(This is a blog that I wrote back in 2008, but it received zero publicity - and that's unacceptable.)
Face it, not everybody can be perfect parents. Not all of us want to be perfect parents. Take me, for example; I don't want kids now. I have too much I need to do before I make that leap, but one day I'd like to. Now, I've heard people say things like, "I'm going to be the best dad ever. I'm going to teach my kid to be awesome." - but I, on the other hand, have a different perspective on the matter. I want me kids to be unique. I want my kids to operate on a different level. I want them to be ready for anything. So here's what I'm going to do.
I'm going to tell my kids that monsters are real.
Can you imagine what kind of an impact that's going to have on my children? Think about it. I'm tucking my six year old boy in for the night. "Dad?", he asks, "There's a monster in my closet. I can hear him breathing, and I can see him peeking through the crack when it's dark. Can you get rid of him for me?". I stop for a moment to show a warm smile; then I respond, "No, son. That monster is clearly your problem, and if I open that door, he's going to become my problem; and that just doesn't seem like a reasonable thing to ask of your father." There's a short pause. "But what if he gets me?", he inquires. "Well son," I continue, "If I confront the monster, he's more than likely going to separate my torso from the rest of me. Then he's going to beat my upper half against the closet walls until I either bleed to death or endure substantial trauma to the head. What makes you think I'm willing to make a sacrifice like that, when the monster has obviously chosen you as a target, and not I?". My son begins to cry. I make my way to the door, and suddenly I stop. I realize that a mistake has been made.
"By the way.", I mumble as I walk over to unplug his night-light, "This months electricity bill was through the roof. Good night, son!"
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
A reasonable proposition.
It's been a while since I've written a blog, but during this stretch of silence, I've had ample time to ponder upon something that truly upsets me. There's a lot of shit on this planet which I'm not fond of, like week-long marathons of "The Munsters", and the outrageous price of cocaine. However, I feel that this is an issue which can no longer be ignored. I'm growing far too intolerant, and it's time for me to make a stand. I'm talking about, of course, Brett Michaels.
This guy is a filthy bucket of pond scum, completely ridden with brine shrimp and those weird little bugs that live inside makeshift stick shells. You know the ones. You don't want to pick them up because you're about 98% sure they're horrendous in every way, shape and form; like Nosferatu, but more closely related to a centipede. Of course, if we really want to compare Brett Michaels to a bucket of pond scum, we have to consider that this particular bucket of scum also contains approximately one cup of human feces, a dozen partially smoked Mavericks, last months issue of "Parade", mayonnaise, coagulated blood, and a giraffe's steaming vagina.
When I look at Brett Michaels (and please, spare me the accusations of "gaydom"), the only thought that enters my mind is how bad this guys ass has to stink. Let's look at the facts here. He became famous as a guitarist for the band "Poison" (which sucks). He's constantly wearing a bandanna (which also sucks) in attempt to hide something (whatever the fuck that might be); and he reinforces his ego by starring in a VH1 reality TV series (which inevitably sucks). If that doesn't spell out "rancid man ass", then take a moment to reflect on the picture featured directly above this paragraph. His ass has to be so infectious and dirty, that a vinegar-like discharge runs down his gooch and marinates around his thigh/testicle region. He never changes his leopard spotted butt-huggers, thus the level of smegma and/or crotch rot has to be grotesquely unfathomable to a magnitude unmeasurable by even the most advanced equipment available today.
So here is my proposition. If you like Brett Michaels, stop. If you listen to Poison, stop! If you watch his TV show, then seriously, you need to stop. After his (unnecessarily long) time in the spotlight has dwindled out, we can finally break away from this terrible affliction, flea bomb his living room, and feed him to the fucking rancor.
Yours in Christ, Adam.
This guy is a filthy bucket of pond scum, completely ridden with brine shrimp and those weird little bugs that live inside makeshift stick shells. You know the ones. You don't want to pick them up because you're about 98% sure they're horrendous in every way, shape and form; like Nosferatu, but more closely related to a centipede. Of course, if we really want to compare Brett Michaels to a bucket of pond scum, we have to consider that this particular bucket of scum also contains approximately one cup of human feces, a dozen partially smoked Mavericks, last months issue of "Parade", mayonnaise, coagulated blood, and a giraffe's steaming vagina.
