Crabbage Snatch Open - The Voyage of the SS Natch

The Stlange Voyage of the SS Natch - Book 2

M. Parshall duBois



Cabin Boy Thibley:

Go find yur charge, you littl' runt. There's talk o' the men "spikin'" the punch last night an' the Cap'n could be drownin' in 'is own vomit, or worse chokin' on the strands o' the splooge (which could explain the depletion o' the bait). Be quick it about you scummin' foreskinner. The fate o' the Snatch is dependin' on ye boy an' if ye don't find 'im we could be doomed to 'bandon the ship in a sea o' swillin' mudsharks. If ye're not back in five minutes we'll hafta' turn the command over to Cumondoor Brandt, and we all know what that means - nothin' butt comin' about. Goin' in them circles 'll kill us all.

Be quick,

Knaveigator Rag


Avast ye...avast ye SSNatch...ahore there...Cap'n Mudshark! This be Cumondoor Brandt, you'll be pardonin' me fer bargin' in like this. I see yar be needin' some help to get ya' afloat. Yer colors ya be flyin' appear a bit more brown than red n' blue. Be ya airin' the undies of Midshitman Hackett? The crows in yer nest be a diein'! Lay me a cable an' ahl be pullin' yer big ol' rope so hard you'll come fast n' easy off the bar. Then I can pull yer massive hulk into a deeper channel and we can both ride slow and smooth till we come together. Let me lift ya, Cap'n...I won't let ya go down by yerself.

What say ye Cap'n?


Meanwhile, aboard the garbage scow the "Ol' Gummer":

Cookie, I just spotted a boat off our left side. Looks like the infamous SSSnatch all the sailors been talkin' about all over the coast. Looks like she's stuck on a sand bar. Could be might fine opportunities fer us, even an ol' salt like you.

Heeeheeehhee, Im' startin' like this voyage.

Don't get too excited yet, there's work to do firs.......Hey, get up from there you ol' letch. I'll bang ya when I'm ready and you'll pull down yer pantaloons and you'll pull 'em down slow an' easy an' I'll put my pink Colt right in yer brown, but until then you'll do as I say.

Aaaaach, yer a mean man Mr. Dunston.

Shut up! There's talk of salt pork, fresh dog meat and crabs aboard that whore. Now, we're gonna wait fer cover dark an' sneak up on that bitch an' nestle up to 'er like a couple prairie dogs on cold winter's night. When we sees our chance we'll slam this sewage from Port 'au Let right up 'er poop deck. As the spew swamps 'er decks we'll swing over an' pillage what we can. But I want you lookin' fer that salt pork first and foremost, you hear me you ol' gummer?

Heeeeheeee, I can hear Duke, but I'm an' ol' man. An' I'll be able to smell shit but won't be able to see it in the dark.

Shut up, an' don't try to tell me that because o' yer age you can't see. If that's true it's only because you been on this planet too long tuggin' on yer own riggin'.

Yer a mean man, Duke.

Shut up, an' don't call me Duke in front a the crew or I'll feed ya to the mudsharks. An' if you get sidetracked when we get aboard that bitch an' I catch you tailin' 'er cabin boy I'll take this scabbard an' cut off yer sagging wag.

Heeeheeeehheeeeeeeeeee, do you really think a boat like keeps a cabin boy, Mr. Dunston?

She's under the command of the in famous Captain Mudshark. How'd you think he got his name? I'll bet the hole crew is fit fer tossin' about in a San Francisco steam bath. Now, I want you to..........Hey, I said get up from there you ol' gummer. We're gonna wait until after the work is done. I don't want you fallin' asleep in the afterglow an' bein' too tired to bring back the squealer. Now get on with it you sorry excuse for a fart, I wanna get back to port an' troll the wharf. Once we're finished with that pig I'll bet we can trade it fer a young, Greek steamfitter. An' if you don't hurry I'll toss you in fer a lick.

Iffin's ya keep me I'll lick ya myself, Mr. Dunston.

Shut up! I'm not gonna put my pink pride in yer ol' gummer face.

Heeeehehhehheeeee. Yer a mean man, but I like ya boy.

Alright, go below.


Lt. Bambi, it's Knaveigator Rag 'ere. We just spotted the French frig' it "Le Pousse" tucked in between the Thighland Triangle. And, we still can't find the Cap'n. It be better ta be that 'cumsucker LeBojk 'imself than 'ave yer fate in the 'ands o' Cumondoor Brandt in a situation like this. If 'e doesn't get it all over 'imself before the first bowskirt comes off 'e'll 'ave a mess in 'is 'ands 'as soon as she spreads 'er red fightin' sails. If it comes to blows with Cumondoor Brandt in command we'll know what it was like to be one o' the tits on the Queen with LeBojk at the wheel, pinched and bitten with nary a tingle.

