A Timrick A Day | Humorous Lymrics

Who Goes There?

2011-07-04T01:55:00.001-05:00

Who Goes There?

By Tim Torkildson

Thais, in some respects, are very security-conscious; in other ways, they remain as casual as sweat pants.

Two back stories, please, to set up my thesis.

A few years ago I took a hiatus from Thailand to work as the publicity director of a small, one-ring, tented circus back in the States. One of my responsibilities was to visit public schools where the circus would be playing, to hand out free tickets to students for the matinee performance.

Getting into a public school, as a stranger, in the United States, is now tantamount to getting past a sphinx in a Greek fable.

I entered one school in northern California, with a fistful of free tickets for the students, and was immediately stopped by a stern-visaged harridan who demanded some credentials. I handed over my driver's license while explaining I had already called the principal for permission to hand out circus tickets in several classes. With a grunt, she turned and gestured for me to follow. I was taken into a sterile cement block room, painted pukey green, and handed a form to fill out, after which I was escorted to another room, where they took my photograph, and then I was escorted back to the pukey green room and told to wait. I thought maybe they were going to send in a blacksmith to fit me for shackles.

I was then presented with my photo, now embossed on an ID tag, and taken to the principal's office, where I was informed the principal was out and would not be back in until 2pm, so I would have to wait until this worthy returned to verify my story before I was allowed anywhere near the students. Two hefty-looking cops glowered at me from a corner, fingering their holsters as if hoping I would make a suspicious move so they could plug me.

I finally managed to give away the tickets, but it took several days before I lost the urge to check my arm for a tattooed ID number.

I think you'll agree that was overkill. From all I hear from friends back home, it's getting worse.

Back here in Thailand my Thai fiancé Joom became concerned some months ago after hearing constant news stories about car thefts in Pattaya, which is a 2 hour drive from us. She consulted the ghosts that inhabit our house (former residents who committed suicide and have a friendly relationship with her) about security measures. The ghosts (who I would think could scare off robbers pretty easily – but apparently the ghosts have a pretty strong union and don't go in for that kind of overtime) advised Joom to have anti-theft devices installed in her truck.

Which she did.

Trouble is, she keeps accidentally triggering the piercing horn blasts and whistles and can't remember how to turn them off. Trying to take a nap around our place now is like trying to sneak a siesta at Super Bowl halftime.

We have a dog, of course, that barks in the middle of the night at every toad and Tokay gecko that dares to intrude on our gravel drive. I can only hope she will be equally zealous if human toads show up to despoil us.

All this leads up to the subject of security at Thai schools.

Would you be surprised to know that there isn't any?

The only guards, and I use the term extremely loosely, at a Thai public school, are the crossing guards. Usually one of them will stay behind after herding all the children across busy thoroughfares, to doze under the shade of a pink cassia tree. They are usually superannuated and would not rouse themselves if Godzilla came rampaging down the nearest soi.

The only exception to this are the very elite international schools, many of which reside inside an exclusive muu baan where a guard zealously mans a pillbox and you are required to leave some form of identification behind when you enter. The last time I was up in Thonburi I went to the Rongrian Nana Chad and left the guard my expired library card from Minnesota. He seemed quite satisfied with it.

Of course, I can't remember anything dangerous or disruptive, outside of stray dogs fighting over a piece of offal, ever disturbing the somnolent droning of students during school hours.

Now I'm not saying that the Thai public school officials are negligent about the welfare of their charges. On the contrary, if you are a farang and want to teach English in a Thai school you are going to have to produce a criminal background check, otherwise it's no go. In today's depraved world, sadly, that is to expected.

The fact of the matter is I am amazed, and tremendously grateful, that here in Thailand there have been no Columbines or madmen attacking little children with hammers. I hope the Thais appreciate this wonderful blessing their schools still enjoy – something that has passed out of existence in much of the Western world, much to the sorrow and disgust of all thinking people.

Sunday Morning in Ban Phe, Thailand

2011-06-05T00:43:00.001-05:00

Dream On . . .

2011-05-29T21:19:00.001-05:00

You may ride a magic carpet or play ball upon the Moon –

But an honest politician you will not find very soon.

Science may invent a way to live a thousand years –

But they can't stop rabble-rousers preying on our morbid fears.

Global warming can be stopped and poverty allayed,

But lobbyists will always find the means to be obeyed.

The common cold could disappear and acne be extinct,

As slush funds multiply like hares and graft stays in the pinkt.

Lawyers may devise a way to enter Kingdom Come . . .

But your homegrown politician will remain a mangy bum!

