Crabbage Snatch Open - The Voyage of the SS Natch
The Stlange Voyage of the SS Natch - Book 3
I scares me that some children may inadvertantly read this so I took the liberty of filtering out the vulgar words and
replacing them with clean and safe language.
"Rap This Hypo"
I guess I touched a nerve
And you sent a lot of heat off
I just shouldn't talk about
How you like to pleasure yourself.
We've heard you at the cabin
You created quite a schism
When you groan and groan and groan at night
And spray the room with male ejaculate.
We've kept the banter going
To us you should be thanking
But you just log on to porn
And give your thing a substantial tug
Now Paul don't be so rude
And get all in a snit
When you say you've been too busy
We know you're full of feces.
Smart move. I think too many of the men corresponding on our e-group are taking careless and immature page down risks with
their untoward language. I think that much of the vulgarity that has been going back page down and forth of late is setting
a very bad example. I shudder to think of how upset our children, our wives, or Marshall would become if they inadvertently
read some of this language.
I whoreheartedly support page down your efforts to set a new, higher standard.
MS: Arggh, Cabin Boy Thibley, be still there a mite. Cun't ye hear tha' sound cuming from abovedecks?
Th: Ayeggl, Sclugcapshtgan,whagggs iglgs igt?
MS: Arggh, that best not be Snoid's pegleg be athumpin' the boards o' me poop topsides! If me F'ist Officer 'Ackett let
Snoid out th' brig afore mornin', It'll be Mr. 'Ackett whats belowdecks 'oistin' 'is flags fer the men. Although, I'm
sensin' that 'e be growin' a bit fond o' that particular kind o' punishment o' late......But hold a minute, Thibley....
old.....I'm at me....zenith....easy........sput...sput...ohhhh....sput...ohhh...spoot...ohhhh....
MS: Damn, that naise agin'. I'm going topsides, an' deal w' this meselfs. I'll not be 'avin' me officers tradin' se'men's
favors an' gettin' easy on the discipline on this ship, I'll tell ye! Arggh, clean yerself up, boy, an' scrub tha' stain
off'n yer tunic afores it dries thar. How'd I get in yer filthy maw in the fi'st place anyhow, ye olde whore!?!?
(later, on deck)
MS: Arggh, Rag! I see ye aperched atop the binnacle, thar. Ye look like a Mastiff w' roundworms! Arggh, but th' riggin'
on yer sternsprit musts be able t' handle quite a gale, I reckons.....
NR: Aye, Sar, when ye've been aboard a vessel the likes o' the 'Natch longs as I 'ave, ye larn t' roll w' the seas, sar, if
ye take me meanin'.
MS: Aye, I do. Lo, be ye alone on deck, Rag? I'd been hearin a quar sound fum belowdecks tonight.
NR: Nye, Sar, young Lntnt Timpson be right har atween me legs.
MS: Oh, I didn't see 'im be'ind the binnacle thar. I see ye be teachin' 'im to take a "heading" right proper then.
MS: Thar 'tis agin. That naise! Do ye hear it, Rag? 'Tis a quar sound. Methinks Snoid's cum loose an' be draggin' 'is peg
over to whar the men be asleepin' in the f'ck'stle.
NR: Aye, Sar. I 'ear it. An' it truly be a quar sound. Butt, 'tain't Snoid, Sar. No, it be Lntnt Bambi bringin' 'is
yardarm to bear on th' vent o' that sparm whale we 'pooned this forenoon.
MS: Arggh, so 'tis, so 'tis. Must be's the way that whale's be 'angin' offen the boomvang that brings 'im to mind o' the
type o' whore 'e was favorin' s'much when we docked in Addis Adabba.
NR: Aye, quite so, Sar, quite so. I'll give ye our bearings soon's Timpson's finish'd oiling me forespar, Sar.
MS: Nay, don't rush 'im, Rag. The night be calm, and the 'Natch don't need us to find 'er own way to Copenhagen no longer.
LT: gggloww's bowgght ag sppolgmem shgarrr
MS: What'd ye say, Mr Timpson? I cuddn't make it out w' all the jizzum in yer jowls thar.
NR: 'E asked if ye'd favor us w' a poem, Sar.