The report to the admiralty 'll be justified by any scullduggery short 'o mutiny on this one. Me says we tell the Cumondoor that it's the French luxury liner "Merde", carryin' nothin' but a cargo o' frogs prancin' 'round in feather boas. No threat there, what say ye? The Cumondoor can barely see 'is shoe tops. 'e wouldn't know the "Le Pousse" from the "Le Bung".

Meanwhile, we'll 'aftta stiffin' into it 'ere an' sneak in the back way through Moon's Crack. 'Affta be careful not to run aground in the mudlands off the Isthmus at Watt.

I 'ear she's a skittish bitch, but if we can lure 'er inta Bedford, one clean shot's all it takes. If ya penetrate 'er foreslips it'll take 'er breath away an' if ya put one all the way into 'er main 'old it'll shiver 'er timbers. Aaaargh. Think o' the booty we'll get then, Lt.. And, ye know what else, Lt.? Where there's the "La Pousse", there's usually the "Le Haire".

But we can't let the Cumondoor fuck it up. Which brings me to my other piece of news, Lt.. We finally located LeBojk. Seems 'e squeezed 'is bony littl' frame into the 'ead. 'e spread out in there like a spider, clingin'g ta the walls until 'e 'ad a chance ta escape. 'e almost 'ad it made until Mess Mate Gardiser pushed a loader down the old queen's throat and clipped LeBojk on the inside of 'is right thigh. 'e slipped off an' the tail end of it caught 'im right in the chin. Lucky it only knocked 'im almost cold cause 'e fell into the tank and started screamin' like the 'ammy. Like 'e didn't live 'is life in shit anyway, what say ye, Lt.? Rather than pull 'im up through the seat they just flushed 'im an' tossed 'im line off the arse. Gotta say, Lt., a might sight LeBojk boobin' along in a puddle o' brown. After awhile 'e were washed off a bit, though.

So's I'm thinkin' per'aps we ougtta get the Cumondoor below with LeBojk to occupy 'im, iffin' yer gettin' me meanin'. When it comes to matters o' that sort LeBojk is a persistent littl' bugger an' the Cumondoor not likely ta see it cummin'. If we didn't have better fish ta fry it'd be worth it jus' watchin' 'em.

What say ye, Lt.? Can ye get us off this sandbar?


Cumondoor Brandt 'ere. An' what's this. Tis a brown streaked pigeon holdin' his poor sore arss. An' what ho! There be a message tied 'round his ankles he'd bin grabbin. It reads, "'Ave bloo'y weh'll scaped frohm deh SSNatch I 'ave. Deh condishuns wuhre deplohrabuw. Waih narry a goose drippin' ta gnosh me bloo'y loaf in. I signs on t' deh Royo' Naivee and looks wha' I git. That there wainkuh Fiewd -olways pokin' 'is nose in me bizness- an 'e ain't even waitin' for deh flush. If'n it wernt fer Bobbio fwowin me ove'boad, I'd shtiwll be deep in deh 'old of deh Snatch waitin' fo a bit o' saht poak t' be squeezed frew deh floboads o' the mess 'all. Oid be mos' gratefow if'n y'd look fer me bobbin' 'ead where y'd least expect it..oll alone 'ere in dis bloo'y sea. N' I 'ates to be bobbin' oll boy meself.

Yose fo de takin'


Lt. Bambi, this's our chance. LeBojk an' the Cumondoor both on the barge. Send the Petty Snoid down there to cut the cable. We'll leave 'em adrift long enuf' ta scuttle the frog. There'll be plenty 'nuf liquid protein ta sustain 'em 'till we cum back 'round the horn.

Be gone, be gone.


Cumming soon to youl skleens:
Stal Tlek III: Sultch foh be continured.
Arr the Best !