The Civics Class

2011-05-04T23:54:00.001-05:00

Civics is the study of the back of someone's head

In a classroom where the teacher recites theories that are dead.

Three branches of the government we are supposed to know;

I have named them Larry, Curly, and, of course, there's Moe!

The presidential office is executive, that's plain.

Congress is the people, to prevent a tyrant's reign.

Judiciary officers administer the law.

Mostly they just fight each other to a surly draw.

Presidents blow smoke rings and are keen for photo ops,

And are followed by their many aides with brooms and dripping mops.

Your voice is heard in congress, if you have a lobbyist;

Otherwise you're treated like a leper with a cyst.

If you are arrested, your own cause you do not beg;

Your lawyer will seek justice –at a charge of arm and leg.

Of course you must support all this with taxes and your vote,

No matter how the government may sometimes get your goat.

I'm sorry to be cynical about the Civics class.

Despite its flaws America has got the greener grass.

It Figgers . . .

2011-03-30T18:55:00.001-05:00

When CEO's start their complaining about the taxes their company pays

You know that they're moving the whole darn shebang to Mexico one of these days.

I say let 'em move, if that's what they decide fits in with financial-type facts –

But make sure before they can fold up their tents they pay a profound exit tax!

The Ballad of Scrushy

2011-03-28T07:06:00.001-05:00

You ever wake up in a trailer house, son?

Cold grits fer breakfast – it ain't so much fun.

A boss who could holler the hide off a mule;

it kinda negates that there old Golden Rule.

I got me some college and taught for a while,

But money stays scarce and the bills – how they pile!

So I was sure ready, a willing recruit,

To go into healthcare – it's dripping with loot.

Them Medicare fellers got money to burn;

It just takes some whiteout a fortune to earn.

Sure, they inspect some, but when volume's great,

They ain't got the time to still investigate.

Besides, as the Big Cheese, I always could claim

Some clerk down the hall was in charge of the game.

Me, I went golfing and didn't know squat.

What couldn't be squared could always be bought.

You know how it goes when you git your third wife;

You kinda want more of a kick out of life.

Cars by the dozen and champagne that's French

And judges who know yer first name on the bench.

My company billed in the millions each day;

For each dollar I stole I would give one away.

My name was a byword at charity balls

And governors followed me down marble halls.

I beat sev'ral raps that the Feds pinned on me;

My lawyers were smooth, like the ones on TV.

But I must admit I got living too big,

And folks then decided to butcher this pig.

My prison in Beaumont is really the pits;

It's clean and it's quiet, but I'm back to cold grits!

blah

2011-03-27T20:13:00.001-05:00

An avalanche of sound bytes and a flood of Youtube clips

Keeps us reeling with disasters that we take in little sips.

But the brew is still quite heady and we lose our empathy

As we watch Japan a-melting and Khadafy on TV.

Liz Taylor kicks the bucket and some Cath'lic diocese

Has gone bankrupt and now doctors have declared a new disease.

Makes a person want to be a hermit in a cave,

If only to avoid the latest Glenn Beckian rave.

Maine Mural

2011-03-24T19:01:00.001-05:00

When a guy who can't use crayons

Shows he hasn't any bray-ons

By complaining that a mural is not bland,

Then I say he has it coming

When a gradual benumbing

Of toleration shows up all across the land.

They will take the Mona Lisa

And for certain say that she's a

Inappropriate device for Dental Care;

For her smile must sure be hiding

Dental caries long abiding,

And she really needs to comb her longish hair.

Or they might say that Picasso

Is a regular Sargasso

That reflects the morals of a wayward mind,

And before you can say "pyre!"

They have started a bonfire

To burn up all things that are misunderstood;

It would not disturb my bonnet

If they also threw upon it

Paul LePage and all the others of his brood.

Tell Your Children

2011-03-24T18:10:00.001-05:00

Tell your children if they stick

With a job through thin & thick,

Comes the day for their reward

When the boss cannot afford

Keeping them upon the books –

So they're treated like some schnooks,

Given pink slips and a coupon

For food stamps, perhaps Grey Poupon.

Pensions cut off with an axe

(but don't forget to pay your tax!)

Middle class prosperity

Now turns into charity.

Better they should be Marines;

They may be shot but they'll have means!

