Argh Jim-lad! You'd be up for them dubloons that be buried on Kappten Flint's island. A treasure-trove no-less, a horde of buried .mats and texutrrrres. Why, I was saying to me parrot, just the other day as the sun crossed the yard-arm, Parrot, I sez, you bin acrappin on my shoulder for more than forty years man and beast, and if you'n don't stop I'll be makin yous walk the plank I be....argh....Well low and behold if that damn bird didn't make-off with me ear and make me into one of them there Van Coughs. Flabberghasted was I. Eye! Me Ghasted had never bin so flabbered. So here is I. Buckleing me swash and weighing anchor - don't know why, coz I already nose it's heavier than a spanish galleon at low tide............

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All the Woes of a World by Jonathan Icknield aka The Bryster

And in my final hours - I would cling rather to the tattooed hand of kindness - than the unblemished hand of hate...