Yes, crabbage monkeys, that's right, it's now time for our wonderful Sunday night Blismey experience. Tonight's episode involves a manicled but mischief ol' bugger who goes by CookieeEEEeee (whatever) and his magical sidekick BabiooOOOooo who can never get enough sensaAAtional but always temptatious trouble. As we enter (aye, the brown's 'eer), the story takes a twist and..... suddenly we're thrust into another dimension of sight an smell....Good God what the hell is that shit anyway!! "Ther's nothin' slidin in 'er butt a pack o' the shit from 'yer poop deck sir"...Hey, 'owd I get in there anyway!!...Well, sir, Lt. Bambi reporting sir, ya see, thar's this big wind a cummin, an, well sir, the thing of it is sir, I couldn't help myself sir. When we parted the sails on the Queeny, thar was a great roar from ther meen sir an' well sir, we all had our way with a least a bit o' th bitch sir. It was so wonderful sir, she could treats us like real men sir.. but then, just as we were at our zenith sir, the buggers sent in a priare fart by th' name o' Bojk, sir. .. Shit 'im self sumthin aweful and then smeared 'imself with it like a facial cream 'til all the mens were a pukin'sir... that's when we all headed fur the bow, ta puke a monster blow...but as we did sir, a great sqaul came to bloody them thar sheets as we lay ourselves at their mercy o'r the poop decks an the whole ship lifted out o' the water sir to dislodge 'r from the muddy bottom.. musta been high tide cumm ta think of it, too.. But we free o' the sandy barRRRrrr sir..the Queen's mate been down thar wit' the mens sir fur sometime now an' we think e's gettin to likin' it too much sir. We be clear o' th' bow sir .. shall we swing 'er around and give it to 'er again?? The Queeny ain't seen nothin' like this Man O War ship since the Brit Navy was begun sir. Our cannon be loaded sir an' we 'ave a sail to behold. It's a tight sqwease, sir, butt we'll manage somehow. We've a full load on our decks sir an we ave a good mix o men, too..The Queeny ain't too wide in the keester, but we'll ram'er hard anyway just ta make's her feel good about it, sir. An, we're lashin on the cabin boy up front ta spew a good froth on 'er as we trim 'er rudder on the way in. I say capt'n , we're a sight now...Let's turn this bitch around an' hav' it again!! ..and they lived happily ever after...

Now a word from our sponser...'Do you suffer from a constant and irritable itch? Is there no way to stop the discomfort?? Well, now there IS a way for you, too, to be a believer like millions of other Americans who have lived overseas without 'Cream Away'. That's right, Cream Away has a magical ingredient that only our specially trainy lab monkeys are able to produce. Each potion is carefully extracted and is 99.99% hairfree. Wrinkles, floreskins, and facial massagees will be a thing of the past once you've tried Cream Away. That certain frothy steanch is just the beginning to a newer, healthier you. Cumm often ta any SS Snatch sore near you an' find bit d' creamy in yur fir... arghh,,....aye, cptn' we be a bit sweatier than b'fur butt we're bit wiser now to 'er ways, sir,,,it's a slimy bitch, that thar Queeny, an we haf'ta keep our masts up full ta breach 'er sir... What say ye now....


Arrgh, ye puling spawn, but 'tisn't it a fine mornin'? Aye, yer Cap'n took Fist Officer Spock below for a bite of a strategy meetin'. But 'is hips started a'rockin w' the infernal sound o' yer dancin' and singin' up 'ere on deck. Arggh, but 'e got excited, 'e did, and it scalded me a might. Arggh, but 'e's a canny one, that Spock, an' 'e grabbed up a 'andful o' the Sperm whale blubber grease oozin' out fum under the capstan joint amidships - it be encrusted a might w' splinters 'n fishscales 'n kelp 'n barnacle shells 'n a shipworm or two, but didn't it work jus' like an ol' french tickler thar.

Assemble the men, while I'm 'avin' a cigarette.....

Arggh, but listen close, men. No, Lt. Bambi, ye'll please to not stand quite so close behind the midshipmen, I'll need their attention afront for a spell.

Spock brought word from fleet. We ran the whole scroll through Commander Thcotty's decoder last night, ye can make out much o' th' meaning betwixt the brown and red smudges that be obscurin' some o' the words on the scroll thar. At least it sticks fast to the deckboards, so we've nought to touch it. (Thcotty's 'avin' the paper cuts he got on 'is Haemaerhoahhds a'tended to by ol' Bones Bobbio as we spewk).

Arggh, but 'tis war men. Seems a bespotted squadron o' French caravelles, flying white flags, and sportin' the monikers "le Effete Fuchaire du Butte", "les Phaggotes Simpereaux" and "le Chancre Rouge", dressed thar crew like slave girls and lured our own brig, "The Great Bear", into a protracted battle, taking the ship's axe.

Aye, 'tis bad, indeed, but methinks yer Capt'n 'as a bit of a plan.

The festerin' French pustules still be a'celebrating their luck a might too gayly. They be tied up athwart each other, bum to bowprits not eighty league from 'ere. Seems their band and the crew got a might too used to dressin' like toothless whores and dancin' the ol' Bellyback Jig.

Methinks it would be a fine tribute to them to fill our launches, the S.S.Napper and the S.S.Pugh, with a gross or so o' our finest delicacies.... Twouldn't it be a fine gift fur us to whip up a big batch o' our own Se'men's Oysters and send the warm viscous lot over to 'em?