Teaching English in Thailand -- http://www.stickmanbangkok.com/TEFLInterational.htm

2011-03-18T18:10:00.001-05:00

Teaching English in Thailand -- http://www.stickmanbangkok.com/TEFLInterational.htm

The Long Commute

2011-03-10T21:26:00.001-06:00

After finishing my TESOL course at TEFL International I was anxious to get to work as an English teacher. My first job was in Bangkok, as were all my other jobs while I remained an ESL teacher here in Thailand. Having heard all the moans & groans about apartment prices in Bangkok I thought I would be a smart cookie and head out to the suburbs for my pied a terre. I located an apartment in Nonthaburi for 3-thousand baht per month. It consisted of a large tiled room, with a bedstead holding one of those impossibly rigid Thai mattresses, the ones stuffed with sand, and a bathroom. The sink and mirror were located out on the balcony, where Greater Racket-tailed Drongos used to perch on the ledge to watch me shave. It even came with air conditioning – a massive, elderly unit that at one time must have graced the lobby of the Marriott Hotel, as it sent out a turbo-charged blast of arctic air that put ice on the walls within ten minutes of being turned on. When functioning, it produced a roar like an F-5 tornado. I only used for ten minutes at night before going to bed. The apartment building was populated by a sprinkling of local factory workers and Thai college students, and an abundance of bar girls. The bar girls were crammed 6 to a room, all sleeping on the floor on rattan mats. I remember them as pretty good cooks when they'd wake up around noon. They'd giggle and whisper to each other whenever I walked by one of their open doors, and would invite me in for some curry & rice. Nothing loath, I often accepted – their food, that is. It was hard to believe these gals were bar girls – out of makeup and rested, they appeared to be about 15 years old, but once they got back into their nightly working attire I was reminded of a bad Halloween costume.

I initially gloated over my housing coup, thinking how much money I would save because I was willing to commute to work. That was before I discovered that the Bangkok Public Transportation System was designed by lunatics, built by sadists, and held together by betel nut and rubber bands. My first morning's commute to my school started at 7am – that allowed me an hour and a half to arrive on time. On paper, it looked simple. Walk out to the mouth of my soi, wait for the Number 27 bus, get off on Silom Road, catch one of those truncated buses that used to be painted bright green, and gracefully descend outside the very doorsteps of my school.

I started out towards the mouth of the soi, only to be met by a pack of howling canines. Luckily, as the weather looked dicey, I was carrying an umbrella, so I scattered the mongrels with several deft swipes of my bumpershoot. (Nowadays I carry a bottle of water – dousing doubtful dogs as they approach always sends them flying.) I made a mental note to engage a motorcycle taxi to take me out to the main street from now on. I arrived at the mouth of my soi in time to see the Number 27 bus receding in the distance. No matter, I assured myself – another one would be along soon.

An hour later I was fuming as I uneasily rolled on the balls of my tired feet. I couldn't be late for school, so I flagged down a taxi and wound up paying 150 baht to get to work on time.

The next morning I got a motorcycle taxi out to the main road in plenty of time for the bus. Piece of cake, really. I hopped on, paid my fare, and sat back smugly to enjoy the rich tapestry of life that presents itself to one gazing out the window while riding an unairconditioned bus in Bangkok. I highly recommend it to both amateur and professional photographers. The only weevil in the rice was that we never reached Silom Road – we stopped at the Victory Monument – which, I was to find out, acts as a kind of maelstrom for all buses, mini vans, motorcycle taxis, and everything else on wheels that charges a fare. If you stay on any bus in Bangkok long enough you will eventually find it drawn to the Victory Monument – even if it was supposed to go to Chiang Mai! In a panic, I flagged down a taxi and made it to school on time by the skin of my teeth.

My bus map and my neighbors assured me it was the Number 27 bus I wanted to catch. So I tried it several more days, with the same result. I was learning that hard lesson of commuter life – trust no map or printed schedule, for they are fairy tales at best, devil-spawned traps for the unwary at worst.

I went to Plan B. This involved taking a taxi to the Municipal Boat Pier in Nonthaburi, taking the express boat down to the Taksin Bridge, and then getting on the skytrain for several stops, and then walking about a half mile to the school. This was more time-consuming and expensive, and I occasionally got soaked when filthy waves would overflow the delicate craft as it charged down the river, dodging rice barges and fishing trawlers. At the end of the month, toting up my commuter bill, I realized I could have gotten a swanky place in Bangkok, probably right next door to my school, for less than I was spending on commuting. Plus I could sleep past 5am.

I eventually did trade my homey Nonthaburi abode for something closer to work – at which time, as is according to Torkildson's Law – my teaching contract was not renewed and I had to seek another school. Which I found rather quickly . . . out in Nonthaburi. But now I was locked into a one year lease on my apartment in Bangkok.

My advice to aspiring ESL teachers here in Thailand when it comes to accommodations?

BUY A TENT.

