In honor of...
My entire post will be in Pirate Prose.... Ahhhhhrrrggg! (Due to the difficulty of reading pirate, I'll offer my un-proper English translation)
Preservin' fruit be a pain. The blaggard short in the ole Stove-top belayed me best efforts at saving some grub (pears). Three n' somethin' hour for 5 pints of pear butter. - Tis enuf to make yer blood boil. There's but nine more scurvy batches of booty to preserve before we's can swab the gangplanks of the fruity Grog. (I tried canning and the short in the stove-top extended one batch of pear butter by over three hours. I've probably got nine more batches to go before I can clean my sticky floors.)
Then the ole Dryer keelhauled an' took aboard some addled crew of screeching banshies (started making horrendous metal scrapping noises) to pierce the eardrums of any good Buccaneer. So the crew's britches have been flying in the breeze of the cabin. Why not on deck? Tis foul weather topsides. Neptune summoned a billy of a storm thus rendering useless the lines.
Capn' Erik ain't holdin' well to the blimey mess. It's shipshape or walk the plank. Avast, we be praying for some fair winds. (The dryer started making really bad noises, so I hung clothes to dry all over the house because the wet weather is back. Prince Erik isn't happy with the new decor - he even tried taking the dryer apart himself.)
Bucko Evo-man scrapped his last pair of trousers. So me matey Hope and I be goin' on a voyage to pillage Value Village's port plunder of some more respectacle Bosun britches. (Everett is down to one pair of school uniform pants that fit him and since it's our month of nothing but needs I headed off to Value Village to see if I could find some more. Update - found 2 for less than $6.)
Tis in a hurry we be, before the hands turn up. Gangway! Beware the Wild-eyed Wench (me) baring the wee curly haired lass should you come upon her on the seas. (The house is a mess and I'm in a bad mood)