Now hair this. Ensign Dodir and Rear Admiral Halbach be handin' out some 'alf shells to each o' ye. I'll 'ave each o' ye shuck up at least three brimfuls by morning watch. I'll expect at least six from the officers. Commodore Brant be a might spent, as usual - I see 'e's already drapin' a lifeline from 'is foredeck to 'is left knee. On the oother hand, issue Snoid and Mr. 'Ackett abolone shells, and get them startin' a'pounding some steaks outa their white meat, as it were. Don't cut the commodore's barge loose, too soon, men, we'll be a'needin' every spoonful.

Commander Thcotty, bring Cooky around as the men are bending over their batter bowls. Give a dollop o' spinach an' some breadcrumbs to any o' thems what got some chunks, or pus, any o' that pinkish exudae in their spewm that showed up after we made that call in Port au Prince. We'll bake up a batch o' Se'men's Oysters Cockerfeller outa that lot, and give 'em to their officers!!!

O, I wager they'll not dribble a drop onto their faggotty red silk tunics.

Get whackin', men, this may be our finest spour.



Aye, Lt. Bambi 'er sir. Captn', we've just about finished up with yur foolery. All the mens is spoiled themselves on the shells an such, as they've just aboot pumped all the pink puscules, 'r whatever the spew is, to the brim o' yur fancy farten hole. Aye, they took th' task to hand so to speaks an' they's all but spent - 'cept o' course Nav. Rag, sir, 'es just startin ta get inta a real rythm it seems. He's pret'y nearly filled th' ol' pig blatter all by himself's.

Truely, tho, ev'ry man to th' bone were givin it 'es all, sir. We'v amassed a great pussy bunch o' th' best damned frothy cumm oils ev'r ta lite a lamp sir. Only one casulty, sir, too. Twas 'imself, Cmdr Blandt, all spent from th' previous scuffle a flounderin' the pork in midships sir. If 'e hadn't squandered 'imself 'ed still be doin' 'es best, sir. The mens all behind 'im now sir tryin ta coxe 'im on sir. Butt, thar be a real brew in the galley, sir, as th' mens is all fur a good nites rest sir see'ns how the pearly pink from the Queeny is just a bit outa reach now. An' frankly sir, they need a minute 'er two ta collect themselves.

The friggot 'as spired 'es mast as ya said, sir, them ships is mated! But they're fairy playin' is ravagin' our men sir; me thinks its a dirty trick Frenchees played on our men. Shall we spin up our mainstay 'an 'ave a go at her sir? They'll not see us cummin' in this thick o' fog. "Put yur backs into it men! We'll all 'ave a good spew in a few licks."

Aye, aye...


Cumondoor Brandt here. I've just scooped up Lebojk from the brown an' frothy waters and he's a sight for sore brown eyes. Lay him up on the masthead an' I'll come along and make him glad to be onboard. If Cap'n Mudshark'll be needing every ounce of manhood I got -then damn if Lebojk won't bring it outa me. Full on ya Limey bitch. Take one for queen and cuntry. Tell that Lt Bambi I'll be comin aboard.


Aye,,Blandt'es a good ol' salt, indeed. Now pull yur manhood outa 'is bow sir, befur ya chokes 'im ta death. Le Bojk may be a slight bit pinkerd, butt yur all 'es got, sir. Besides, th' rest the mens is still lookin fur ya ta bring our bow right ta the Queeny's masthead an ram 'er full up ta the bowsprits. Ev'ry man to 'es cannon! We take the Frenchees now while the'r backs be turnin an thar plantoons be a wavin like a sick goat on deck. Avast ye! Aye, we board that sick bitch in a few licks now sir. What 'er becum o' the cabin boy, sir, when we's got the fresh meat on board an' the cocks oil 's all used up? Be thar no end to this buggery? May I suggest, sir, tha' we lash'im up the longpole an' show'im ta the Queeny so's we cans board 'er a might easlier? They say the faggot ship be weak aboot 'er girly-mens an salted pork....


Nice ta 'ave Cap'n Mudshark back in front.

No surprise 'e emurges suckin on fag, eh!?

Well, I'm bit tired o' all yer yammerin' an' no action, 'cept fur the slimey bottom of a clam shell?

I wanna know if we're gonna get us some o' "Le POUsee" or not, an' iffin' we are am I gonna wanna save somethin's for the "Le Haire".

With all the collections an' Spock aboard, there's a mighty fine glow 'ere an' we ain't sneakin' up on nobody lit up like this.

Bring the Cumondoor aboard or cut 'im loose, with or without LeBojk, I don't care. But sure's I knows this, them frig'its due fur a plunge ta the bottom an' we're gonna miss the smell of a good plantin' iffin' we don't straighten up.

Then again, iffin' we ain't goin' nowheres, me dibs on a top bunk where the Cumondoor and LeBojk can't get to me.