Glenn Beck

2011-03-07T04:55:00.001-06:00

There appears to be a fortune in the making for the fellow

who sees conspiracies most everywhere and loves to bellow.

If you convince another that their world is near the end,

All they carry in their purse to you they'll gladly lend.

But as the boy who warned of wolves when none were to be seen,

Glenn Beck may find his credibility is awful lean.

He ought to take a lesson from the Dutch boy in the story

Who stuck his finger in a leak and did not seek for glory.

The world may sing the praises of those who are prophet-like,

But God remembers mostly those who plug a humble dike.

Hang 'em High

2011-03-02T13:47:00.001-06:00

What with budgets drying up

Like some palm-fringed oasis,

The cops want people helping

On a voluntary basis.

Saddle up, and bring a rope,

Shine your badge til glossy;

You will then be ready

To go join the local posse.

I might volunteer myself,

But not to wield the fetter;

I'd rather help a criminal –

The hours are much better!

COLD CUTS

2011-02-19T17:47:00.001-06:00

BUDGET CUTS: AN ALLEGORY.

The doctor said "I have bad news for you this very day."

"There's lots of fat and waste on you that I must cut away."

"It's for your good and must be done; your friends have all agreed"

"that cutting you back down to size would be a noble deed."

"You have two feet when one will do; two eyes – that's one too many."

"You do not need to see so well when you can save a penny."

"I'll take an ear and pare your tongue down to a tiny slip"

"and most of your saliva glands are just a wasteful drip."

"One arm can be as good as two" the kindly doctor said.

"And then to finish up the job we'll just remove your head!"

I told the doc I would not be so sliced to make amends.

If there's cutting to be done please start upon my friends!

F L U X U S

2011-02-03T18:12:00.001-06:00

See the sandwich.

Taste the soup.

Smell your breath.

Now here's the scoop:

You're a piece of art, my friend.

Do not deny, do not pretend.

Now you need to make a statement;

How about "I really hate mint"?

Push the envelope, Cezanne ;

With a zither mow your lawn.

Take a urinal to church.

Build a house with just fried perch.

Take a page from Dr. Suess;

Milk a bat and ride a moose.

Do not cry "I think he plucks us!"

{something else here besides Fluxus}

My Uncle

2011-01-24T04:02:00.001-06:00

I had an uncle, very fine, who never worked a day.

When he was out of funds he simply had his little say:

"I could have spent my hours in an office or a mine,

but that would not be suitable for one of my great line.

Instead I give you people leave to hand me little tips,

So I can have a snifter and go on my little trips.

I'm sure you see I can't be left out in the cold to die;

You'd never live the shame down, it would give you a black eye."

And so he never wanted for the finer things – what's more,

We treated him like royalty and not a mooching bore.

So let this be a lesson when the government comes calling;

Give it cheerfully and you will find it much less galling.

snow

2011-01-21T21:06:00.001-06:00

What can you say about snow

That hasn't already been said?

It's white and it's soft and it's cold,

And it slides down your neck from your head.

Some shovel it, breaking their backs,

But others, who take life at ease,

Wait for the sun to come out,

While shushing around on their skis.

Children think it is immense;

A gift from the gray clouds above.

Adults that must drive through it think

It shows God has not any love.

What I think of snow is just this:

A smart man will, sooner or later,

Do what I've already done

And move down to the Equator.

State Unions

2011-01-04T00:16:00.001-06:00

King Canute knew long ago that you cannot command

The waves to roll back from their tidal wedding with the sand.

But modern legislatures seem to think that they can bid

The unions to crawl in a can and then screw on a lid.

State governments are hoping with a fervor quite distinct

That all their workers will become, first quiet, then extinct.

But I think that instead of such preposterous intrigue

We make each woman, man and child a member of the league –

If all of us are hired by the state where we reside,

It's 'all aboard' the gravy train for such a jolly ride!

No more unemployment and with pensions like Fort Knox,

We'll sit around all day and nosh on bagels and pink lox.

To pay for this we'll have to sell a few things – just a tidge –

Let's see if China wants to buy a 'bargain' Brooklyn Bridge . . .

Beebe, Arkansas

2011-01-03T18:10:00.001-06:00

You must be an awful dweeb

If you have not heard of Beebe,

Arkansas, where redwings fell

Recently – twas quite pell mell!

As to why the birds collapsed,

It's been whispered (even gasped)

That a UFO, in fun,

Did commit a hit and run.

But as a bird, would you not slay

Yourself instead of in Beebe stay?

GOP

2011-01-02T20:24:00.001-06:00

O Republicans are chipper

As they think of Jack the Ripper

While they're tearing guts out of our health care plan.