When I look at Brett Michaels (and please, spare me the accusations of "gaydom"), the only thought that enters my mind is how bad this guys ass has to stink. Let's look at the facts here. He became famous as a guitarist for the band "Poison" (which sucks). He's constantly wearing a bandanna (which also sucks) in attempt to hide something (whatever the fuck that might be); and he reinforces his ego by starring in a VH1 reality TV series (which inevitably sucks). If that doesn't spell out "rancid man ass", then take a moment to reflect on the picture featured directly above this paragraph. His ass has to be so infectious and dirty, that a vinegar-like discharge runs down his gooch and marinates around his thigh/testicle region. He never changes his leopard spotted butt-huggers, thus the level of smegma and/or crotch rot has to be grotesquely unfathomable to a magnitude unmeasurable by even the most advanced equipment available today.
So here is my proposition. If you like Brett Michaels, stop. If you listen to Poison, stop! If you watch his TV show, then seriously, you need to stop. After his (unnecessarily long) time in the spotlight has dwindled out, we can finally break away from this terrible affliction, flea bomb his living room, and feed him to the fucking rancor.
Yours in Christ, Adam.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
An empire of sand.
If I were a sand crab, I'd be the coolest crustacean on the east coast. There's probably cooler crabs along the Gulf of Mexico and the west coast, but I'm closer to the east so let's place our bets safely. You see people coming to the beach constantly, with their blankets, towels, gay ass umbrellas, etc.. But these people dwell on top of the sand. If I were a sand crab, I'd dwell beneath the sand, and I'd peek out of my hole every now and again to see if those assholes with the blanket have migrated away from my hunting grounds.
Sand crabs care about nothing. They just dig their holes, find sweet things which they can drag into them, and occasionally pop in and out to make sure no other crabs (like those scandalous mole crabs) are sneaking up to make off with their possessions. But what kinds of things would you find in the hole of a sand crab? Well, I've took it upon myself to make this diagram for the sake of demonstration. I hope this clears up a few things for all of you skeptics.
As you can see, if the crab doesn't guard his hole, his items are left open to anyone. He's not a trap door spider. He can't just build a door. He's a crab, okay? He's yellow. He has to guard his shit.
Sand crabs care about nothing. They just dig their holes, find sweet things which they can drag into them, and occasionally pop in and out to make sure no other crabs (like those scandalous mole crabs) are sneaking up to make off with their possessions. But what kinds of things would you find in the hole of a sand crab? Well, I've took it upon myself to make this diagram for the sake of demonstration. I hope this clears up a few things for all of you skeptics.
As you can see, if the crab doesn't guard his hole, his items are left open to anyone. He's not a trap door spider. He can't just build a door. He's a crab, okay? He's yellow. He has to guard his shit.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Amongst the willows.
Imagine yourself standing in a thick deciduous forest, foliage cradling your knees like soft linens, and a rich, golden canopy glowing brilliantly above you. You stare up to see a few fleeting leaves, twirling their way downward to meet the earth. They've become one with the forest floor, much like the moss on the eastern face of every ancient oak. This is a beautiful place indeed. You wish your could live out here. Well, you can. Seriously, you really can.
What's stopping you from doing it? Bigfoot does it. Badgers do it. No internet? Shame. Have you ever carved a spear and chased a pheasant? No bathroom? Have you ever hung your ass cheeks over a fallen branch and squeezed out a few turds? It's awkward at first. You picture a family of young rabbits scurrying out of a raspberry bush to see a wretched brown eye defecating on the beautifully fallen leaves. "Cover your eyes!", the mother rabbit shrieks to her young. Perhaps even a hunter may stumble upon you, sneaking out from the woodwork. Be weary of him. For he might just plug your butt with his finger. It depends on what kind of hunter he is, or how stealthy. It's probably worse if he doesn't even have a gun. What's that hunter even doing out there? Has he been searching for such an opportunity? It's hard to say. Maybe he enjoys plugging butts.