Knav Rag


Slaptain's Log November 28, 1676

Arggh, So it's action ye crave, is it? Seein' the French bitches wipin' yer cum from their chins w' the puffy sleeves of their faggotty red blouses not good enough fer, eh? Ye wants a bit more than jiz hearin' a shipload o' ol' Cardinahle Dickbleaux' butter boys gaggin' down a brimmin' shellful o' yer cold, congealled cum, do ye?

Well, I thought as ye might.

I gots an idea fum seeing le Bojk traipsin' so eery-like about the decks. Right queer it is, I say. 'E's gone ghostlike - w' 'is colorless skin, and 'is pantaloons flappin so in the breeze, and the witless, soulless gaze in 'is eyes, and 'is mouth 'angin aslack and agape like it does. 'E don't even be seemen to notice when the ol' sea snake slithers into 'is Sargasso, if ye catch me meaning.

Arggh, mights be we cun make the S.S.Natch into a ghost ship - jiz a'creakin' out o' the smoke and the mist, we'll cum. Slightly alithp even. Terrify the whole al'castrato choir o' the red-wearin' faggots, we will. They'll not notice the Commodore's barge aflounder under the waves cummin up from b'low, as 'e does so proper. 'E and 'is crew cun hold their breath fur hours. Arggh, they've 'ad their heads up each oother's arses since we pulled 'em out o' the Port o' Dennis.

If'n the Commodore, cun hold 'is breath a might longer; 'is crew cun wench the noses o' the French down under the lapping o' the waves and hold them faggots under 'til they don't know if they're a'gaggin on seawater or syphillus drip. Arggh, and their sternstays'll be a a'waggin like a Babylon eunich's burnin' fer coitus.

And when they cum to surface we'll have our muzzles ready to shiver a wad right to the backs o' their gasping throats.

Ensign Bambi, we'll need some mist. And put some density to it. And some 'angtime, too, if ye please.

Yeoman Halbach, blow the crew to alert status. No, on yer whistle, ye wanker. Arggh, and pry Fireman Gardiser from the mouthparts o' the masthead. 'E's been 'umpin that thing like the ship's pug on Snoid's leg. We'll need a buttload o' smoke out o' 'im tonight. And thick. I want those bitches to jiz see the S.S.Natch's shadow a'creepin thru' the fog, and nought but our red eyes blinkin' back at 'em.

We'll use torpedoes fur the smoke. Ensign Dodir, issue two fish to the men. Cram a couple o' those Columbian Coughcods into 'dubes three and four, and light the muzzles. Midshitsm'n Thcotty, Fireman Bobbio, cum fur'w'rd. Drop trow, wax up yer lower rageions, and climb atop the 'dubes fer us. Pull a tight seal on the touchholes - we'll not have 'em leakin' tonight. Knavegator Rag and Mister 'Ackett will need all the suction they can draw. Sure, they can git their lips full around the breeches thar, but 'ave they the lungs fur it?

Well, we be committed, we'll not 'ave a whimper fum any o' ye 'til we've those slatherin' swine athwart and amidships. Ensign Timpson - 'tis not a good time to be dancin' a hornpipe w' yer thingy thar. Ye mights reach yer zenith too soon and blow the whole mission. Arggh, but ye might like that. Why'd'n't ye go b'low.

Quiet, men.








I'm workin' my lungs up, Cap'n. I'll push them torpedoes right down their down their Cardinal throats, Sir, an' a' slap Midshitman 'Acckett a good 'ne on the arse to make sure 'e at least gets it out 'is fly.

Nice ta be in the 'unt, again, Sir, a feelin' the spray on our faces. I can see us a' bangin' our way all over the open seas, a draggin' them queer red coated hornblowers under all along the way.

What say ye, Cap'n, we invade the El Way and spew 'em with some Moen o' our own. I betcha they gotta a trombone player named Gary what make LeBojk look like a veritable stud. An' when they says Uncle, we'll turn the slimey limey loose on 'em like a Muncie in the fall o' '75.

An' one other thing, me Cap'n, me thinks we oughtta save one o' the uprights when we send that bitch to the bottom an' store it 'round back until the bobbies cum' sniffin' 'bout. Just like ol' times, Cap'n, just like ol' times, 'cept the Cumondoor been promoted. Please not ta frighten us again like that, Cap'n. I knows the Spock be an intriguin' an excitin' conquest, Sir, butt a might unfair to the men makin' 'em worry that somewheres between the Cumondoor an' Lt. Bambi lay their face.

Makin' me way to the compass, Sir, an' wantin' to do some needlin' meself.

Knav, Rag.