And they often stop to snigger

As they start to pull the trigger

On most anything of which they're not a fan.

They think congress is a forum

Where a fire-breathing quorum

Can delete humanitarian decrees,

And give tax cuts to the wealthy

Without having to be stealthy –

And who cares if homeless people starve & freeze?

O the party of Abe Lincoln

Is all action and no thinkin' –

They've got Sarah Palin as their guru grand.

They're against whatever's current

As they gaze down from their turrent

And pour boiling oil upon this wretched land.

St. George, Utah

2011-01-01T22:05:00.001-06:00

High school clubs for chess and art

Do not make folks fall apart –

But when clubs begin to stray

Into subjects that are "gay"'

School boards tend to close their minds,

Lock the door and pull the blinds.

Goes to show our high schools lack

Forward-thinking – they look back,

And like ancient Pharisees

Put new thoughts in the deep freeze.

Going there must be just like

Attending school in the Third Reich.

Timbuktu

2011-01-01T20:09:00.001-06:00

O Timbuktu has never been

A city you are too safe in.

Taurog, Songhay, even French,

All have felt the bitter clench

Of this city, now in Mali –

Former site of slaves and folly,

Gold and salt, and scholars too –

Such was once great Timbuktu!

Berbers came to study there

In their tents of gray goat hair.

Now the place is overrun

With the fatwah and the gun.

Tourists shun it, since kidnappers

Proliferate like candy wrappers.

And Al Qaeda has the power

To discourage happy hour.

Out amidst the burning sand,

Twill never be a Disneyland.

Polyglot and violence prone;

It's not a place to be alone.

Timbuktu, I give thee pity –

You're almost as bad as New York City.

Killer

2010-12-31T20:34:00.001-06:00

I had a cap gun as a child;

It made me feel extremely wild.

I stalked the wily redskin, or

Played cops-n-robbers door to door

With my friends, all of them boys,

Who too had guns that were just toys.

With G.I. Joes and John Wayne flicks

We boys got military kicks

And felt that we could beat the world –

I think our tiny brains were curled.

I think that we might have evolved

Thinking bullets always solved

Ev'ry problem and detour.

A beating was a sovereign cure.

Lynching bad guys meant that life

Would soon be free from any strife.

So, while Eisenhower ruled,

We were violently schooled.

The world would now have fewer brawls

If we had played with Barbie dolls.

The Far Fellows. Chapter Two.

2010-12-30T14:09:00.001-06:00

THE FAR FELLOWS

CHAPTER TWO

Many days later, Dogger Scatt took the United Council Land's ship, The Puddle Bat, out of the Quidmaiden harbor, and set her racing in the breeze through the open sea.

Scatt was a last minute addition to the crew, after Doctor Pennocker was hastily relieved of his duties as chief navigator; the Doctor was perfectly sound in his theory of navigation, but when it came to turning the large oaken wheel in the right direction at the right time he was woefully inadequate. His first attempt had sent the prow of the ship into a bagfish barge, slicing that vessel in half like an overripe cheese, depositing the bagfish – an excellent fertilizer if buried deep enough – into the waters of the bay, where they emitted a stink that, as Pothouse Annie described the scene later to her friends, "made the young maidens swoom and caused infanks to turn somersaults."

Dogger Scat had seen the spectacle from shore, where he was lounging and swapping stories with other idled sailors; he quickly rowed a scow out to the stricken barge, to make sure no one was drowning -- no one was -- and then rowed straight on to The Puddle Bat, which was now headed for some elderly warehouses on the docks that would not have stood the shock of a direct collision. Once close enough Scatt grabbed a trailing line to climb up on deck. He sprinted up to the pilot deck to eject the befuddled Doctor; in a few moments, with a few deft turns of the wheel, he had gentled the ship and brought her to a stop. When everyone crowded round to thank him he verbally beat them off with a volley of nautical curses. He did it for his mates, not for thanks or coppers – he was blasted if he'd let a pack of land crawlers smash about and wreck everything in sight in his home port.

That's when Captain Strangeheart decided to offer him the Chief Navigator's job. In reply, Scatt had knocked the Captain down with one blow of his fist. The Captain quickly regained his feet and replied in kind, knocking Scatt across the pilot deck into the scuppers. Scatt groggily got to his feet and waited to be sent to the blinkers, but instead the Captain had walked over to him, offered him his hand, told him they were quits, and again offered him the job of Chief Navigator. This time Dogger Scatt accepted.

