Scurvy Tales From The Briny Depths O' Davey Jones' Locker

This is a good tale me hardy one, discovered on rare documents that splay out the historical correctness of this tale, known to be told to Captain Edward Low by one of his crew, it is commonly known as, “The Tale of the Missing Booty”, I hope your sea legs can take it.

It be a dark and dingy night, waves be washing across the deck of the pirate ship the Zip Nipper, Big Buns Bappy was at the helm. He along with his Captain and crew are bound for treasure beyond belief buried on an uncharted island, known to no one as the Island of the Missing Booty. Big Buns Bappy had always steered a straight course thru rough seas but tonight it was a “Hey lets go here and then let’s go there” kinda night, due to the fact that this island is uncharted and one really knows exactly where it is. So the Zip Nipper is sorta winging it, just like when you go on a cruise to nowhere. But that be cool matey, all waves are not shaped the same.

After many days and nights at sea and always taking a right when in doubt of where they were exactly, the club footed Captain Scoots Malloy spies a towering island image thru the mist of spray. His right turn theory was working out. He ordered preparations be made for a shore party to go ashore because that’s what a shore party does, go ashore. 

Over the side the long boats went and the shore parties rowed the long boats ashore, with every boat coming to a gentle rest upon the pure white sand of this uncharted island. Cautiously the pirates climbed out of the boats, their cutlasses drawn (on pieces of thick grade construction paper covered in foil that made them seem to be really intimidating and scary), ready for any danger that might arise when you visit an un-charted island and you’re part of the crew that wears the red shirts.

Anyhow, off into the unknown interior of this uncharted desert isle. The crew gathered their gear and started walking. Strangely enough there seemed to be actual trails thru the jungle. What a tropical paradise, could this be the Island of the Missing Booty?  


The men slogged their way thru sloggyness, bogginess, sogginess and a lot of other nessy stuff, some of the crew came down with the dreaded Muggy Balls Syndrome, thank the powers that be, they had some Mugaway with them. So after a good application of this and much rubbing down their pants, the men strode on. The sounds of the jungle grew louder with every step they took, deeper and deeper they ventured into the unknown.

One of the crew perked up, “Hey mates, do me hear drums in the distance”? The shore party listened intently. “Let’s march to the sound of the drums” said another crewman, they all agreed and started to boogie down the trail, those drums had a pretty hip beat. On they went, when there in the mist stood a large village. But the drums had stopped and the villagers had disappeared. “Yo, where everybody be at”, cried out one of the hipper crewmen. Slowly people started to emerge out of their huts, some came out of the jungle, hundreds were coming out of a cave at the far end of the village, more and more arrived, the crew was out numbered by the hundreds. Slowly they came in a zombie like hoard, when one of the shore party noticed, “Hey Maties, their all females, and they’ve all got nice full butts, have you ever seen so much sweet full ass in you’re life, you could get laid and have a place to set you’re cocktail down on at the same time”. Then another crewman piped up, “Boys, me fellow crew mates, shiver me timbers, look at their naked butt cheeks, it’s the worlds best booty call ever, this has got to be “The Island Of The Missing Booty”. The shore party cheered with joy. And then to the utter dis belief of almost everyone there, someone, possibly an Englishmen, an unknown face to all, set up some giant “Loud Talk Speakers” broke out a “Talk Box” and put on Off Shore Radio which just happened to be doing a party theme at the time. The raucous time lasted till dawn, big booty was had by all shore crew, but the happiest shore crew of all was the guys in the red shirts. They all really got some instead of some thing getting them.

Another Scurvy Tale 

This tale will put the hair of the dog on ye me hardy one, it might turn out to be goat hair, so don’t get you’re hopes too high. This pirate lore comes from the lore of pirates cause that’s where pirate lore comes from, ya know, the lore of pirates… ok?..... You better be when you read the horrible tremblings that are scribbled upon these scurvy pages from Davey Jones Locker. Ya know, I’ll bet his locker doesn’t stink, know why?, cause it’s under water. Remember you’re locker in High School, never mind you’re Gym locker, now those lockers stunk. Yet I digress, ….. What? No you hammerhead, I said digress, not undress, get you’re mind outta the gutter, why are you even talking to me while I’m typing. …..What? I’m writing a piece for “Another Scurvy Tale” , ……Well Whadda think I’m writing it for,….. NO, NO, it’s not for something stupid for our listeners to read and go like, “What am I reading here, it doesn’t make any sense”? …..What’s that? You say so far it’s stupid because I talked about Gym Lockers, what’s so stupid about Gym Lockers? Just be quiet and let me type. Now I have no idea where I was going with my, “Another Scurvy Tale From Davey Jones Locker”, ….. What’s that? Just go to the top of the page and read how you started out! Whadda-ya some sorta wise guy or something, ……Well of course reading it worked, I remember I was gonna put the hair of the dog on ya ….. Do you have something to say about everything I type …….Whadda-ya mean, dog hair isn’t scary, dog hair can be scary ……well this dogs hair is so scary that you’d be scared if you saw it, and it’s dirty, and it’s got flees and ticks crawling everywhere and it smells bad, I mean REAL BAD, like Scary Bad!.....Whadda mean, there’s no such thing as Scary Bad……I can’t take it, I gotta get away from you……No, I’m takin’ a BREAK ! 

