Avast, ye freshwater swabs, if it's a tale of treasure and treachery you'll be wantin'. Ye may keep your infernal Blackbeards and bloody Red Rackhams for all the good they'll do ye, for sure and all there's never been the like of "Step Captain" Emily and Elias "The Red Hand Man" to swamp a shallop or plow a pinace under the brine.
Set ye down on that hogshead yonder and I'll spin you a yarn sure to curdle the lifesblood out of ye, and you can lay to that! T'was on a dark summer day with a foul wind and a falling glass when they slipped anchor in old Hyannis town and crossed the bar in search of sunken treasure.
Aye, it were a rum bunch on that three hour cruise, and nary a ginger lass nor stouthearted skipper to be seen. Full and by comes a hail from the topmast, and spy they a sail hull down on the forequarter. 'Tis another wicked pirate such as themselves, d'ysee, but dismasted and adrift and ripe for the taking.
They raked her from stem to stern, me hearty, and stood by to repel boarders, like their blackhearted brothers the sharks, rot them, that feed on their own kind. Aye, there was blood in the scuppers before their scurvy work was done, and you can lay to that. They sent that sloop to Davy Jones, then sailed to harbor roaring their dreadful hornpipes to spend their plunder on ice cream sandwiches and orange soda and other such fare as seafarin' swabs do crave on a summer's day.
So, shipmate, if ever you come upon these blasted buccanners between the devil and a lee shore, best scuttle quick and be done with it, me beauty, for the end is certain, sure. Take it from Hogback Tim; the rotten apple don't fall too far from the binnacle, and the likes of you be no match for me an' mine. Arr!
And I'll be wishing ye a jolly International Talk Like A Pirate Day, for all the good that will do ye.