MR: Oh, aye? Wahl, might be's a poem'd be jez the thang to take the gristle from the salt pork on a night like this. 'Ere's
one o' me faahhhvohrates. I calls it,
on the harbor
NR: I think I came, Sar.
Cumondoor Brandt: Fist Mate Kerig, have ya seen Knav Rag?
Fist Mate Kerig: No. Ain't been no word from that wanker.
CB: Hand me that there glass. ...Not yer beer -ya pathetic beached whale maggot trough - fetch me spyglass.
FMK: Aye, Cumondoor Brandt. I be needin t' pull'r from me mate Lt. Bambi.
Bambi: Did ya rip me colon?
CB: Cabin Boy Thibley, would ya be so kind t' clean me lens.
Cabin Boy Thibley: Aye aye ayeooooooooooo. Slurp! Oooh, peanuts!
CB: What be that on the horizon, Kerig?
FMK: Why, sir, that thar be our dingy a bobbin' on the seas.
CB: I sees some bobbin' all right. Damned if'n it ain't Knav Tag 'imself -bobbin a mid dingy on LeBojk's mid thingy. Twould
'splain 'is absence.
Dear Ms. Hohls-Krusty,
We at Pinscher Lines offer our deepest apologies for your dissatisfaction with your recent voyage on our flagship, the
S.S.Natch. We have looked into all of your concerns and allegations thoroughly. The commander of that vessel, Captain
Mudshark, assures us that it must be the unseasonable weather, and some misunderstanding you may have of the customs and
traditions that govern a ship of the line, like the S.S.Natch.
Apparently, the several semen who were holding you over the aft railing were responding to the danger you were in of falling
overboard. They were implementing a standard gang-grappling technique to keep you aboard as securely as possible. Captain
Mudshark goes on to explain that you may have felt some pressure and discomfort from one or two of his crewmen attempting
to bring to bear a "Grunion's Graighnt" on your person during dangerous seas on the evening in question. This is merely a
thickly tied wad of cordage that is slipped between the legs of anyone who appears unsteady on a pitching deck. This
measure can cause some discomfort if applied too tightly by an inexperienced crew member.
The Captain is especially chagrined that despite these measures on behalf of over nine of his crewmen and officers, you
still were inadvertently washed overboard anyway. He and his entire crew admire your tenacity to cling to the flotsam and
jetsam that were littering the waters around their vessel until you were taken aboard "the Flaming Queen" under the command
of Commander M. Parshall duBoys. The entire Pinscher Ship Lines is at a loss to explain the inattention that you were
afforded from the officers and crew under his command while you were aboard that vessel, and later, Commodore Brant's
The crustaceans that you mentioned that have infested your somewhat profuse body hair, are not harmful. In fact, they can
be gently teased free with a comb made from baleen whalebone. They can, in fact, be then kept for up to three weeks and
used to enhance any chowder or boulleiabaisse.
Unfortunately, none of the damages you listed are covered by the insurance you obtained when you came aboard. Also, none of
your fare is refundable, either, since you did eventually reach your destination.
However, Pinscher Ship Lines will be happy to cover the seamstress and dry cleaning expenses you incurred on your dress.
Head Passenger Oombuttsman
New South Wales
Dear Mister Ian,
We regret to inform you that the woman we brought aboard our ship was quite distressed and nearly out of her wits 'til our
men were able to satisfy her every need. It took nearly half the groinsplank crew from midships to keep her from screaming.
Seems the men on you ship did her no favors; and, in fact left her wanting for something more. Which, of course, the men of
the Flamin Queen were only too happy to administer..
In the future, please refrain from these gestures resulting in passenger discomfort as we can no longer continue to support
a crew with these wildly advertised and unsubstantiated efforts from the SS Natch.
