Ten minutes into the tribute launching the new ship and the pirates decided the priest needed to be introduced to Davy Jones’ Locker. I was not sure what that meant but I got a good idea when his body was tied to the anchor and he was thrown overboard. I guess he shouldn’t have mentioned the burning in hell part for pillaging and murdering.
Being the only one left qualified to bless the ship, (only because I had a Bible and could read and prayed once in awhile – usually in a, “Oh my God,” kind of way), I stepped up to the Aft or port or bunker – well I don’t really know where I stepped up to but it wasn’t the poop deck because you know there wasn’t any. “Arrg, thar mateys. Begad, the bilging,” I began.
They were staring at me. I tried again.
“Sail oh! . . Err . . . ship-shape the nose and let’s sail the high seas with a bottle of rum or grog or . . . you scurvy dogs.”
A sailor growled and then a few more growled. Then they were all growling. It was ugly and getting worse.
The captain, who by the way looked nothing like Johnny Depp, Captain Hook or for that matter, Keith Richards, yelled, “Just be blessing it thar lass. So we be weighing the anchor.”
“Oh . . . okay. God bless this ship and may the pirates get the booty.”
I broke the champagne on the rail and. . .well they were planning on drinking it. Things have gone south from there; worse than killing a priest. I guess I’m going to be dancing with Jack Ketch and if he looks anything like the captain . . . oy vey.