Now, as the ship rose and fell with the water's swell, a crooked smile broke out on his seamed face. These land crawlers were about to experience their first 'seasoning'. It was a familiar drama that Scatt relished to the full whenever he chanced to see it performed. This time around he had some outstanding subjects to observe. The first one to succumb was the fat merchant; he had been strangely silent since the ship had encountered its first boisterous wave. Up until then the girthy one had been roaring and bawling suggestions and observations to everyone. Now he looked stricken. His eyes tried to focus on the distant horizon, always a serious mistake, as he slowly made his way over to the side where he struggled mightily to delay catastrophe. He mopped his brow with a fancy kerchief as large as a flag, and didn't seem to care when the wind snatched it out of his feeble grasp. He closed his eyes, he puckered his lips, he pulled savagely on his earlobes until Scatt thought they might actually rip off. But eventually the rolling and churning of the ship became too much. Master Merdin Jernagin gave up the ghost of his past several meals to the grateful fish below.

Scatt did not see that great trull of a red-headed woman, since she chose to stay below, but he certainly could hear her melodramatic bleats as she assured one and all that her final time had come – her guts were being turned inside out.

Scatt prudently put on his oiled rain hat, as he spied members of the crew up in the rigging begin to double over and gag.

Even the Captain could not completely master his innards. Scatt watched him standing at the prow of the ship, looking pale and distracted. But he never lost his mess ticket.

The only other one completely unaffected besides himself was that piddle-headed Doctor. He came strolling up to Scatt at the wheel, enjoying a large wedge of pungent smithy cheese.

"A robust view, is it not?" asked the Doctor genially. The Doctor was not one for holding grudges.

"Tis a view common to those that see it often. You may not care for it so much when it turns wicked and the burning bolts fall upon us." Scatt wished the Doctor would go away; the smell of the smithy cheese made his stomach sour.

"Ah yes, I have heard tell of those burning wonders. They arise in the blackest storms out at sea and scorch the very masts, do they not?"

"Aye. Most belike they will touch you, and none too gently, if ye chance to stand near any piece of metal. They cherish metal above all things in a storm."

"I see." The Doctor removed some parchment from under his tunic and laboriously wrote down Scatt's comments as the ship pitched in all directions.

"Is it raining right now, Scatt? I seem to be misted upon yet the skies are perfectly clear" asked the Doctor innocently.

Scatt's severe features could not withstand the crude humor of the situation; his face relaxed as he gave a chuffing laugh: "That be the remains of this morning's meat and drink, Doctor, volunteered by yon men above."

The Doctor squinted up at the billowing sails and the agonized men trying to tend them. He shook his head in pity but did not run off with a disgusted shout, as Scatt had been hoping.

"Ah yes, poor wretches. The whole ship seems afflicted with this sudden grippe of the guts – all except you, Dogger Scatt, and I. What do you call this affliction? Can it be mortal?" Doctor Pennocker took a precociously large bite out of his smithy cheese.

"We that sails upon the sea calls it 'the seasoning'. Most as come on the big water are somewhat taken with it at first, but then they find in a few days they can hold on to their supper. Tis never a fatal thing, like the red fever or the eye pest."

"I thought as much. I have partaken of many strange meals during my years of research throughout the Council Lands and no doubt my gut is now as disciplined as a soldier standing at attention. It dwindles at nothing. And I assume the seasoning no longer has any effect on a weathered old salted burr nut like yourself?"

"True enough." Scatt wished the Doctor would take his smithy cheese to the Black Pit. His guts were now grinding in a way they hadn't done since he was a younker first put to sea as a cabin boy.

"I think a strand or two of pickled kelp would go well with this cheese – your sea-faring food is amazing sharp. I may pick up a stone or two during this voyage, if I continue to eat so hearty!"

Scatt turned on the Doctor savagely.

"Aye – ye may stuff your gob until ye burst, but the day soon comes when you'll have naught to eat but your own sorry bones! Soon you'll sail off the charts into the watery wilderness that no man comes back from – no man but has eaten his own shipmates to keep the life in himself! Where is your damn cheese then?"

Scatt grabbed the remainder of the Doctor's cheese and hurled it over the side.

The Doctor was momentarily perturbed, but Scatt's sudden burst of passion intrigued him.

"Master Scatt, how is it you sailors are so certain that nothing but destruction awaits you beyond the sight of our shores?"

"The sea don't like us upon her, Doctor. That's a truth you can wipe your arse with. Her fish eat you or poison you; her weather blows your head off or boils your wits away; her waves can tumble over this piece of flimsy and sink us before you can say 'Hopper John'! The moment you let down your caution the sea is at your throat, ready to send you and your mates to the bottom for a muddy sleep. It don't pay to stay on her any longer than you must. She's like many an old woman – she don't like overlong visits and knows how to make you feel unwelcome."