Cummodore Whitey Thighboner
Surgical Mates (Honorary)
We were pushin' past th' end'o the snatcher's trail when all of a sudden like, this big swell rose up frum th deep an
splashed us with a whaler's dick full o th' cum. I tells ya, twas all I culd do ta keeps me frum cummin meself. Aye...twas a
mess indeed. All dem merry vacationeers on stoney mountain were too much fer me foreskins ta manage without a full load. So,
we paddled back bit - no, Blandt, not that far back, an afur ya knows it, with the help o' Nav Rag, twas lookin full inta
the bitch as she layed on her side; Charleston me thinks it was, takin on all cummers as it were. Twas the high seas I tell
ya...An fur ya land lubbers; a breach it were. Cause th' lightning an such kept in the Shark from makin 'is rounds on the
wayward side ya see. Butt, with the bilge a bit wet the proud boys under (Tommy an Slackmouth) were too busy ta see the
ramparts losin' thar fullness and WAMMO!! Twas a awesum bloody sight indeed - as all th' whalers know, it be the beast from
beneath that gets ya when ya least expect - and that laddies is where we Pirates spent our days O' glory - not some rummy
fairy tale in a land O' gis.....
Blambie Long Tale's ...Argghhh.........
Aye, Aye, Matey!
We be gettin' closer to the bowels o' her groggy sails. Them's is a billowing no more than a whimper and we needs to hang in
her midsections fur another 72 days - lest we be figurin' wrong. The planks is all butt wet with 'er bright red pools o'
anticipation. Them seamens is not had this much excitement fur pretty near a year now. Aye, we all be a waitin' on the scowl
to bring forth a frothy new leeter askin' fur a donation in the sperm bank as it were. The waitin' s not the worst, though,
it's the pain o' havin' ta see soo much handy work put to the test by the likes o' SlakMouth and crew. It's a shame I tell
ya, to have to tell him to put those pretty boy tactics aside and go up there in the loft with all the other seamen to find
out what it's really like to scream bloody crabbage thoughts. He's quite the fairy ya know... Aye.....
Meloncholy crabbage banter-
Cumondoor Brandt: Cabin Boy Thibley...Cabin Boy Thibley!
CBThibley: Yeth, thir.
CB: Whare the hell 'ave y' been?
CBT: I was jutht going down below deckth.
CB: Arr, I see. Well wipe tht shit off yer maw.
CBT: Oh..but thir...I'm not finithed.
CB: Damn ye, woman. I gots these here orders t' post...don't ferget stamps. Tell Captain Mudshark we're 'bout done with
repairs n' the salt pork be near loaded.
CBT: Thay, ...are we thetting thail thoon, thir?
CB: Y'know that thar lisp is beginnin' to annoy me. 'Ere, maybe this will help.
CBT: Thertainlyawwwwgggggggggoooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm thwell themen, thir!
Arghhh, ya fool Cmd Blundt! Now, ya's spoiled the cabin boy on yur cracker an 'e won't want to salt no pork no more. Damn
ya, fool. Tis the work o' the Queen's fools I tells ya. Let all the mens feast on ya if yur man enough an then have the
cabin boy up fur desert. Ya flamer!
Now where's me cookin oil? Me spinach is all backed up an' the pipes are about ta blow. Arrghhhh..umphmm....aahhh...Bloody
raw, it smells like......Boink!!
Hoist 'er away damn it!! We be splittin' planks o'er a green beam!!! Watch them splinter's I tell ya!
Cabinboy Thibley: Thir, I have thuccthethfully thent all correthpondenthes. Thtampth thecured altho. Thertainly to the
Thnatcherth thall thoon thign into thervithe. Thoon we thail the theven theas, thir!
Cumondoor Brandt: Get back to yer post!
CBT: Thitting on Thlaptain's Tharkisian'th thauthauge, thir?
CB: Potht hathte...uh, I mean...
Lt. Bambi: Cumondoor!...Cumondoor!...we gots word that LeBojk 'as been sighted not butt a league fom this here port. Me
spyglass spotted a green glow on the reef- which usually be glowin' red. Tis 'is damn socks, sir. Seems he be packin' 'is
bag...ooo. I likes the sound of that!
CB: If yur gonna jack off do it silently.
CBT: Perhapth I can be of thome atthithtanthe.
MS: Arggh, Cumondoor Brandt, Ye've made quite the pet out o' the good Cabin Boy Thibley, thar. 'E be takin' quite the
shinin' to ye. It be lookin' like 'e be puttin' a mite more of a shine on the side o' yer thigh than ye might
CB: Aye, Captain Mudshark, I finds that if'n I let the pasty whelp hump me leg a bit, 'e don't be thpewin' 'is
Godferthaken lithp at uth. Damn.