If you grow hungry, and you find that killing an animal is too difficult, there's a lot of things you can eat. Depending on the time of year, berries might be in abundance. It's smart to live close to an orchard. Free apples are a wondrous thing.. or perhaps a county park, where you can disguise yourself as a bear and make off with picnic baskets. The only problem with that, is it seems no matter how hard to try, everybody makes potato salad differently. "Sweet!" you shout, "Potatoes, mayonnaise, celery, and... what the fuck.. onions?". Well, if you're still wearing your bear suit, there's nothing stopping you from killing the woman who made such an abomination. That's free meat, after all, and clothing. Hell, take the children too. Make them slave collars and force them to construct your homestead.
If you get into poison ivy (and you're a male), DO NOT touch your penis when you urinate. Use your sleeve. I tell you this from experience, mind you. I once thought I had contracted an STD from a certain female in which I had relations with. Then it occurred to me (after my hands broke out) that we had been running about the forest earlier that day and I had simply transferred the poison ivy rash onto my phallic. This was not a pleasant experience for me, nor for her if the regions I laid my hands on were also affected in such a way.
I hope this advice helps you to survive in the wilderness. I only wish to see you succeed, should you decide to pull a Christopher McCandless and journey into the wild.
Just leave Sean Penn behind. That guy's a doucher..
And he'll probably try to plug your butt.
What's stopping you from doing it? Bigfoot does it. Badgers do it. No internet? Shame. Have you ever carved a spear and chased a pheasant? No bathroom? Have you ever hung your ass cheeks over a fallen branch and squeezed out a few turds? It's awkward at first. You picture a family of young rabbits scurrying out of a raspberry bush to see a wretched brown eye defecating on the beautifully fallen leaves. "Cover your eyes!", the mother rabbit shrieks to her young. Perhaps even a hunter may stumble upon you, sneaking out from the woodwork. Be weary of him. For he might just plug your butt with his finger. It depends on what kind of hunter he is, or how stealthy. It's probably worse if he doesn't even have a gun. What's that hunter even doing out there? Has he been searching for such an opportunity? It's hard to say. Maybe he enjoys plugging butts.
If you grow hungry, and you find that killing an animal is too difficult, there's a lot of things you can eat. Depending on the time of year, berries might be in abundance. It's smart to live close to an orchard. Free apples are a wondrous thing.. or perhaps a county park, where you can disguise yourself as a bear and make off with picnic baskets. The only problem with that, is it seems no matter how hard to try, everybody makes potato salad differently. "Sweet!" you shout, "Potatoes, mayonnaise, celery, and... what the fuck.. onions?". Well, if you're still wearing your bear suit, there's nothing stopping you from killing the woman who made such an abomination. That's free meat, after all, and clothing. Hell, take the children too. Make them slave collars and force them to construct your homestead.
If you get into poison ivy (and you're a male), DO NOT touch your penis when you urinate. Use your sleeve. I tell you this from experience, mind you. I once thought I had contracted an STD from a certain female in which I had relations with. Then it occurred to me (after my hands broke out) that we had been running about the forest earlier that day and I had simply transferred the poison ivy rash onto my phallic. This was not a pleasant experience for me, nor for her if the regions I laid my hands on were also affected in such a way.
I hope this advice helps you to survive in the wilderness. I only wish to see you succeed, should you decide to pull a Christopher McCandless and journey into the wild.
Just leave Sean Penn behind. That guy's a doucher..
And he'll probably try to plug your butt.
Monday, April 13, 2009
May the nation rest easy.
To follow up my recent pirate blog, Captain Richard Phillips (previously held captive by Somali pirates) has been rescued, and is under the protection of the US Navy. He spent several days at gunpoint, held captive aboard a small life boat by four Somali "modern pirates"; and you all know how I feel about those assholes.
