blessed are the plunderers

In 2003, on my old blog, I posted an homage to ITLAP Day. And since that blog has gone the way of the buffalo, I decided to revive (and revise) that homage here.

Cel’brate th’ season, me hearties!

‘Tis International “Talk Like a Pirate” Day! Th’ four’een’ annual. T’ings wot make me go arrrr.

Ye know, ye scurvy dogs, wot terrors lurk wit’in? Ye know th’ ‘oliday wot began ‘ere we knew come from e’en this, me part o’ th’ island? Arrrrr-rg.

Me beauty mind brings catcalls. For many a year, we be talkin’ like profiteers. All day, me hearties. In many a context! T’ink ye on th’ scurvy bilge rat lubber reaction! Four’een year!

  • In th’ supermarket: watch it, ye scurvy dog! Yer grog has a broken bung hole, an’ yer messin’ th’ deck!

  • In th’ classroom: Make sure yer #2 timbers be shivered before ye take th’ test.

  • In a crowded elevator or commute as yer pressed hard again’ a stranger’s back: Arrr, watch that, swabby! Yer crushing me hornpipe!

And t’ink on holy services—fer as sure as me Roger flies high, me hearties, t’is holiday ha’ already been a church day—

Pastor: Avast ye corsairs! Know ye, wot th’ scurvy dogs be walkin’ th’ plank at th’ end? Them’s wi’ a wannion!

Congregation: Hang ’em from th’ yardarm!

Pastor: Thar nay be rest fer th’ scurvy liar, nay caulk takin’ fer th’ traitor, nay pleasure in beauties fer th’ lead-swingin’ dogs wot fail t’ sail wit’ dis’plin’!

Congregation: Aye, aye, aye!

Pastor: Keep watch at th’ mast! Lay up ye booty, me hearties, where nay bilge rat’ll infek, nay barnacles’ll weigh down, nay scurvy lubber’ll ‘propriate!

Congregation: Avast!!

Pastor: Weigh yer anchors an’ go on th’ account! Don’ take ye nay lubber dubloon!

Congregation: Nay!

Pastor: T’ink o’ Matey Steve, wot cried ‘Land Ho!’ whens them dogs op’rated th’ cat o’nine tails! His eye be on th’ crow’s nest!

Congregation: Arrrr!

Pastor: We h’aint afeared o’ th’ black spot!

Congregation: Nay!

Pastor: If ye foller, me hearties, th’ Cap’n’ll reward ye richly! Thar be real treasure! If ye work ye passage wi’ fear, he’ll change th’ sons o’ biscuit eaters intuh real mates! Thar be sea legs, nay doubt! Fer nay sprogs ‘r squiffies be takin’ ‘ome much loot!

Congregation: Yo, ho, ho!

Pastor: Like th’ Firs’ Mate say—“our grog is t’ foller th’ work commanded by th’ Cap’n!” Drink t’ th’ dregs, maties!

Congregation: Cheers!

Pastor: An’ when some scallywag loaded t’ th’ gunnels tries t’ swab yer deck with ‘is bilge, bring ‘im t’be keel-hauled! Show ‘im Davy Jones’ locker!

Congregation: Arrrr!

Pastor: Stand up, ye maties! Raise th’ Jack! Answer t’ th’ Cap’n wi’ me.

Congregation: Aye!


‘Ar Cap’n, wot’s in ‘eav’n,


we keep yer name ‘n rep’u’tat’n wit’ respek.


Let yer rule come here;


let yer orders be ‘mong th’ lubbers like in th’ briny deep.


An’ gie us vittles an’ grog fer each day.


Keep us from forged dubloons


‘n’ ransom us from th’ scurvy scallywag.


Fer ye rightfully claim beauty an’ respek ‘n’ strenth, aye!

Th’ Crew o’ th’ Jolly Phil. Doctorate at port, September 2006


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