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Pirates!

Rich Cerow

I was thinking about the Coast Guard this afternoon, and I think Iíve stumbled across an unanswerable question: what is the point of the Coast Guard? I mean, sure, I know what theyíre ostensibly there for, but I have no idea what theyíre practical application is. I mean, is there still, in this day and age, a lot of nautical-based crime? I would assume that owning a boat is not nearly as common today as it was in the 1700s when the Coast Guard was established. In fact, owning a boat has become a luxury only enjoyed by the (fairly) wealthy. And the wealthy are not generally inclined toward the kinds of crimes that require a physical force out there preventing them. I sincerely doubt many yacht owners are ramming the SS Queen Dandy, boarding it, and engaging in saber duels. Conversely, I sincerely doubt there are many investment bankers out there embezzling Ė ON THE HIGH SEAS! Avast, ye scurvy scoundrels, and watch me pillage this 401K!
Real pirates have hooks and wear gaudy hats and jackets with gold trim. They also apparently play the accordion, the fiddle and maracas.

This can lead me to only one conclusion: there is a huge vacuum in oceanic crime, and I should be taking advantage of it. Obviously, Iíd make a great pirate. As you can see in that last paragraph, Iíve got the language down cold. Go on, go back and reread it. That is the kind of talk that would strike fear into the blackest heart of my arch-rival. Also, I donít think being a pirate would be that tough. I doubt the soft-in-the-middle lawyers and accountants I came across would put up much of a fight, so it should be no problem ravishing their women. Plenty of them also probably store gold doubloons out on their private ships. That way they keep out of the prying eyes of the IRS. Itís not a bad plan, except that they didnít prepare for me! Arr! I would need a good costume, so I might have to wait till around Halloween to put this plan together. Iím thinking of dressing as Vanilla Ice.

Now, after I get things off the ground, Iíll need a boat, but more importantly, Iíll need a good name for a boat. One that makes it sound like my ship couldíve sailed to Hell and back, she did. They say sheís cursed, and a damned crew still mans her oars when seas are rough. If the moon catches just right, you may see her on the horizon, heading straight towards you. These are not the kinds of things people say when they hear SS Pickerford. So Iíd probably have to call my boat the SS Bonecrusher or the SS Bloodied Blackheart or the SS Ship of the Damned. Well, that last one might be a little on the nose, but you get the idea. Also, Iíll need a lot of red paint to mark Xís on the beach where Iíve buried my treasure. I would get a parrot, but I donít think Iím responsible enough for a pet yet. Maybe Iíll get some goldfish, and if I can take care of those, then weíll think about getting you a parrot.

I suspect this new lifestyle will lead to me listening to Looking Glassí ďBrandy (Youíre a Fine Girl).Ē Cause my love, my life, and my lady is the sea.

If ye be interested in joining me crew, salty sea dogs, throw a note in a bottle off the starboard side while sailing to through the Bermuda Triangle. Or just e-mail rich@xtremewailing.com. Please include a salary history.


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