The media pummeled Phillips with questions regarding his endeavors, and he responded with the following. "Yes, I was captured by pirates. How they managed to apprehend me, I'm really not sure. I mean, I am a Captain of a freighter, so was probably drunk.. But hey, they weren't even real pirates, right? It's a god damned joke.", a reporter then asked him, "But, Captain Phillips, weren't you afraid for your life?". Phillips then responded, "Afraid for my life? Are you kidding me? These guys didn't even have swords. They smelled like moth balls, cognac cigarillos and a backwater flea market. I mean, all they did was talk about treasure. Where to store the treasure, what kind of traps to set, bla bla bla. After a few days of floating around the ocean like an asshole, I just kind of pulled my head out of my ass and decided.. 'hey, maybe I should jump off the boat.. That seems like a reasonable solution.'"
And it was.
Captain Phillips did in fact jump off the boat, and he was rescued by our US Navy Seals within moments. Three of the pirates were shot, obviously, because they weren't real pirates to begin with, and, quite honestly, real pirates don't get shot in the fucking face. They're more evasive than that. Phillips' youngest son was also questioned on how he felt about the situation. "I saw Pirates of the Caribbean." he continued, "If my dad was on the black pearl, he'd be totally fucked. But these guys were amateurs. They had snakes, and didn't even use oars. I wasn't worried for a second. Mom started fucking Diez, our Peruvian gardener. I figured it was some form of denial, but then again, she wasn't all too worried herself. Curious."
Phillips later commented, "I have no idea what the hell happened to my crew. As far as I'm concerned, they're a bunch of god damned pussies, and I won't have any pussies on my payroll. They'll all be fired, every last one of them, mark my words; and immediately replaced with real men of the sea.. Men who don't allow an entire freighter to be overrun by dickheads with ectothermic amniote vertebrates and flannel cutoff vests."
Captain Phillips is protected now, and inbound for American soil. He is safe, resting easy, and eagerly awaiting to see his family.
So, what did we learn from this? Well, I certainly hope that Captain Phillips learned that if you're going to be captured by pirates and make CNN headlines for over 36 hours, you might as well be captured by the real kind. I mean, seriously, Phillips. Come on.
The fourth Pirate is in US custody and is currently under interrogation. Our nation strives to get to the bottom of this ordeal, and to find out exactly why pirates have abandoned their old traditions, and how snakes could possibly benefit their demise.
On a final note, Captain Richard Phillips escaped with no treasure what-so-ever. This leaves us wondering if it was really worth all the effort to save him. Do you know how many ships we had out there? Many have suggested that we simply turn him back over to the pirates, and hope for a more profitable outcome. Perhaps next time, he'll escape with a map, or a sack of doubloons.
Just goes to show you how much the Captain of a freighter is worth.
The media pummeled Phillips with questions regarding his endeavors, and he responded with the following. "Yes, I was captured by pirates. How they managed to apprehend me, I'm really not sure. I mean, I am a Captain of a freighter, so was probably drunk.. But hey, they weren't even real pirates, right? It's a god damned joke.", a reporter then asked him, "But, Captain Phillips, weren't you afraid for your life?". Phillips then responded, "Afraid for my life? Are you kidding me? These guys didn't even have swords. They smelled like moth balls, cognac cigarillos and a backwater flea market. I mean, all they did was talk about treasure. Where to store the treasure, what kind of traps to set, bla bla bla. After a few days of floating around the ocean like an asshole, I just kind of pulled my head out of my ass and decided.. 'hey, maybe I should jump off the boat.. That seems like a reasonable solution.'"
And it was.
Captain Phillips did in fact jump off the boat, and he was rescued by our US Navy Seals within moments. Three of the pirates were shot, obviously, because they weren't real pirates to begin with, and, quite honestly, real pirates don't get shot in the fucking face. They're more evasive than that. Phillips' youngest son was also questioned on how he felt about the situation. "I saw Pirates of the Caribbean." he continued, "If my dad was on the black pearl, he'd be totally fucked. But these guys were amateurs. They had snakes, and didn't even use oars. I wasn't worried for a second. Mom started fucking Diez, our Peruvian gardener. I figured it was some form of denial, but then again, she wasn't all too worried herself. Curious."
