June 12, 2005
Volume 2, Issue 12
Tell me a tale of
Ted: Man Overboard
Captain Incognito had sailed the Caribe far longer than any old salt had a right to. He'd plundered lost cities, sank hundreds of ships, and sacked towns from Trinidad to St. Augustine. He'd married young, but still danced with the daughter of every local governor, just to get information. He fought duels for honor, for treasure, to fight off mutineers, and for revenge. His family, once broken, was again whole. When he retired he was made an advisor to the King.
"Are you done with that stupid game now?"
"Coming!" he replied as he bid the good ship Meier farewell.
Nearly thirty years had passed since he'd left the Spanish main. Twenty years he'd been a pirate in these waters, and before that, a decade of searching for a killer. But as his predecessor had predicted, he loved every minute of it. The brandy, the gold, the open sea. The swordfights. Mostly the swordfights.
He ordered his men to change their heading and hoist the Jolly Roger. They would check the rumor that the Duke was nearby, an easy target. Then the man once called Inigo climbed back up to the forecastle deck, smiling as he watched the mainland approach.
Laurence - Ho Ho Ho (and a bottle of rum)
"Yarrrrrr!" said Winky, giggling.
Elves make excellent hackers, thought Santa.
Later that night, the sleigh raced over the Pacific and spotted the massive vessel.
It looks like an oil tanker with Legos on top, thought Saint Nick.
They landed quickly.
"Hit the Mattel containers, ye scurvy elves!" yelled Santa to his crew. "Watch out for Dobermans!"
"Aye aye!" yelled the elves.
This was so much more fun than making toys.
Santa drew his cutlass and chortled, his belly shaking like a bowl full of grog.
Michele: Ode 64
Scott sends me to a flat in London.
What a bloody mess. Smashed rum bottles, cracker crumbs, a shelf with a slew of books. I pull one out at random; it’s splotched with blood and the cover informs that the magic word is "Yoho!"
Pirates. I should have known. Damn you, Scott.
Against my better judgment, I mutter "Yoho!" and woosh, I’m on a beach, in view of a pirate ship. I sigh. I know that somewhere between the stinking pirates and buried treasure there’s going to be a dark cave.
I’m likely to be eaten by a grue.
Andy: In Space, Someone Can Hear You Sing
He fights to reverse direction, but his space galleon is an older model, lacking the power of modern ones. The navigational systems hard crash, unable to lock onto a stationary point as the gravitational field warps into a strip of bubbling anomalies.
His crew has abandoned him, launched themselves in the two emergency pods, drawn away until they were gray pinpoints. Gone.
The titanium figurehead, visible through the forward view-port, forever reaches forward with arms outstretched, as if longing to be reunited with lost friends.
As the ship crosses the event-horizon, the song ceases, and all is silence once more.