Aye,,,Avast'ye,,,plantoonus corps's o' ol' Queeny stench take that ..and (umph..ymph umph,,uhhgh...aghhh..yeeeip. fur spacious skies.... umph.splat..splat..uoh..spewwwyy Aye..Capt'n we've made good progress on th' bitch now sir..apphm..'if we keeps fightin like this sir, there won't be any o them buggers left ta torture sir... they've all been throwin down like them ticklers on a blow fish... the mens is all askin fur a smoke break sir an they's been puttin in their backs an such to it real sir.Them's red-shirted faggots is just what we need to make th' journey back ta port sir...see'ns how th pig's been thrown overboard, or stashed in Ensign Blandt's quarters - we ain't sur 'boot that sir - butt least we'll 'ave a right squirrely time within' their 'xceptional musicians. Their barge all be lit up now an they be weepin as they see thar bitch be goin down fur th' last time...them's is a girly sort that way...what say we go an pillage some more o' dem faggots in da galley after we's had ar fill o' dem up deck.

. them's all be so damn slack-jawed 'boot it,,kinda takes all the ticklin outta it sir..'ave ye any idears ta makes 'im what it more sir....aye...the masts be full now an a good wind be blowin 'ere (least in my quarters) sir..what say ye now .......

Lt. Bambi


Spock: I must return to my ship.

Capt. Mudshark: I'll be missin' ya', Sparcky me boy. Could ya give me a kiss so it's not so cut'n dry?

Spock: It baffles me why you humans insist on such a display of emotions. Besides I wouldn't touch that ol' gummer's been on every salty dog in the South Seas, let alone in this ship.

Mudshark: Arrgh...I guess you'll be wantin' me t' jack arff silently?

Spock: Most prudent. I must thank you for letting me use your vessel.

Mudshark: Aye...tis a fine ship!

Spock: I wasn't talking about the ship.


Cookie's LOG; Stardate 'miniscuel'

Cookie: 'Hey, Capt'n, all theese red faggot plantaloon clad ferries from the Queenie's vessel is just itchin ta git in yur shorts. They don't eeven care if'n ya hurt's 'em er nothin. Dukie said thar'd be days like this-all brown an such.'

Admr. MudShark: ' Awe,, shut up ya ol' gummer - fur I hasta plug that thar ol pigs plank tar in thar ta keeps from haven' hear ya..'

Nav Rag: 'I hears them now sir, a mutinous buch they be o'er thar. They be swingin from foremast ta foxsails like abunch o flamin monkeys on a key west cruise. Should we warns the mens, sir?'

Captn Blandt: 'Aye, they be fit enough. Let's hoist thar arses up a yarnspinner an see if's they got what it takes...arghh...Get's us closer Admr, so's we kin see's them...'

Lt. DirDorl: ' Captn, sir, Le Bojk is still in th' galley a flounderin' wit'is peppershakers, the mens won't touch the pork, sir...'

Lt. Bambi: 'Aye,,,let's git off dis bitch an git sum reel blow offa thems faggots on the Queeny, sir..' Snoid: 'I'va good mind ta blow yu's all off the next time this happens..I've got me all scheduled up now, cept'ns fur next Tuesday..'

Le Bojk: ' All I wanted was a chance fur true love men..won't anyone take me seriously?'

Admr. Mudshark: 'Cum 'eer ya silly queer, I'll gives ya what fur,,I'll be rammin' this 'eer barniclescrubber clear up ta yur nosterils ya flamin' Brit..'

Captn. Chackoff: ' Aye, aye, Captn, full speed ahead..'

Lt. Ohurrla: 'Captn..this just in frum starfleet,,the vessels's run aground, sir,,something about mud, sir,,' 'Aye,,they've laid a trap, th' bloody wenches..No matter now, we've got'm up thar mainshaft sooOO fur they'r makin with baloney at both en's, they is...'





What Herr you tarking about, hele? Ale you saying we can lecieve flee brow job fol signing up Juno fol oul inelnet calliel? I not shule. Maybe I sign up with Compuselve and get foul hundled dorrals off new computel. Then, I buy you runch, unt, then you brow me.

Ol, maybe we sprit savings, unt Phir wirr brow of us.

I am most confused.



Don't yunt undelstand. At rast, you ale now tarking tunt me, unt not tunt Klisty. Did you learry bereive that arr this time it was I who was praying youl rittlre pilate game?


Arggh. The saucy wench 'ad me thar. I was woonderin' whar a whippy-wristed whelper like yerself 'ad gotten the grasp o' the nautical nomenclature that we be a'hearin'. Aye, and yer crabbanter were soundin' a might moore manly than we'd expects to be a'cummin from yer slack jowls.

Arggh, many a ship'd be strikin' their sails, if only me decks be crowded w' the likes o' her......Arggh, instead o' the mewlin' and pukin' spawn aboard the S.S.Natch, that be likin' nought better than eyein' their messmates' arseholes and gummin' each other belowdecks.

