himself. Me fester'n eye needs some rest sir, befur I get a wrong turn in the night. Butt, now that we're aground, sir, maybe we can mount a survey'n party to check out the local timber and bring Kerig to nose out any ale. A forte night will do nicely, sir. We 'ave plenty o' volunteers since Gabby Brundt has offered hisself as a poop-mate. No tellin' what we'll turn up, sir."

Capt'n, Catp'n?? Damned e' nodded off again.....


Cumondoor Brandt: Cap'n, methinks th' brown waters o th' Aisle O' Kerig be a bit dangr'us fer this fine ship. Why look't all th' wreckage...masts pokin in thar n' thar. 'Tis sure many a sailor went down on Kerig...crabs a littrin' its bottom.

Ensign LeBojk: Oy feenks oidloikta pokemehed'rounabit...seewhot cumsafit.

Knav Rag: Arrrg. Shut yer maw y' limey git. We cants make sense o' nothin' y'say.

ENsign LeBojk: Obloo'y hayo.

Knav Rag: (SMACK!) Fuckin' ferners! Capn...


M. Parshall DuBois: Mon capitan...mon capitan...!

Captain Mudshark: Arrgh...I's just takin' a might bit o'break. ZZZIIIPPP Yer 'scyoozed Cab'nboy...

Cabinboy Thibley: Mmmmmppph cap'mmmmmm.

CM: Dontcha be talkin' wif yer mouth full. Now piss off. What's so fuggin 'mpertnt, DuBois?

MPD:Mon capitan...zees bottle ve feeshed from ze vahter...eet seems to hawv a noot eenhside.

CM: Open'r ya shkanky French her.

MPD: O but mon nails...zernahtso dry yet.

CM: Damn ferners. Gimme that...arrrr! Amighty good find m'lads! She say, "CSO '08..."

Ensign LeBojk: Cap'n...Cap'n. Woy loo'at. Oy sees bonches o'm flo'in roun.


Oi maoitees, what says yees wees alls raisees ours mugs toos ours brood mare, Kerig.

Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, fook 'im!



Seems th’t someones already araised ‘is mug up auld Kerig’s brownie. Ye cunsts see ‘is face, butt manys the se’men whots cun recognize th’ gimp hip ‘n the back o’ th’ ‘ead of th’ good Cumondoor Brunt.

What sez we give ‘im ‘nother minute t’ finish oop right proper. Th’ Cumondoor be prone t’ droolin’ a mite. ‘Smay jez sarve t’ slather up Kerig’s parched auld haunches fer th’ rest o’ th’ lads.




Now ‘ear this. Now ‘ear this.

See to it th’t all ye able se’men walcum Lt Bambi back ab’ard the S.S. ‘Natch. He be r’join’n th’ fleet after ‘is pr’long’d shar leave thar in Marseilles. Methinks ye cun’ all see th’t ‘e’s refashioned ‘imsulf inta th’ sart o’ officer whats could service th’ lot o’ ye puling spawn right proper.

Th’ good Leutnant’ll sarvice ye, fahrst cum, fahrst sarved, iffn ye carve ye marks inta th’ aft bulkhead thar’,

R’membar, iffn th’ line gets t’ movin too slow like, ye cun’ alwees go b’low ‘n fouck Kerig.

As ye ware.



Cptn. Stabban Sark, sir, there's a bit o' confusion 'monst the mens. Yur last orders were to fasten down the hatches and pull in the mizzen masts, sir. Well, Cabin Boy immediately upon hear'n yur orders hoisted up the Jolly Roger an headed fur the galley sir.

We don't know what he's cookin up sir, butt, it smells a lot like brownies. He's been in there fur pretty nearly an hour or so. Bad news is, we cunt find the good Dr. Phirr anywhere's, sir. We think's he might be held captive by the Cabin Boy and bein' tortured er somethin' as only a damned shitty cook can do, sir.

Now, it seems at least we 'ave a bearin' on the whereabouts of one 'Brundt' aboard ship, sir. He's been seen on the poop deck sir, floaten some kind of new device near the SS Natch rudder, if'n ya know what I means sir. He's also been changin 'his bunk every other night, just to be closer to Rhag - makes no sense to the crew, sir.

Ya see, no one's been anywhere near the good Dr. Phirr, and 'es always got his door wide open. He'll take all cumers, too. An, there's been a lot of 'carvin's' round the ship, sir, with "FK" deeply engraved, as if ta keeps us up all night wonderin'. What ye make of all this Captn?

Reckon we needs to be turnin' bout ship, sir? We be a might off balance in the mizzens an crabbin' season is nearly upon us sir. What shall we tell the mens?

Lt Bambi reportin fur duty.

Letuln to Book 1 ol Book 2 ol Book 3

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