MS: Wall, be mindful o' lettin' 'im cum on yer leg thar. If'n the men catch a whiff o' it, they'll all want t' fuck
CBT: Did you thay thumpthin, thir?
CB: Damn. Do ye sees what I means, Mudshark?
MS: Aye, Roger that. Ye know, ye best find 'im somethin' to do aforn 'e gets t' 'is zenith an' spews on yer loins.
CB: Request permission t' load Thibley onta me barge, an' float 'im out o'er the reef to fetch le Bojnk an' Navigator
Wragge. I sent 'em both out this mornin' t' check th' crab pots, 'n they've been doin' nought but a'playin'
Legs-Up-Seven-Up on th' beach thar since four bells.
MS: Aye, make it so. Yer vessel 'as but an inch or two o' draft. 'Tis few boats what cun drift in brine so shallow as
CBT: Thir, I'm a thwift thwimmer, perhapth it'th thafer to thwimm athore.
CB: Thibley, it'd be th' safest a'fer ye to do ath I thay. Damn.
MS: Climb onta' the Cumondoor's vessel, Thibley, an' get ye messmates hasty like. Thar be a red tide a'cummin', an' I
wants the SSNatch assumin' 'er position athwarts the channel afore'n the flow starts. Th' air won't be fit t' breathe
soon, an' th' ship smells enou' o' rottin' grunnion as it is. As it be, I've a breach-load o' 'ard tack an' field greens
what needs a'tendin' to. Carry on.
Later that night, Cabin Boy Thibley crept up to the poop deck to revisit the days happenings with his first mate Moshal.
Butt, to his surprise, Tahmi was already nestled in closely, getting quite an earful himself.
Mo: "Who goes thar, damnit? Announce yurself, so's I can see ya with me one good eye."
Thib: "Oh, ith just me, thir, the cabin boy. I was wonderin' if ya had a moment fur me, too?"
Mo: "OhoOOoo, just hold on thar cabin boy, you'll be gettin yurs soon enough. Just let me finish off Tahmi first. Umph,
splat, , oooh, ah...An' get that ear wax off'n me, damnit!"
Just as he was finishing, the Nav Rag emerged from the bowels of the ship. Thusly, he strode atop the poop deck and
administered a healthy yet lethal blow thru his now soiled loin cloth.
Rg: " Ahhh, that was a gooosher, man! A fine night to be sewin yur seeds an tellin more lair lore lies 'bout winnin the
big one, eh, Mo?"
Mo: " Aye, yu caught me at a bad moment, butt, I'll be done here in a moment. I just needs to clean up the poor cabin
boy - Hey, yur not the cabin boy, damnit, who changed ya to Phyrrup o Poor? Thar be mischievious goin's on here."
Phy: " Yur tellin me, last thing I knew I was puttin a good line when - "
Rg: " Ah, hell, man, yur just gettin the hang of it - here let me start on ya now."
Well, with all this turmoil about, no one noticed the grotesque figure emerging from below the poop decks. It slowly
raised itself to full length thar on the deck, and addressed the crew in a fashion.
Sk: " I'm a lumberjack an I'm OK, --oh, sorry, I forgot meself.
I'm a Mu'Hd Sharque, an yu'll never see the likes O' me again!
Move back I tell ya, 'er I'll flop meself overboards to the sea."
Thb: " Oh, no. It's the fabled one, , known around the world in certain garnishes,"
Mo:"Make it stop, I can't stands the smell!"
Rg:" That was me, ya cracker. Besides, we needs someone with 'is fortitude."
Th: "Thaths right, he can bunk with me thir."
And thusly, a new breed of sailor was born that night to the crew of the SS'Natch.
Another Priceless Books Entry
RoundAbut Thruwholers Division
Mudshark: Arggh, Mr. Rhagg, let's 'ave yer report, then.
Mr. Rhagg: Whmph, theggh mmmnn bluggh nnlgph glllph....
MS: Stand up, Boy, I canna make out what be cummin out yer filthy maw. Yer Slaptain needs to know what be 'appennin'
aboard 'n abroad, ye wanker. Out w' it, now, I say.
MR: Acccchhh tooooooo........
mmmmm, is this better, Sar?