Doctor Pennocker was silent a moment, marveling at Scatt's burst of rude eloquence.

"And yet you spend most of your life upon the bosom of this treacherous trull, don't you? Why, Scatt?"

Scatt stared out at the weaving and bobbing horizon a long time before answering.

"She don't like us, mind, but sometimes she don't care if we help ourselves to the good things she has in her keeping. The lobbers and scoopers for eating; the white shell stones and yellow floaties that can make a man rich in a day. Sometimes the fog lifts and you see the air colored in a way that makes you drunk for the rest of your life." Scatt stopped, embarrassed at opening up to a stranger and a land crawler. He continued in a gruffer tone: "We're bred up to the sea by our folk. They start us when we don't know no better and can't think any better than a coony bird. Then when we're old enough to know the raw side of things it's too late – sailors don't change their colors. The sea gets us and keeps us – that's all there is to it."

The Doctor scribbled away. He stopped abruptly when an unholy shriek issued from below; Pothouse Annie was begging someone, anyone, to come slash her gullet to put her out of her misery.

"Dogger Scatt – is there no way to ease the suffering of these poor mortal?"

"Get the cook to give you some sliding oak leaves and a lump of sugared durndal. Crush the leaves under her nose and make her breathe deep; have her suck on the lump of sugared durndal. She won't squall so much after that."

"Thank you, sir. Knowledge flows from you like a fountain!" The Doctor set off briskly on his mission of relief.

Dogger Scatt grimly watched the blackening horizon, where the sun was obscured by dark purple clouds. It was likely a storm, with burning bolts for the Doctor's benefit, would be upon them by nightfall. Behind him lay the relative safety of the land; before him were the perils, both known and unknown, of the sea. It would be several more turns of the sand wheel before his wheelmate, Bill, took over the steering. Twelve on, twelve off; those were the standard shifts of a sailor on board a regular ship. But this barmy tub was no regular ship, of that Dogger Scatt was positive.

How many of us, he wondered, will get back to shore from this addled trip?

In the event, the storm passed to the north of The Puddle Bat. The Doctor's skilled ministrations soon had everyone afflicted with 'the seasoning' up and about, so the ship soon appeared to be a busy, happy place, instead of the floating coffin most of those on board thought of it at first. Only cookie, the cook, was never to be seen with a smile or friendly nod to anyone on board. His left arm was somewhat withered and weak; everyone thought that was reason enough for his sour face, so they left him alone – wrapped in his ragged cloak he came out on deck at night to stare morosely out into the sea. Dogger Scatt thought him a jinx. Lieutenant Markh, who had hurriedly brought him on board from Quidmaiden after their regular army cook deserted for the chance to go North and prospect for gemstones, regretted his choice and frankly told Captain Strangeheart that he, Markh, had made a mistake in replacing the cook.

"I doubt a simple cook can make nor mar our journey, no matter how skronky he may be" replied the Captain mildly. "As long as he cooks well and doesn't stint on the dried fruit tarts I'm all for leaving him stew in his own rancid juices."

"Very well, sir" replied Markh, who was much taller than the Captain, had jug ears, and thought the very earth revolved around Strangeheart. "But that Scatt fellow is calling him a skulking jinx and wants to throw him overboard."

"Not unless he's got another cook up his tattered sleeve!" said the Captain lightly, as he rose from his desk to dismiss the Lieutenant. It was time to have a talk with Scatt, but not about cooks and jinxes. They were now three days out of Quidmaiden and the Captain wanted to know what, if anything, Scatt could tell him about the dangers ahead. The water-bred soldiers he had on the ship were all doing their duties without fuss or delay; Lieutenant Markh made sure of that. Jernigan and Pothouse Annie, completely recovered, were constantly squabbling about their cargo, flinging imprecations about as if they were sowing seeds on a farm – much to the amusement of the crew. He, Strangeheart, actually had very little to do, and he began to wonder at his own willfulness in insisting on joining the voyage. He'd left a good man in charge of the armies back home, but still – was this the responsible act of a responsible leader? More like a man bored with his duties seeking solace in travel rather than wine.

The Captain steadied himself before attempting the ladder that led up to the pilot's deck. Two of his men had already run afoul of the sudden caprices of the ship and been sent to the Doctor with cracked skulls. Fortunate for all that the Doctor was, as he had said himself, a skilled medico; the two were resting comfortably in hammocks, their heads smeared with yellow ointment that had already brought down their swelling and internal bleeding amazingly.

