Feast Of St. Erasmus
Part One
or...
St. Elmo’s Fiery Butt
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely for the sake of schtick. Any resemblance to actual places, well, that’s verisimilitude.
Wa’al now. Didn’ think Ah’d see yer here agin.
Whyfer not? ‘Cuz last time yer sat here an’ listened ter a story o’ mine yer lit outa here like a cat with its tail on fire, yer wuz so skeered!
But yer wants another one sure’nuf anyway, dont’s ya?
Right.
Here, then, be the tale of three of the craftiest PIRATES ever ta sail the waters of Atlantia. ‘Tis a long story but I’ll make it as short as ah can. Probably take about three months to tell ya the whole thing.
There wuz three of ‘em ta begin with, ya see. Rufus Piggboye, he started it all. Got ther other two tergether an snuck ‘emselves a ship. Called it the Main Gauche. Problem wuz, dern if any of the three of ‘em knew how to sail it. So they tried ter raid a town, an’ they beached it in ther shallows kinda accidental-like, an’ the locals showed up an’ set fire to it, so it burned down, fell over, an’ sank inter the swamp.
True story.
So they snuck another ship. Called it the Mainly Gauche on account of a spellin errer. I know, yer can’t believe them boys couldn’t spell, but it’s true. They ment to spell it MANLY Gauche on account o’ how MANLY they wuz but they didn’ get it right, an’ yer know how superstitious them boys are *SPIT* ‘bout changin’ ther name uv a boat once yer named it.
So they thought aboot goin’ ther seperete ways, they did. Had a boat with a dumb name, laughingstocks up and down the whole coast ‘cuz they couldn’ sail, no crew.
Whut they DID have, though, wuz loot. Now don’ go askin’ me if they PIRATED it fair n’ square, er ef they just brung it with ‘em when they left their mommy’s homes. Ain’t no matter ter the story nohow.
So, lak ah said, Rufus Piggboye, he started it all. Threw some o’ his booty in a chest an’ challenged the other two ta pony up, he did. Ah guess he figgered they wuz broke, er chicken, an’ he wouldna have ta worry ‘bout it any more, an’ he could get back ter dry land.
Then Johan von Rothenberg – how’s THAT for a pirate name? Nobody wanted ta surrender ta the Dread Pirate Wesley, an’ whoever heard of a German PIRATE??? Nobody, that’s who. But he made it work sommers (somehow, not summers, ya igneramuses), anyway. He chucks a few swords in the box alongside Rufus’ steel stuff and the two of them turns an’ glares at Talun.
TAlun, taLUN, neva cood get the hang o’ that boy’s name. Anyway, him. Mac Dubhagain. Talun o’ the Golden Arches.
Whattyer mean it ain’t pronounced MacDonald? How the heck can ya tell with them dang “borrow a vowel” tongues anyway? Dangit, who’s tellin’ this story, you er me????
Fine. Mac Doob Again. Whatever. HIM. Newcomer from outer the sticks fer awhile but he made a name fer himself, he did. He chucks some odds an’ ends o’ stuff in the box an’ grabs some stuff from the other fellas standin’ round and closes the lid ‘fore anybody else that’s gathered can see who thrown what in there.
Then he says “boys, let’s hide this here stuff somewheres safe.” I neva hev unnerstood tha logic in buryin’ stuff what’s worth a penny er two. It don’t get any better with age. Just spend the stuff an’ live high on the hog, sez I. But NOOOOOO, these three cats an’ their posse gotter bury it.
Naaaw, that’s a right good place fer me ta go stretch, an’ see a man ‘bout a dog, an’ ya’ll come back an’ sit down at the fahr, an’ we’ll commence to tellin’ the second third of ther story.