(note: whatever organ in the human throat is responsible for being able to "Yarrr" is bruised. Piratespeak therefore won't last the entire length of the email. I am a wuss).
Yarrr! The 166th Annual Plunderathon is over, and the dust is settling somewhat. The Militia was once again beaten back, the area Ninja clans were too cowardly to show up and at least three Lawyers were buggered so thoroughly they thought they were back in law school trying to get a better grade from their legal theory 101 professor (we are sure that's how most of them passed law school: buggery and tears).
So, the important stuff:
SPONSORS -
Taboo Adult Video donated . . . wow, just . . . really a fuck-ton of awesome swag. They were our only sponsor for prizes this year because the guy that usually goes around begging people to give up prize donations had discovered cheap, mail-order black market pharmaceuticals. We haven't gotten anything useful out of him since January. But Taboo . . . they REALLY stepped up. Sex dolls, yoga balls with penises, a disturbingly huge dildo (that got used by the end of the night, according to a few hundred unreliable eyewitnesses) and hundreds of leather chastity belts (I think they were a tad overstocked).
PIRATES HELPING PIRATES -
You folk did awesome at filling the donation thingy (for those who did not see, the top of the ship had a porthole with "donations" marked on it). Those of us who pay for the event are grateful. Since we don't usually get as many chances to Plunder as the participants, sharin' yer booty with us helps us keep at it. Plus, a few of the staff were constantly being offered free drinks by other Pirates, which is always awesome.
Also, lots of Pirates stepped up to volunteer this year, which is great. For those who want to help next year, we start planning in spring, and that's when we need the most help. E-mail plankwalker@plunderathon.org to volunteer (wait 'til spring. Really.)
LOST AND FOUND -
Items we found after the smoke cleared included:
1 necklace with rings on it
1 weasel hide with head and feet attached (I think it was a weasel, could be something else)
1 digital camera
2 flasks
3 bags of medical supplies (???)
A skirt
A small green embroidered bag-thing
7 bottles containing various kinds of booze (web guy, edit that out before this gets mailed) empty bottles that held mineral water
A black shawl
A "Goofy" hat (the Disney character) that was converted into a Flying Spaghetti Monster hat
A sword
A leather belt
The case for an 18 inch double-ended dildo
And many, many parts of parrots.
STUFF-
If you care about how many Pirates there were, yer priorities are just a tad wrong. But it was around 165 at the only point where we tried to count (around 2 in the afternoon), probably didn't get much more than 180-200 at the highest point, which is GOOD. See, the reason we often can't do some fun stuff is because we simply can't fit. Getting the numbers down to this level allows us to do more next year, so think twice before you invite the douchebags at your place of employment. We didn't keep track of the late arrivals or early departures, so you can guess the "total Pirates overall" numbers just as well as we can.
We Pirates started at Skidmore Fountain, which was already over 30 Pirates in strength by noon. There were all kinds of Pirates! Somali Pirates, Pacific Pirates, Classic Pirates, Punk Rock Pirates, and . . . a . . . a baby pirate. . .
No, I don't know what the FUCK the parent was thinking. Really. Some person actually dressed up a baby and brought it along. Look, folks, bring the kid back in 18 years with a good fake ID, ok? 'Til then, leave the rugrats with a sitter! Or a cannibal. Or a pack of rabid gophers with radioactive fangs. I don't care, but NO KIDS AT DRUNKEN RAMPAGES. Anyway, criminally stupid parenting aside, We Pirates did the usual hanging out and enduring the endless "what's with the costumes" questions from the folk who lead normal lives.
Then we raided Ash Street Saloon (as revenge for the great Rum Burning of 1844) and waited around for all the slow-ass late Pirates who thought "noon" meant "sometime before sunset." About an hour after We Pirates went to a spot away from prying eyes to pass out a few bottles of rum (Aaron's Antiseptic was given out, but it was too late to save the life of the Dread Pirate D'Jblowme, one of our oldest and longest-serving Pirates).
Then the Pirates went to Silver Dollar Pizza (which offended the Pirates back in 1932 by allowing a Lawyer to escape without paying for the Pirate's tab at gunpoint, and thus earned retribution), which was too small so we (oh, shucks, darn, twist our arms) overflowed into the nearby classic strip club, Mary's. It was at this point that the Historian was dragged off by some Pirates to sample absinthe, which is why his head hurts too much to write this missive (it is being penned by Assistant Historian (and Scrubber of Dirty Pans, But Not Too Dirty Until They Soak First, Damnit!) Endio T. Montalban.
The peace held a good long time, but perchance the stop for pizza and naked women stoked the flames of Piracy a bit much. Shortly upon arriving at a nice peaceful park, combat broke out among the gathered Pirates, resulting in the greatest tragedy of the day (a roll of weevily hardtack bread landing in my drink. It tasted almost as bad as the drink did before the weevils). After that, ammends were made with an impromptu tattoo session (one Pirate got Goatse tattooed on his chest), more rum being awarded, and music from the band Man Overboard (they followed us around for a good portion of the day free of charge. If you go to www.manoverboardmusic.com/store/shirts.html or www.myspace.com/manoverboardpirates, you can buy their CD as thanks).