Phillips later commented, "I have no idea what the hell happened to my crew. As far as I'm concerned, they're a bunch of god damned pussies, and I won't have any pussies on my payroll. They'll all be fired, every last one of them, mark my words; and immediately replaced with real men of the sea.. Men who don't allow an entire freighter to be overrun by dickheads with ectothermic amniote vertebrates and flannel cutoff vests."
Captain Phillips is protected now, and inbound for American soil. He is safe, resting easy, and eagerly awaiting to see his family.
So, what did we learn from this? Well, I certainly hope that Captain Phillips learned that if you're going to be captured by pirates and make CNN headlines for over 36 hours, you might as well be captured by the real kind. I mean, seriously, Phillips. Come on.
The fourth Pirate is in US custody and is currently under interrogation. Our nation strives to get to the bottom of this ordeal, and to find out exactly why pirates have abandoned their old traditions, and how snakes could possibly benefit their demise.
On a final note, Captain Richard Phillips escaped with no treasure what-so-ever. This leaves us wondering if it was really worth all the effort to save him. Do you know how many ships we had out there? Many have suggested that we simply turn him back over to the pirates, and hope for a more profitable outcome. Perhaps next time, he'll escape with a map, or a sack of doubloons.
Just goes to show you how much the Captain of a freighter is worth.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The archetype of faggotry.
Throughout my entire life, I've had this burning hatred for Golden Retrievers. I'm not sure what it is about them. Maybe it's the way they carry themselves, all gracefully and gay, prancing across freshly cut grass with a bone in their mouth. They think they're better than everyone, and more valuable than any possession, even rubies. Yes, even rubies. If Golden Retrievers were people, they'd be the kind of people that I fucking hate, which are the people who are similar to Golden Retrievers. No, no. Like the people who own Golden Retrievers. You find me one Golden Retriever owner who doesn't think their dog is the greatest spectacle since Journey swept the nation, and I'll personally see to it that you're awarded with a commemorative plaque. No, seriously.
Now let's be honest here. Just take a look at this asshole. Look at his smug grin. "OoOo! I have a silky coat, weaved of the finest goooold! I have a middle-class family who lives in a pristine stone house with two kids, a mini van and a botanical gaaaarden!" Fuck you! I hate you, Golden Retriever. If it wasn't illegal to beat the shit out of dogs, you better believe I would have shown you a long time ago that being a Golden Retriever is a mistake.
Why can't people just buy good dogs, like these fine specimens?
These are fantastic dogs. They're way better than Golden Retrievers. What does your Golden Retriever do? It squints it's eyes and runs up to children wagging it's tail in Colonial Penn life insurance commercials. Do you know what these dogs do? They chill on your couch and act fucking awesome. They run at incredible speeds and hurl themselves through rings of fire. They lick their testicles while simultaneously performing extraordinary feats. They rent videos. They dive into pools, they tangle themselves up in the mini blinds.. They get you laid! When's the last time a Golden Retriever has ever gotten someone laid? Never. They've never gotten anybody laid.
I'm going to bed.. Fuck this shit. I'm angry now.
Now let's be honest here. Just take a look at this asshole. Look at his smug grin. "OoOo! I have a silky coat, weaved of the finest goooold! I have a middle-class family who lives in a pristine stone house with two kids, a mini van and a botanical gaaaarden!" Fuck you! I hate you, Golden Retriever. If it wasn't illegal to beat the shit out of dogs, you better believe I would have shown you a long time ago that being a Golden Retriever is a mistake.
Why can't people just buy good dogs, like these fine specimens?
These are fantastic dogs. They're way better than Golden Retrievers. What does your Golden Retriever do? It squints it's eyes and runs up to children wagging it's tail in Colonial Penn life insurance commercials. Do you know what these dogs do? They chill on your couch and act fucking awesome. They run at incredible speeds and hurl themselves through rings of fire. They lick their testicles while simultaneously performing extraordinary feats. They rent videos. They dive into pools, they tangle themselves up in the mini blinds.. They get you laid! When's the last time a Golden Retriever has ever gotten someone laid? Never. They've never gotten anybody laid.
