Talk Like A Pirate Day Is Coming

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September 19th. It’s marked in my calendar and I’ve been celebrating it for years now. I am well known amongst my friends for starting to talk like a pirate when I get drunk. To be fair, I break into accents quite often and even moreso if I’ve got a few beers under my belt.

My friend, Trev, emailed me to remind me that TLAPD is coming this Saturday. I replied to this email with:

Yer spewin bilge bout this scallywag fergettin TLAPD, ye best belay that talk! This old coat’s been on th’ account since ye’s were a wee landlubber! By th’ stars, TLAPD be fallin on Saturn’s Day meanin t’is time t’ go ashore, splice he mainbrace and get loaded to th’ gunwales!! Yarrr!!

He could only reply, exasperated, with:

Thordamnit… (He’s of Nordic descent.)

After trading these emails, I felt that I should share this with my girl. And then, this exchange happened:

Her: Holy fuck I wish I had that kind of talent. LOL

Me: And, somehow, I’m not getting paid to do this.

Her: You’re looking for work in the wrong industry. Pirate Porn. You need to look into a career in Pirate Porn.

Me: Yarr!! Ye likes that, ye buxom wench? Ar, t’is me yardarm lass. Be ye ready t’scrape the barnacles from’ me hull? Yarrrrr….

Her: See?!?

Me: LOL I only wish T’would be a salty dog’s dream come true.

So my question NOW is… how do you get into Pirate Porn?

The Game™

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I am playing a game with you. It’s the same game that you are playing with me. I say this to ensure you are aware.

I don’t know what your endgame is, however. That being said, I don’t think it matters that much to me. I’m flexible and I have my own house in order just how I like it and need it. And whatever endgame you are playing towards cannot change that. 

But let’s forget the endgame. The endgame is boring and menial and exhausting. It’s not the kind of living that we are moving our chess pieces to win. The game is afoot but it is not this game. 

This. This is the real game. 

This is what you want; it’s what I want. It’s your soft lips tenderly accepting a kiss from my lips. It’s my fingertips finding their way down the front of your panties. It’s our hot breath commingling during the sweet agony of our union. It’s the smacking of our bodies against each other, in sweaty ecstasy. 

It’s your hair wrapped up in the grip of my fist with you on your knees while I bury myself into you from behind over and over. 

As they say, the game’s afoot. And I am engaged to claim my prize. 

The Art Of Cock Doodles

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I can remember myself as an adolescent, growing into a young adult. As a young man under the age of 20, I had a lot going on. I was figuring myself out with brash bravado and various kinds of self-expression. I doubt that I was unique. Pretty much every guy goes through this, I’d imagine. 

Now if you are a guy under the age of 20, with almost complete certainty I can say that you probably know at least one guy who is always drawing cocks. And, guys over the age of 20? You can remember that guy. In fact, you’ll never forget him. 

When I was in college, the guy who was always drawing dicks became my best friend. I’m keeping his real name to myself but his nickname? His nickname was Woody. Go figure. He didn’t only draw them in his notebooks; he drew them in other people’s notebooks, on desks, on frosted-up winter windows, newspapers… once, he even drew an eight foot long cock on the wall while waiting for our professor to show up and let us into the classroom. 

      

Anyway, it’s very entertaining. I started my own line of drawings since I was brutal at drawing cocks. I drew stick figure sex. All kinds of bizarre scenarios, orgies, gangbangs with elaborate scenes and settings. It was pretty funny, actually. Granted, it was never on the same level as four military cocks raising an American flag on Iwo Jima but it was amusing. For me.