After that was Whisky Bar, which is new but is built on the site of One-Armed-Jim's Tavern and Goat-Milkery, where back in 1878 more than 200 Pirates contracted Scurvey from One-ArmedJim's two daughters, who were home from college that weekend. One-Armed-Jim was enraged, and slew dozens of Pirates before sending his daughters (and goats) off to a nunnery, thus earning our wrath every year since. At Whiskey Bar, things got a little blurry since . . . there was . . . Actually, I forget, and the Historian who was sober-ish at the time still refuses to help with this email. Every time I ask, he throws things at me and screams "Give me Alka-Seltzer and a shotgun, for the love of god!" There was this one Pirate lass with curly hair who kept talking to the Historian, but he was way too dumb to try to get her phone num hllwekrj&&@#$@---- . . . . .
--- Chief Historian (and Owner of a Strange Cat) Dave the Horrible here. I don't know what this delusional Cabin Boy has been writing on this type-machine of his, but I overheard him mentioning the Pirate lass. She should send me a message in a bottle some time. I REALLY wanted to get her name but kept getting sidetracked. Now, I shall return you to the ramblings of this "Junior Historian Who Can Be Promoted Beyond Monkey-Cage-Cleaning Duties, But Only If He Gets Her To Contact Me" (yes, that is a real Pirate rank, and goes back many, many years.) -----
*cough*
Anyway, sorry for the interruption (nice chokehold, asshole! You could have just said "may I borrow your keyboard," you didn't have to damn-near kill me!), on with the event.
Pirates then took a leisurely stroll through the Pearl District, and ending up at Blitz, which was long overdue for a serious pillagin', bein' as they are built on the spot where Captain Pete Lee was arrested by the Militia back in 1966 for the crime of Goat-buggery. We were going to allow Blitz to go unmolested, but when it came to light that Capt. Lee was also buggerin' sheep that day, his jail term was doubled. Thus, we have been captainless for so many years . . .
There was this really, really hot gal who was apparently either a bride-to-be, or a bridesmaid, or some such thing. We managed to shanghai her from Blitz and take her to the park to make her spank a monkey. Her friends seemed rather peeved and un-Pirately, so hopefully she dumped all of them and upgraded to a life of the sea.
Then we went to Crown Room (We can't recall what they did to earn the ire of Pirates, and that asshole Chief Historian spilled rum on the records . . . again. But we assume anything with "Crown" in the title supports some Royal Pirate-Hunting Navy-type group), where again we overflowed (oh, shucks, darn, this was so hard to convince us!) into Magic Garden Strip Club. There was supposed to be a Pirate rock band playing, but the lack of a sound board operator caused . . . problems.
The descriptions are getting shorter not because the bars were less interesting, but because I have a really lousy work ethic (and don't think I can get the phone number of the Pirate lass the Chief Historian wants, which means no promotion, so my motivation to do anything other than teach monkeys to fling poop at him while he sleeps is ebbing). Anyway, next was Dirty, a bar that is somewhat new but owned by a dark cabal of people who have secretly been sneaking Lawyers away from us to shield them from their Rightful Fate. Sort of like the Scarlet Pimpernel, only with a less frilly name. The place was great to us as usual, and had abducted strippers from nearby club Spyce for our entertainment.
They also had pizza. Did you see the pizza? Yeah, me neither, at least not at first. It was at the bar on our side, near the back. And it was awesome. They also gave us ten free ones, and opened the pizza window on the sidewalk for us. Lots of ways to get the food, but between the dim lights and the combination of strippers and Pirate lasses who were also stripping . . . perhaps not as many people noticed as should have.
After Dirty, we Pirates went to the waterfront for a laid-back time. We judged several rounds of our favorite contest, "Catch The Free Stuff We Are Throwing At You," gave out the last of the rum and then eventually meandered out to capture a fugitive Pirate who has kidnapped the Fleet back during the 163rd Plunderathon. She was allegedly hiding out at Dan & Louis Oyster Bar. Sadly, she had eluded us so we drank all their rum and left.
We ended the night at the new location of Silverado, where one "pirate" wanna-be completely pussied out and ran away because he was scared of gay men. He then went home and blogged about the awesome amount of action he got that night (kissing, no tongue) from some Pirate lass who had to be drunk enough to power a nuclear reactor with her breath. The guy was so pathetic that he lost part of his sword and one of his buddies had to buy it back from a homeless guy. Really. That's just what he admitted to so you can only guess just how useless he is in real life.
Yeah, we at dR have been laughing at this wuss all weekend.
Lastly the ship (which, shit, we forgot to name . . . ) was returned to its home port. This, my friends, is truly historic. It is actually the FIRST TIME a ship has survived Plunderathon.
The dR afterparty was scheduled for the Chief Historian's house, mainly because it had a good central location, massive amount of booze, a hot tub, and most importantly: the Chief Historian was not home but we had a copy of his house key.
Thus wraps up another Plunderathon. I think we finally got our revenge, right? I mean, 166 years of payback for one slimey Lawyer is plenty, right? Right?
No?
You guys sure?
Hell, I guess that means we have to do this again. See you next year to finally get the revenge we so richly deserve! 167th Annual Plunderathon, next year, see ya then!
-Assistant Historian (and Scrubber of Dirty Pans, But Not Too Dirty Until They Soak First, Damnit!) Endio T. Montalban, penned under the direction of a hung-over Chief Historian (and Owner of a Strange Cat) Dave the Horrible, by authority of whatever goatfucker is in charge of this crew these days who I am not going to look up because what's the point, someone will just kill him in the next week or two anyway and hey, run-on sentences are fun to write so piss off 'til next year.