I'm going to bed.. Fuck this shit. I'm angry now.
Arr you serious?!
Well here's an interesting story; Somali Pirates
Can you imagine that? Pirates? Picture you and your crew standing about a ship. You have 30 tons of silver in the hold. Suddenly, there's explosions all around you, and pirates begin scaling your ship. A sword slices clean through your body, and you fall helpless to the deck. Your vision fades to darkness, and the last thing you see are black sails. You are dead. You have been slain by a pirate, a dirty buccaneer of the high seas. Your crew sucks because they are not pirates, and you've lost possession of your ship. Now you're 30 tons of silver in the hole. How are you going to explain this to Mr. Roper?!
Actually, I should probably retract that "in the hole" part, because if pirates actually attacked you, you'd most definitely be dead. I'm not just saying that. I'm not "pulling your leg", as the old folks like to say. I'm not "pulling the wool over your eyes" as the farmers like to say.. I'm not "Peppering za old poop-chute", as those silly Swedes like to say. I am not shitting you. Nobody survives a pirate attack.
But in this particular news story, the pirates are not the fabled raiders of the sea. (Haha, Seamen) ; They're modern pirates. They have to use guns. They're a mockery to the legendary bearded scalawags of ye old lore. Let me share with you a few examples why.
Observe. Example A; this is the boat in which the pirates used to approach the ship. This piece of shit doesn't even have oars. Fact; pirates use oars. Example B; the two men in the front appear to be holding a tree branch, or perhaps a large snake. Fact; pirates do not use snakes. Example C; there is no physical evidence of beards, nor are there any hats/bandannas and or pirate apparel. Fact; well, pirates have those aforementioned attributes.
Now, to further reinforce my point and strengthen my personal attack against these "modern pirates" (That's right, I'm calling them out), It's a good idea to talk about what pirates do. So, what do they do? They like treasure, that's for damned sure. They tend to look for uncharted coves, which usually harbor sea caves where the pirates can horde their booty. How do they get the booty? They kick the shit out of merchant vessels. Yep, that's pretty much it. Plunder and pillage. They don't even have to be organized. They win because they're pirates, and there's gold to steal. They don't even spend the gold. Or at least, you never hear about pirates spending their gold. What would they spend it on? They just pile it up, along with other miscellaneous items such as scepters, jewels, and pearl necklaces.. maybe a sword jammed into the top with a crown hanging on the hilt. It's not uncommon to find some skulls littered about. Pirates fucking love skulls. Pirates think skulls are awesome.
These "treasure troves" are most certainly rigged with booby traps. If you manage to make it past the giant octopus (bad things usually guard the cave entrance), there would be nothing stopping you from making off with all the treasure. Pirates know this, and this is why you have to watch your step. The traps could be a variety of clever contraptions. Maybe spikes that come up from under your feet, or a log that swings down from the ceiling. It's not uncommon to see an arrow shoot out of the wall, or to fall into a pit of skeletons. (Pirates love skeletons almost as much as they love skulls) So it's always important to be on your guard. Unfortunately for you, you'll never make it past the cave-in, so good luck walking away with that treasure. (don't worry, pirates have secret entrances to bypass the cave-in. They can still get to their treasure even after a collapse)
Never forget that they always know where you are. As Amber said, "They're in the dark places of the ocean. They find caves and shit where you didn't even know they exist, and they always watch you from afar." Usually while they're waiting for an opportune moment to attack, they scavenge desolate islands for oranges (to prevent scurvy) and spice (for rum). It's in no manner a rarity for them to go ahead and bury a treasure chest while they're there.
Pirates are spontaneous like that, and fierce. They're rowdy, and drunk. They're committed to what they do, and they do it well.
A true pirate stands one foot raised upon the bow. The wind to his back, his beard blowing in the maritime breeze. His mighty sails are full, cast abroad the towering mast. Beams of sunlight burst through the majesty of billowing clouds, painting his shadow across a weathered deck. This kind of man goes where he pleases. He does as he wishes. He would face Cthulhu with his bare hands. He fears nothing. He is strong. He is proud. For he.. is a pirate.
