Arrrrr, me hearties! It be another cool mornin’ in Cairo, Egypt, where I be setting me anchor fer the next couple o’moons.
All me grog be gone and me maties be floatin’ off on them wink-eyed adventures. It just be me, me parchment, and me quill left ter tack the sails down till the golden lady shine her pretty face.
On the morrow, I be crossing swords with an Arabic quiz me captain put to me, and if I wants ter stay off the plank I best show it both sides o’ hell. But in the witchin’ hours, me mind be keen on gettin’ lost at sea, if ye catch me drift.
The winds be a changin’ these days. Times were in the deadly moons of August when one couldn’t hardly set sail for the blasted hell fire settin the sea a’boil. Aye, it was a hard times fer the lot of us, our breeches all a’moistened with our brow dew, and our foot fingers all a’wrinkle from the boot ponds. Ye scallywag land lubbers hasn’t got the first dawn’s twinklin’ o’the sufferin we sailed through.
But now the mooney lass shows ‘er pearly face o’er Mohandiseen when I be drinkin’ my hot elixers and I be as comfortable as a seagull in a crow’s nest. And then I gets ter thinkin’ of the days ‘fore the swashbucklin’ in this here sweet trade o’ Arabic fellowships. And I gets ter yearnin’ for them colored trees in fall months and for the sweater wearin’ and pumpkin latte drinkin’ me maties be postin on their facebook poop decks. And I thinks about me old lady and the old man, and me wretched brat siblings I loves as much as any buccaneer loves his dubloons.
And I ain’t bein’ lily-livered or sentimental like, but sometimes me thinks, “Arrrr, them colored trees sure put that there sparkle in my eye like a young corsair eyein’ his first cut o’booty. And I bet my right eye and no regrets that my blasted sister be readyin’ to battle a swaggy quiz at sailin’ school right in this here drop o’time.” But I swear on hell’s brimstone that in the depths o’me heart ocean, I knows I only be missin’ one out o’the scores of fall voyages I be set to take this side o’the pearly gates.
So set yer sails and polish yer decks, ye sorry sons of biscuit eaters! I may be pillagin’ this here side of the pond, but I be returnin’ come hell or high water. I be comin’ to make bay at me parents’ abode and hunt fer th’ jobs. I be comin’ to plunder the wealth o’me sister’s weddin’ guests and strike fear into th’ hearts o’the caterers. I be comin’. And I be seein’ them colored leaves on me screen saver ‘til that dawn rises.