Bell-bottomed trousers, shirts of navy hue

The planet it be a-warmin' and our seas no longer swarm with dashing swarthy bands of sea-dogs wi' ships' sails a-bellyin' in the hurricano winds. But yet in our hearts does burn the hunger for adventure, for a savvy captain, and for the best togs one can sling together for to make a fearsomely handsome outfit.

So now everyone who has promised to steal my "Obama: Agent 008" shirt can give the merry lass who made it their hard-scavenged dubloons and receive their own version of said tunic, and I can stop threatening to cutlass the scallywags across the knuckles if they so much as lay a finger on mine. Arrh.

Clap on, me hearties

Tes International Talk Like a Pirate Day, so it is, wi' a wannion, an' I'll be wishin' all me crafty mates a fine jolly time of it. Arrh.

Zeppelins ahoy!


Canadians beware!

Yarrh, mateys, 'tis a mighty chantey ye'll be wantin'

For 'twould be a wee scrattlin' misbegot wench of a doxie what didn't offer up a song upon this, th'International Day o' Pirately Speakin', ye ken. Wi' a wannion, arrh.

"Hoist the Jolly Roget's," by Rob Balder. And lest any milk-livered gutless gormless git be swearin' that it be anachronistic or otherwise disordered in the timezones, I'd be after inviting that surly bugger to join Snow Crash's Bruce Lee for a wee party and some scalpin'. Arrh.