(and these assholes are not)
Can you imagine that? Pirates? Picture you and your crew standing about a ship. You have 30 tons of silver in the hold. Suddenly, there's explosions all around you, and pirates begin scaling your ship. A sword slices clean through your body, and you fall helpless to the deck. Your vision fades to darkness, and the last thing you see are black sails. You are dead. You have been slain by a pirate, a dirty buccaneer of the high seas. Your crew sucks because they are not pirates, and you've lost possession of your ship. Now you're 30 tons of silver in the hole. How are you going to explain this to Mr. Roper?!
Actually, I should probably retract that "in the hole" part, because if pirates actually attacked you, you'd most definitely be dead. I'm not just saying that. I'm not "pulling your leg", as the old folks like to say. I'm not "pulling the wool over your eyes" as the farmers like to say.. I'm not "Peppering za old poop-chute", as those silly Swedes like to say. I am not shitting you. Nobody survives a pirate attack.
But in this particular news story, the pirates are not the fabled raiders of the sea. (Haha, Seamen) ; They're modern pirates. They have to use guns. They're a mockery to the legendary bearded scalawags of ye old lore. Let me share with you a few examples why.
Observe. Example A; this is the boat in which the pirates used to approach the ship. This piece of shit doesn't even have oars. Fact; pirates use oars. Example B; the two men in the front appear to be holding a tree branch, or perhaps a large snake. Fact; pirates do not use snakes. Example C; there is no physical evidence of beards, nor are there any hats/bandannas and or pirate apparel. Fact; well, pirates have those aforementioned attributes.
Now, to further reinforce my point and strengthen my personal attack against these "modern pirates" (That's right, I'm calling them out), It's a good idea to talk about what pirates do. So, what do they do? They like treasure, that's for damned sure. They tend to look for uncharted coves, which usually harbor sea caves where the pirates can horde their booty. How do they get the booty? They kick the shit out of merchant vessels. Yep, that's pretty much it. Plunder and pillage. They don't even have to be organized. They win because they're pirates, and there's gold to steal. They don't even spend the gold. Or at least, you never hear about pirates spending their gold. What would they spend it on? They just pile it up, along with other miscellaneous items such as scepters, jewels, and pearl necklaces.. maybe a sword jammed into the top with a crown hanging on the hilt. It's not uncommon to find some skulls littered about. Pirates fucking love skulls. Pirates think skulls are awesome.
These "treasure troves" are most certainly rigged with booby traps. If you manage to make it past the giant octopus (bad things usually guard the cave entrance), there would be nothing stopping you from making off with all the treasure. Pirates know this, and this is why you have to watch your step. The traps could be a variety of clever contraptions. Maybe spikes that come up from under your feet, or a log that swings down from the ceiling. It's not uncommon to see an arrow shoot out of the wall, or to fall into a pit of skeletons. (Pirates love skeletons almost as much as they love skulls) So it's always important to be on your guard. Unfortunately for you, you'll never make it past the cave-in, so good luck walking away with that treasure. (don't worry, pirates have secret entrances to bypass the cave-in. They can still get to their treasure even after a collapse)
Never forget that they always know where you are. As Amber said, "They're in the dark places of the ocean. They find caves and shit where you didn't even know they exist, and they always watch you from afar." Usually while they're waiting for an opportune moment to attack, they scavenge desolate islands for oranges (to prevent scurvy) and spice (for rum). It's in no manner a rarity for them to go ahead and bury a treasure chest while they're there.
Pirates are spontaneous like that, and fierce. They're rowdy, and drunk. They're committed to what they do, and they do it well.
A true pirate stands one foot raised upon the bow. The wind to his back, his beard blowing in the maritime breeze. His mighty sails are full, cast abroad the towering mast. Beams of sunlight burst through the majesty of billowing clouds, painting his shadow across a weathered deck. This kind of man goes where he pleases. He does as he wishes. He would face Cthulhu with his bare hands. He fears nothing. He is strong. He is proud. For he.. is a pirate.
(and these assholes are not)
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