Shiver me timbers, lads and lassies, tis talk like a pirate day, and me here sober enough to do somethin about it. Arr.
Tis a fine, fine day of fun for the landlubber, but for a pirate like m’self, tis a day of sober reflection. Is a life upon the high sea worth the loss of lady-types? Should a man of my intellect risk being given the Black Spot by an unruly crew? Do I really want to end all me statements with an arr for the rest of me life? Tis a puzzle tisn’t it, arr?
But don’t mind me. Fine man such as m’self have his ways of dealing with this sort of malady. I’ll keel haul a few swabs and feel righter than a preacher on Sunday, and still be twice as honest, and that be true, arr.
So goes about yer business in a civilized fashion. Makes with the “funny” talk. Don’t drink too much of the rum. And leaves the old treasure map out for Old Nobeard Cullen to cast a weather eye upon. Ye can trust me as far as ye can trust any pirate, arr.
Tis true, arr, tis true.