MS: Aye, 'tis. But there be troubles about. As ye kin see, even yer old Slaptain, be 'avin' 'is troobles a'reachin' 'is
MR: Well, Sar, 'tis the heathen Moozlems. They be a'blowin up buildin's in our greatest cities, thar be thousands o' th'
bloodthirsty savages a'livin' right amongst us, they be a'hidin' in caves oonder mountains so's our biggest bombs canna
touch 'em, winter's a cummin', an' th' only ones o' 'em we kin get on our sides be a bunch o' murderin' thievin'
backstabbin' smugglers and extortionists. Thar isn't a one o' us whats kin speak a word o' their language, Sar.
MS: Arggh, don't sound so bad. Anythin' else?
MR: Aye. Ship's doctor, Parshall du Bois, be concerned o' a fierce rash what appeared on the groin o' Lt. Bambi 'n some
o' the other men. 'E says it likely be somethin' 'e calls anthrax.
MS: Anthrax, eh? Never 'eard o' it. What's 'e say it be, then?
MR: Dr. Du Bois say it be a fearsome disease. Kills most all what catches it. Says it comes from sheep 'riginally. 'E
thinks the Moozlems might be behind this, as well.
MS: Hmmm. I thinks not. But, that be a good story to circulate amongst the men.
MR: What be yer orders, Sar?
MS: Arggh, a situation as this calls fer someone to make a desperate, futile, misguided act of blind destructive
vengenence. And, Rhagg, we be jes' the sort to do it up proper. Lay in a headin' fer Istanbul. We kin cross the bay
there a few times, rakin' the heart of the city w/ broadsides from our sixteen-inchers. Pummel 'em, I say. Drive hot
lead down the throats of the good citizens thar fer a few hours.
MR: Aye, Sar, nothin'd be better fer the men's spirits. But, Slaptain, methinks the Turks be on our side in this
MS: Per'aps, Mr. Rhagg, per'aps. But we'll not go wrong sendin' 'em a message what's only we kin understand, kin
MR: No, Sar, methinks not. Course laid in fer 88 degrees WNW. Mr. 'Ackett'll 'ave the men ready th' guns.
MS: Make it so. Arggh.
Lt. Bambi: Cap'n, Cap'n...yonder be the fair port of Cuntstandinopen. Shall we load our breeches?
Captain Mudshark: It seems a bit late fer Midshitman Hackett. Damn ya man...we can't be stoppin' fer undie shoppin 'ere!
You'll be wearin 'em moist n' brown...thems orders!
Midshitman Hackett: No problem 'ere, Cap! I fancy me art.
Knavigator Rag: Cap'n!
CM: What be ya wantin' ya bountifully beaked bastard.
KR: I just been checkin' me charts.
KR: Shut yer maw Hackett! As I was gonna say...if'n we sail up the Strait of Whoregooze...well ya might wanna...ya
CM: Speak up ya proboscously prominant puke!
KR: Well Cap'n...I love ya...ya like a father to me...and I see me charts clearly showin'...Turdistan!
CM: Turdistan? Oh me boy, ya make me wanna cry... frothy fecal fountains...oh, beautiful brown bowel
birthmother...Turdistan! Aye...lay course.
Cabinboy Thibley: Thir, thir...here'th thome thoft tithueth! Thop thothe tearth letht they thoak your thailor thuit,
CM: Arr me lad...always there when I needs ya. E're's a treat!
CT: Thauthage! Mmmmmmmmglmmmph! Thlurp!
Captain Mudshark: Arr...thar be Turdistan. Make for that crack on the hills and let's drop cable and kiss the shore.
Knavigator Rag: I be passin' Capn'. And ya think we might find a port not sonear this off-shore breeze?
CM: Ah ya wankers...have ye no sense of history?
KR: Me sense of smell be enough, Capn.
Cabinboy Thibley: Thir, perhapth I can thwim athore and thcout- thafety ith thertainly a theriouth ithue, thir!
CM: Tho be it.
CT: Thir, thir. I thuccthethfully thcoures the thandy beacheth and thomethinth amith.
CM: Spit it out man!
CM: You know what I mean!
CT: Thir, there theemth to be thome thavage thafely thquirreled away in thome cave. It theems he'th been a thourthe of
CM: That would be Salami Been Loadin'! An' he be foulin' these here lands?