Avast, what's an ol' 'ooker to do then, eh? I guess I'll jiz rool along......rool along....



"THAR SHE BLOWS! Captain Mudshark, it's a baby sperm whale cummin' from the north, ready to ram us, from behind, me hopes!"

Aye, Cabin Boy Thibley, it's something but it ain't no sperm whale. Tho' the way this little feller sucks the stuff, I'm thinkin' there's some similarity, if ye catch my drift. Ye fool, can't you see it's Phillippe, the little Indian boy!"

"Aye sir, I yam gettin' yer drift, and it's making me a bit hahny. Let's throw a rope out there, bring 'im aboard, and maybe have some fun with him"

"Aye, and if ye can't find any rope, throw 'im the cable."

"Avast there, ye little gummer. Grab this rope, and wrap it around yer soggy flanks, and we'll be jerkin' ye aboard shortly."

Cut to Phillippe

"Ho boy, I tink I got bad feelin' 'bout dis.

"I shoulda nebber took dat ride wit' Capn' Duke troo dat Nort'west Passij. Tank God he gabe me dis old wagon wheel when dey troo me off da boat. It kinda chewed but it float OK. Boy he and dat ol' coot sure hab dere way wit' me, you bet. An' all I do was be lookin' for dat gaz. We nebber finds it in dem nice plazes like Californica.

"Still, it were kinda fun heh heh heh. Dat Duke a mean man but I kinda likes him. An' bepore dat, dem Mounties, hoo boy I shur know how dey got dat name."


Arggh, 'tis indeed our own Phillipe o' the North! And 'e's be ridin' that Newfoundland Nardwhal in a manner not seen often in these seas. The little gummer be facing aft! Methinks 'e's awaiting to pop 'is thingy into the miserable beast's blowhole when 'e cums up fer to blow. Arggh, but sure our wee Indian Boy'll surprise that Narwhal with a frothy snootful, 'e will.

But ready the longboats!!! The piss be cold these parts, 'n I see that Phillipe alreadys be wearin' 'is drawers in pike position. The degree o' difficulty o' this one'll be a might 'arder than the Swedish joodge be used to seein'.

Arggh, Mr. Ackett, keep the men's backs to the oars and see that ye and Firman Bobbio's got firm hands on yer cables. If ye let Phillipe go down on that one-eyed, misbegotten sack o' cum again, mights be we'll lose 'em both!!!

O, pardon, Cummodoor Brant, I meant the Nardwahl thar, sire. Sure, the men and meselfs gots the wormest o' feelings fer ye. Yer hole crew always seems eager to serve on the vessel o' a one-eyed misbegotten sack o' cum like yerself, if ye take me meaning.

Butt, see to Phillipe! 'E's nought dead, but ye gots to be a might gingerly as ye pry 'is stubby thighs offen the head o' the beast thar. And see that ye melt them brown icicles offen his butthahrs while ye're still on the S.S.Napper. I'll not be 'avin' any o' that slop a'drippin on the decks o' the S.S.Natch, then.

Arggh, Cocks'm'n Halbach, pry Knavegator Rag offen the head o' the binnacle thar and 'ave 'im give ye a headin'. Set a course fer Newport - methinks, they'll be 'avin' a party there.

Aye, and thar be a bleak storm a formin' athwart, and I want ye to sail us right into the gapin' maw' o' it.

Steady as she goes.



Cap'n Mudshark. It may be best if'n ya and Lt. Bambi take heed o' this here approachin storm. Don't ya be thinkin' best if'n yer portholes were closed- 'stead of flappin' in the breeze waiting for a whitecap to splash deep inna yer bowels? Be thinkin' go down ...n' the all the men'll wanna go down wi' ya. It won't be a perty sight. Now I tellyer to drop a stern line, pull up yer sails and lay yer head straight inta that thar cloud. You'll haffa put up a stiff fight but it's a might sight bettern' than floppin' to port and havin' all hands restin' deep on the bottom. We's all behind ya, Capn'...ifn' ya catch me drift.

Cumondoor Brandt


Lt, Bambi 'eer sir. I've been keep the port bow line taunt, sir, an thar's no mistakin' it. We' cum aground again, sir. T'was no puffin' white clouds we plowed inta either, sir. The stern took it first, whilst all th' mens had thar way with Boinker in the galley. Is there no mercy at sea, sir? We be all tied up 'bout Nav. Rag's commentary, an seen's them mens still 'ave a taste fur their Neil Simons whilst chewin on the pork, 'is no wonder why we're still port sides th' mother ship, sir. Blast th' damned Frenchies! Thar be a prety sight - 'r Captn' an tha' Faggt midshipsmen in oils til dawn - aye,, avast ye! Let go me pork ya stiff wind! Let'r free so's we can stuff the main sail up th' runners. That be no portal eith'r ya flamer! I'll not turn a check ta yu again. Hoist me saggin jowls, thar's notin better'n a good flamer runnin on deck whilse th' chief officer's a peel'in 'is fla! nk steak- if y ach me drift..


