navy’s orders to be boarded as
well as a warning shot across her bow, the naval cruisers fired
two torpedoes apiece into her portside hull, creating “loud
explosions followed by pillars of water of biblical proportions,”
according to one onlooker.
Within five minutes, the 110-ton fisherman had disappeared
beneath the surface of the Caribbean. Neither Openshaw nor his
crew were seen. According to Thunder Commander Geraldo V.
Vegtalla, all of them are believed dead.
Sorry to any Ahoy subscribers among you whose hankies
got dampened from reading this on Thursday. I appreciate the
sentiment. Hopefully you’ll agree it was for the best overall
that we didn’t ring up the news desk for a correction. What
happened was this: It was easy for the Tortolan navy to find and
sink our brig, the Lemming. One reason for that was we’d posted
a scrimshaw of her on this very blog. Another is I posted stuff
that indicated where she was headed and that me and my crew
were aboard her.
Thing is, we’d gotten off the Lemming late last week, a
league or so north of Montego Bay, then set her adrift. That’s
why (like the news article said) the Tortolans got no response
when they asked to board her, fired a warning shot across her
bow, etc. By then, the crew and me were safely away.
Now we’re bastardbound in a brand new brig—I’m gonna
keep the details on her on the QT, except she’s so luxurious
(I splurged) that the crew’s been calling her Heaven. (I’m still
looking for a cooler name. A lot of folks wrote in last time we got
us a new brig suggesting the name Pequod II, which I don’t get
at all. The Pequods are some small Indian tribe in Connecticut.
Best I can figure is these Pequods are the ones writing me and
are just looking for free advertising for their casino.)
We’re now en route to a secret arms dealer Nelson knows
to splurge some more on guns, rockets, and whatever else we
can get as we are expecting more trouble, and from all comers.
The reason: Admiral Ricardo Vurman of the Tortolan navy,
pretty fumed about the faceful of egg he got from us, has put a
price of $20,000 on my head. Nelson promptly responded by
putting a price of $100,000 on Admiral Vurman’s head. (Nelson
later informed me that if this gets results, he’ll have to borrow
$100,000 from me.)
P.S. Not that I’m suggesting it’d pay for you to drop what you’re
doing and go hunting for Admiral Vurman, but if you do, here’s
a scrimshaw of him which might come in handy.
Tuesday, 20 July 2004 10:03 AM
Shopping Trip
To get to the bastard—let alone get the bastard—we need as many
guns, missile launchers—and anything else you can blow things
up with—as we can get. It’s never easy shopping for that sort of
stuff, and particularly tough when you got a navy scouring the
sea for you.
Fortunately, Nelson knows an arms dealer hiding out on
a nearby island. The guy, who goes by the name Dealer Dan, is
on a dozen international Most Wanted lists. It’s been good for
his business, as it happens, cause he’s forced to trade only with
fellow outlaws (which we sure as crap have become), and with the
exception of Texans, private citizens on the other side of the law
aren’t looking to buy missile launchers nearly as often.
Right now Dealer Dan’s running a special on twenty-
five-foot deck-mounted howitzers, which we could sure use. The
deeply discounted price of $50,000 includes free installation.
The problem with going to Dealer Dan is this: Folks who
he fears will blab about his whereabouts receive—also free of
charge—a round of bullets and a grave with a lovely ocean view.
So, being a blogger, I’m a bit worried he might be concerned
about me. My biggest concern is, of course, Stupid George. First
thing I did upon our sighting Dealer Dan’s island was to order
George gagged and tied up below deck.
In hindsight, as we now go ashore, I’m thinking it may’ve
been a mistake to have
well as a warning shot across her bow, the naval cruisers fired
two torpedoes apiece into her portside hull, creating “loud
explosions followed by pillars of water of biblical proportions,”
according to one onlooker.
Within five minutes, the 110-ton fisherman had disappeared
beneath the surface of the Caribbean. Neither Openshaw nor his
crew were seen. According to Thunder Commander Geraldo V.
Vegtalla, all of them are believed dead.
Sorry to any Ahoy subscribers among you whose hankies
got dampened from reading this on Thursday. I appreciate the
sentiment. Hopefully you’ll agree it was for the best overall
that we didn’t ring up the news desk for a correction. What
happened was this: It was easy for the Tortolan navy to find and
sink our brig, the Lemming. One reason for that was we’d posted
a scrimshaw of her on this very blog. Another is I posted stuff
that indicated where she was headed and that me and my crew
were aboard her.
Thing is, we’d gotten off the Lemming late last week, a
league or so north of Montego Bay, then set her adrift. That’s
why (like the news article said) the Tortolans got no response
when they asked to board her, fired a warning shot across her
bow, etc. By then, the crew and me were safely away.
Now we’re bastardbound in a brand new brig—I’m gonna
keep the details on her on the QT, except she’s so luxurious
(I splurged) that the crew’s been calling her Heaven. (I’m still
looking for a cooler name. A lot of folks wrote in last time we got
us a new brig suggesting the name Pequod II, which I don’t get
at all. The Pequods are some small Indian tribe in Connecticut.
Best I can figure is these Pequods are the ones writing me and
are just looking for free advertising for their casino.)
We’re now en route to a secret arms dealer Nelson knows
to splurge some more on guns, rockets, and whatever else we
can get as we are expecting more trouble, and from all comers.
The reason: Admiral Ricardo Vurman of the Tortolan navy,
pretty fumed about the faceful of egg he got from us, has put a
price of $20,000 on my head. Nelson promptly responded by
putting a price of $100,000 on Admiral Vurman’s head. (Nelson
later informed me that if this gets results, he’ll have to borrow
$100,000 from me.)
P.S. Not that I’m suggesting it’d pay for you to drop what you’re
doing and go hunting for Admiral Vurman, but if you do, here’s
a scrimshaw of him which might come in handy.
Tuesday, 20 July 2004 10:03 AM
Shopping Trip
To get to the bastard—let alone get the bastard—we need as many
guns, missile launchers—and anything else you can blow things
up with—as we can get. It’s never easy shopping for that sort of
stuff, and particularly tough when you got a navy scouring the
sea for you.
Fortunately, Nelson knows an arms dealer hiding out on
a nearby island. The guy, who goes by the name Dealer Dan, is
on a dozen international Most Wanted lists. It’s been good for
his business, as it happens, cause he’s forced to trade only with
fellow outlaws (which we sure as crap have become), and with the
exception of Texans, private citizens on the other side of the law
aren’t looking to buy missile launchers nearly as often.
Right now Dealer Dan’s running a special on twenty-
five-foot deck-mounted howitzers, which we could sure use. The
deeply discounted price of $50,000 includes free installation.
The problem with going to Dealer Dan is this: Folks who
he fears will blab about his whereabouts receive—also free of
charge—a round of bullets and a grave with a lovely ocean view.
So, being a blogger, I’m a bit worried he might be concerned
about me. My biggest concern is, of course, Stupid George. First
thing I did upon our sighting Dealer Dan’s island was to order
George gagged and tied up below deck.
In hindsight, as we now go ashore, I’m thinking it may’ve
been a mistake to have
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