"No, there’s nothing else, he took a break." 

"I don’t think he’s coming back "




This story starts out with, It be a dark and dinge night, because ye wouldn’t want it to b a bright and sunny day when ye read another Scurvy Tale from the briny depths of Davey Jones Locker. So anyhow, It be a dark and dinge night compared to it being a dinge and dark night, (Quick Side Note) dark night isn’t that a dude known as Batman. But this Scurvy Tale isn’t about him or any guy that owns a bat or wants to be one, so don’t get ahead of the story ye scurvy letch. Although this story starts out kinda crappy Huh!

  Which leads me to a side note. Consider this, when one says the line, “Well that takes a load off my mind” is it the same as saying, “Ya know, I took a crap this morning, then totally forgot about it”?

  So anyhow, back to a dark and dinge night compared to a dinge and dark night. Isn’t this painful. If it is, then take two aspirin and call me in the morning, although I don’t like to be called, “In the Morning” but if you insist on calling me that, then be it so. Why would one say, “Be It So”, have you ever wondered about that, I did but only for a moment, turns out I, at that time, was a liar and my pants really were on fire, so a short time for wondering there matey.

  Doesn’t thinking about that pants fire kinda make you wanna sing that old family favorite song, “Mud, mud, mud, is a terrible food, I’ll eat it now, but it’ll make me rude”. Personally, I never liked that song, I preferred, “I got a fly in my pants and it makes me wanna dance”. Which leads me to a side note, do you think if one boogies down they have a hard time when trying to boogie back on up? If so, take 7 aspirins and call me in the evening, I don’t personally like being called, “In The Evening” either, but it’s got “Hey Shit Head” totally beat.

  Anyhow, it be a dark and dinge night, which leads me to a side note. What kind of a night is a dinge night? I’ve heard of dinge clothes, or a dinge wash, or catch that dinge before it gets away, but a dinge night, well I guess there’s no way around being dinge is there? Let’s form a club and call ourselves “The Dinges”, we could get really crappy T-Shirts made.

  Anyhow, one more time, it be a dark and dinge night, the crow’s nest be gently creakin’ atop the mast. I’ll wager the lookout b asleep, or up there seven sails in the wind with some good grog. How I’d love a full mug of grog right now, but if the captain catches ye drinking on deck and anchor watch, it’ll turn out bad fur ye. That’s why every mate volunteers fur the crows nest at night, and only when we b anchored will there b grog in the nest!

  Which leads me to a side note, (it was going so well wasn’t it) why is it called grog? They should call it Greg, but then it would be some guy’s name and it would probably get real weird, a bunch of Pirates yelling, “More Greg wench, serve us more Greg”, and the totally weird one, “I’m thirsty, more Greg, bring me more Greg ta drink”. It might lead one to believe that these Pirates like to grow pretty flowers and paint their own pottery instead of plundering and pillaging, which, by the way, is all that is allowed under the current “How 2 b r plundering, pillaging Scurvy Letch” license and guide book that all pirates are supposed to carry, but almost all don’t.  (Note how we employed the reduction in letters law in the licenses name)

  Which, whadda ya think, might lead me to a side note? MAYBE… hasn’t before, but now it just might. Why does a Pirate need a license, to do what a Pirate does? And, if a Pirate does get a license to be a Pirate, might that license make a Pirate a licensed Pirate, which sorta negates the whole Pirate thing altogether. Any thoughts here?  A discussion group on this particular topic will meat tonight at 5pm. Which leads…….etc, There is no type-o. Which bla bla bla, Why is it called a type-o, I don’t see any o’s anywhere, do you see any o’s, OH, you do, well then I guess I’ll have to leave you alone. AND, forget about Which, Why when you’re by yourself, is it called alone, whadda ya gettin’ a loan on? I don’t see no money comin’ in. If you came up to be and said, “I don’t mind being alone”, I’d be like, “Well…I don’t mind get-n a loan, isn’t it a pleasure to meet you”, could ya loan me 5 dolla?”!  Which leads me to a side note. Are ya kinda getting’ the idea you’re never gonna be able to read the dark and dinge night stuff. It seems more like it’s gonna be the stupid, dingy and dopey kinda night with this guy typing this piece. Oh, wait a sec, that might be me……anyhow….ya know the original story has this weird name, wouldn’t ya think it would be called somethin’ like “A Dingy Stuck In The Dark Night”, or “Hammered In The Nest”, or “I Watched The Deck On Deck Watch”, how about,

“Me Anchor Hangs Heavy”, that’s my personal favorite, but it’s not, it’s called, “Hopefully This Scurvy Tale Isn’t Like The Last One”, You may scream loudly here and pull your hair, it’s ok! Sorry, I never had “Scurvy Tale” training. I learned writing from a class A on-line tutorial that cost me ten’s of cents, so personally, I all thinks me dun good.