Slaptain's Log

Aye, and a fine Log it is....

Arggh, Cummondoor, methinks we'll not keep too tight on our gibbs in a blow the likes o' the squall we be a'bracin' fer ahead. Nae, Cummondoor, 'ave Lt. Bambi, leave 'em agape, I says. Any froth be floodin' inta the cabin portholes aft, 'll be agorgin' outa the furw'd gunports, 'neath the fuck'st'l.

We'll nary swamp. Listen to the "clackety-clackety-clackety" o' the men apumpin' the bilges belowdecks. Ye'll not go down on me vessel 'til ye wants to go down on me vessel. Arggh, that'll be soon enough, methinks.

But look at the maelstom we'll be bravin'! Tis the pahrfukt starhm, it is. Ye cun see two dark stahrmfronts abeam us on two sides a'rubbin agin each oother like the swollen vulvae o' a Lisbon harlot. And ahead the brown bulgin' cyclone betwixt 'em be nought but the swirlin' clitoris o' the bitch. Arggh, but ye canna keep ol' Mudshark from rammin' his prow right inta the brown eye o' that stahrm, I'll tell ye.

An' Boys, do yer see the fleet o' French fr'ggots that be afollowin'? Now, don't they be sniffin' our stern like a pack o' horny dogs trying to get into the hindquarters o' a bitchdog in heat? Aye, and they'll be having some bloody flow astainin' they noses afore this night be through fur they trooble!

We'll draw 'em into the stahrm, and when our shrouds be screamin', we'll drive our six-pounders hard into them amidships.

And we'll not be alone. Nae, bring yer glass to bear , and ye'll just see the profile o' a mighty vessel a'heavin' and a'jostlin' atop the stormsurge ahead. It be the S.S.Paz, a ridin' the blow like a boarhog on a sow. Yeoman Bobbio, bring Navigator Rag topsides. 'Ave 'im lay to on the Cabin Boy a spell. 'E needs to see who be master of the S.S.Paz....

Rag, ye haven't seen a visage akin the grimacin' mug on the captain o' the vessel thar fur many a year, have ye? See the rheumy gaze on 'im? See the wild haar and the erect proboscis on 'im? Aye, 'tis yer bastard broother, Commander M. Parshall duBois. Arggh, noone's took as much froth in the teeth as 'e 'as. And 'e's got the stains on 'is knees to prove it, too!

Signal to 'im. 'Ave 'im join us in a true battle o' se'men. No one likes to pitchpole a fleet o' French fr'ggots down a rogue wave an' cum down hard w' the sternchaser more'n M. Parshall duBois. Aye, 'e looks a might more like the Queen than yerself, Rag, but the 'semblance still be strong. 'Tis a legacy, it is.

Arggh, but what's this? 'E's stripped to 'is waist and 'e's got some sort o' feathered headress on 'im. 'E's signallin' w' semiphore. Thcotty, cun ye make out anythin' w' 'im?

"Aye, Thlaptain Mudthyark, butt it'th thnot eathy to dethypher. The gale be fierthe, and 'ith thip be lithpin' a might."

Arggh, 'e be lispin' fur quite a while now.

"Lookth, it'th.....MY, it'th "Y.....M.....C....A", that'th it, Thir,...Y.M.C.A.....Thlaptain, what kin that mean?"

Arggh, boy, it be meanin' that the Cummander 'as found Mr. 'Ackett's Village People CD. Arggh, but we'll dancin' a fine hornpipe tonight, lads.

But, first, Rag, bring us to a beam reach a' larboards. We've the back o' a squall to break first.....



Aye Cap'n...we be plungin' headlong inta thar gaping maur. Methinks the clouds are all 'bout us and nary a frothy whitecap t'be seen rare in these here waters. 'Tis a dangerous road we be drivin', Cap'n!

Lt. Bambi, prepare yur boiler to beat back these clouds wi' some o' yer own. Run, man, and git yerself any salt pork ya find layin' about...we knows ya got it in 'ya! Midshitman Hacket, run yer undies up the foremast.

Keep a watch fer M.Parshall DuBois 'n his sem'nphore. If'n I read him right his flags be sayin' "Young men...won't you all come a port. I say, Young men...just the virginal sort. I say, Young men..even if you are short. I can ..... ..... ..... ..... .....

It's fun to play with my Thigh And My A..."

Cumondoor Brandt

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