KR: Ahh, Cap'n, do you ever listen t' what ya say?
CM: I gots a plan. Lt Bambi!
Lt. Bambi: Cap'n?
CM: Ya had breakfast?
LB: Aye, salt pork, cabbage, and beans and a Chick O'Stick...but I didn't really eat the Chick O' Stick.
Meanwhile, in the cave of Salami Been Loadin'
Salami Been Loadin': Gagbar...Gagbar...Gode Dummit! Get dose loins outa that donkey and serve yor master.
SBL: Now don't swallow...it's Ramadan. Are de plans ready for de assault?
G: Ptoooie! Yes, master.
SBL: Tell de men we move out now! Cough...cough...I can't breath...losing consciousne...what de puck???!!...
LB: It is I... Lt. Bambi of the SSNatch! Die, bitch!!!!
CM: Full frontal assault went as planned...eh Lt?
LB: Frontal? uh...
CM: Ahhh, Lt. Bambi...I wish I coulda seen 'is face.
LB: Well, sir...I couldn't really see it either.
CM: Gas that thick, eh?
LB: Uh...yeah...that twas it!
LB: Gotta go, sir...I hear me newbunkmate callin!
Navigator Rhagg: Arggh, 'Oyt, ye'll be a fine purser, never ye worry. 'Tis good ye've coome a few days early, tho'. Give
us some time t' work into yer position, as it were.
'Oyt: Mister Navigator Rhagg, Sir, where be the rest o' th' crew?
NR: Oh, They likely be makin' a few quid aworkin' on du Bois' vessel up the pier a might, thar. Sure the men'll be 'appy
to show ye a few things ye kin do t' earn some sheckels when yer on liberty. Ye'll learn much if'n ye let th' men take a
few liberties w' ye. But enough 'bout that. Let' get ye worked inta the ways o' the 'Natch. Strip off yer shirt thar,
and give us a look at ye....thar's a lad....that's the spirit....we call this "inspection", hold
'O: Sar, I didn' quite 'ear what ye said thar.
NR: slurp....'Oy wuz jiz sayin' 'ow it'd be best we started ye a'trainin' belowdecks. Show ye 'ow t' render th' lard offn
the old salt pork, Oy will. Got a few 'ogs'eads o' the stuff fum our last voyage whats turned a might randy. Jez the
thin' t' break ye in on. Let's go b'low.
'O: Why are we tied up so far fum the rest o' the ships, Nav?
NR: That'll becum clear to ye soon enough 'Oyt. Let's jez get b'low fer now.... No, no, Lad, ye'll want t' leave yer
shirt off fer a bit longer, thar....
MS: Arggh, 'tis rather fistive aboard the old vessel, d'n't'ya'think, Knavigator Rhagg?
KR: Gllugrlglurgh....glug..slurp...Aye, 'tis a gay time. The men be stringing lights, 'n breakin' into song. Bambi,
Bojnk 'n the Cum'n'door took to the f'ck'stle 'n they be givin' the men their tradit'n'l three-fer's on the Yule log
again. Me eyes starts t' moisten when I sees the men takin' toward each other so.
MS: Arggh, 'tisn't the only thing whats moistening on ye, ye alde bugger.
KR: Kin't 'elp meself, Slaptain. Brings t' mind the fine cudgel o' Dodir's Stout Browne I boughts me folks one Christmas
w' the odd quid I earned servicin' the officers on me first voyage 'roun' the Cape. I stomached many a blow on that one,
MS: Well, ye've lost none of yer taste fer it, Rhagg. Butt, ye'll not be earnin' a ha'pence w' the way Cabin Boy Thibley
be soundin' bung fer the crew o'er in the st'r'b'rd companionway of late. 'E'd best lay to after nine bells, or the
men'll not 'ave a sheckel left to 'em when we dock in Port-au-Prince.
KR: Aye, Sar, but Thibley's becum quite popular w' th' men once e' lost 'is teeth t' th' scurvy.
MR: So did you, Rhagg, so did you. But th' men cun see Dr. G'r'rdiser if'n they be sufferin' w' a case o' gum-crack. We
be runnin' a ship o' the line here, Knavigator, not a bordello. Leastwise, not 'til we get to international
Letuln to Book 1 ol Book 2
ol on to Book 4