     It b a dark and dinge night, waves b crashin’ to and fro, the spray of mist b heavy and thick in the night air. The entire crew of the feared Pirate Ship known as “Cuddles Cutlass” has come down with the dreaded “Shiver Me Timbers” disease, and are blowin’ thru facial tissue like a crew infected with the dreaded “Shiver Me Timbers” disease, which is what they all have. So there’s not a lot of that Pirate, pillaging and plundering stuff going on. Although some Pirates have given it a go, but they all start to cough and snort with snot due to extreme exertion. They should all b tucked tightly in their racks and forcing fluids, like good little Pirates.

     Some are doing the Orange Juice deal, although many suspect that is spiced up with a bit of Jamaican Rum. Ever try and keep Rum outta a Pirates reach, one should be flight of foot if they fancy their health. You could tell which ones had a bit too much “Fluid” in them when some tried to sing that old Shiver Me Timbers song, “Yo ho ho and a snot locker fulla flem”. I like that song, it’s gotta a good beat and you could dance to it, Don Corneilus and Dick Clark both played it on their shows, once. Which was very hard to do, it’s the 1860’s and both those guys aren’t even born yet, but somehow somebody pulled it off, well that’s Show Biz, and that’s a Pirate Radio fact.

     Some of the really sick crew wanna go back to “The Island Of The Missing Booty”, and get better on dry land, but after much consideration and as we all know, Pirates are loaded with compassion, they all decided to stay aboard ship and not spread this infection to others. Unlike someone that showed up at Thanksgiving sick as a mud wart and never told anyone.

     Others in the crew wanted some Thera-flu or Nyquil, to ease their suffering, but again, it’s the 1860’s, that stuff isn’t invented yet, so whadda those guys thinking? Just stick your head over a simmering pot of Rum, breath in the vapors and hope for the best says the ships Doctor. He just wants to get everyone hammered and hopefully they’ll all pass out. He’s a Rummy anyhow, and getting’ plastered is in his eyes. Plus, he has some fairly decent Mids stashed amongst his other Meds. Not all hemp is used for rope there matey and thank the briny depths of Davey Jones Locker that Hippies don’t happen until the 1960’s.




   One of the crew was so delirious with fever he kept shouting, “I wanna play the bongos, sit in a tree, and serenade you with a flute”, which eased some of the tension among the flem infested wretches, but also gave them some ideas. “I wanna be a candy covered Glockenspiel” quipped another of the crew, “Frog nuts, lizard beaks and caramel covered Camels, I wanna swim in theEnglish Channel”, another voice chirped out. But the most outrageous rant of all was, “I wanna be as technically proficient as that marvelous DJ Pile Boy Spike”. Everyone knew this crew member was the sickest of all and had to be hallucinating, because as everyone knows, Pile Boy Spike is a stumbling, bumbling mess of Testicular Dick-A-Culties and that’s a fuckin’ proven fact, just fuckin’ listen to one of his fuckin’ shows, oops, sorry there, Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, we must have had a real Technical Difficulty.

     So here they are, a ship fulla sickies, hackin’ and gackin’ and spittin’ out flem, keeping well Off Shore and abiding by the Doctors orders of quarantine and sluggin’ down rum. There wasn’t any reason for that lowdown scallywag crew member Babs to yell out, “You’re a bunch of useless, lazy, lying slobs”. The Doctor came back with,” That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say, their all dangerously sick”. Babs came right back, “That’s not the stupidest thing I’ve ever said”, Babs was meaner than a sea snake. Later on Babs got sick also and died, just as well, no one will miss that miserable crew member.

    The misery of sickness grew even stronger, “Can we turn on the radio” asked Fulla Flem Fleming, “Not invented yet” came outta the mouth of Knowitall Newton”, “Then turn on the TV”, again came, “Not invented yet”, “How about some Video Games”, once more, “Not invented yet”, “Lets play with some remote controlled cars”, yet again, “Not invented yet”, “Lets call some of our other Pirate Friends on the cell phones”, and of course, “Not invented yet” was the reply. Finally in full frustration the whole crew bitched, “What’s a crew to do? Somebody better get busy in the inventing department or we’re all gonna have to do something else on our own”. This was a scary thought.

     Cuddles Cutlass sailed on, trailing a snot filled wake behind it, gackin’ and hackin’ and snortin’ and spittin’ was the order of the day. All in all, what’s a sick ship to do. It just has to run its course. And That’s a Pirate Radio FACT!!!


The End.