Dogger Scatt saw the Captain approaching and spat out his wad of barnacle beard – a common weed that was chewed by many a sailor on long voyages to keep awake and alert. It made the teeth brown and brittle, and apt to fall out one at a time as the years sailed on; after a lifetime of chewing barnacle beard during the long watches of the night, Dogger Scatt's smile, when he chose to display it, was not a thing of beauty.

Scatt nodded to the Captain as he came to stand by his right side. The Captain had learned early on that those at the wheel did not appreciate anyone directly in front of them, nor on their left hand side. Stand to the right of me, if you must plague me with your presence, Scatt had growled at the Captain the first time he went to the wheel to speak to him.

"We are coursing along well – is such clear, breezy weather a common thing this time of year, Master Scatt?" asked the Captain.

"Aye" was all Scatt would vouchsafe.

Had it been one of his own soldiers, the Captain knew, he could expect detailed and direct answers to any question he cared to ask; but Scatt was a different breed of animal – he cared for nothing except the ship. The Captain was unused to prying information out of someone; he felt as if he were interrogating a spy rather than seeking friendly advice from a colleague. He decided that directness and brevity would accomplish more than posturing or pleading.

"Master Scatt, I want your full opinion on how we are to manage the dangers ahead. You must have some idea of what they will be."

"Aye. What I know of danger I'll tell ye straight off – but it's the things I never have seen nor heard tell of that will kack us right enough."

"No man can be blamed for what he's not been taught or told, Scatt."

"Ye've been told this is a daft trip – heading out from the land to find these Far Fellows. But heed ye take none!"

"And yet you, too, have signed on for the duration of this cruise. What is it you hope to gain from it, besides a muddy grave?"

"You've paid me well and promised me more at the end of the journey. A sailor needs nothing more to sign on and stay the course. It's a muddy hole for me, sooner or later, whether I'm rich or poor – and I'd rather go to it with some coppers in my pocket."

"Well, then, suppose you earn your coppers by telling me first of the dangers you know of as we continue away from the land. I would like to be somewhat prepared for whatever Dame Fortune may fling at us."

Dogger Scatt scanned the horizon, and suddenly froze. He pointed a bony finger for the Captain to follow.

"There! That may be our death awaiting us now."

The Captain saw a smudge of white on the horizon.

"What is it, Scatt?"

"Tis another ship, and this far from the land there are only two kinds to be found. There are those who have been blown away from the land by a storm . . ."

"Yea . . .?"

" . . . and those that be pirates waiting for the poor storm-beaten wrecks that they might catch 'em and keep 'em!"

"Can we outrace them at all?"

"That, my Captain, is what we must do if we want to keep our heads where they won't roll off the deck. Tell that ear-flapping beanpole of yours to have the men make all sail!"

"Lieutenant Markh!"

The Lieutenant sped up to the Captain.

"Have the men make all sail – that yonder ship means to do us mischief and we must leave her behind."

"Yes sir!
The lieutenant went bawling after the men, who soon had every piece of sail rigged and taut with the wind.

But the white smudge gradually obtained a larger, clearer, shape and form. She was obviously much faster in the water than The Puddle Bat.

The Captain had stayed at Dogger Scatt's side.

"Your men can sail, but can they fight?" asked Dogger.

"Yes, they've been trained to take life in defense of their own."

"Then by the sea gods have them ready to kill or be killed! I'm turning this hulk into yon pirate ship to shake their black souls – they think we're just another lamb to shear. But these lambkins have sharp teeth!" Dogger drew a short dagger out of the sash around his waist and calmly put it in his mouth.

Lieutenant Markh had heard everything; he had been standing just a few feet behind the Captain. The Captain gave him a nod and said "No fire wax until we must perish otherwise."

The lieutenant sped off to arm and place the men.

They threw down the hatches and had them locked quickly – to the muffled complaints of Master Jernigan and Mistress Annie, who demanded to know what in the cold blue moon was happening.

The pirate ship was now running parallel to The Puddle Bat. With a ragged growl Scatt spun the large oaken wheel, causing the ship to crash into the pirate ship and sending its men off their feet onto the deck, and in a few cases, right over the side into the choppy water.

The Captain and Lieutenant stood side by side in front of their men. After the first shock of the ships colliding they raised their swords and the Captain called: "Here's glory for you, lads! Lay them down to the Black Pit!"

A dozen soldiers followed the Captain and Lieutenant onto the pirate ship, but then the fickle waves separated the two ships and no more could come over.

Dogger Scatt took the blade out of his mouth to shout at the remaining soldiers: "The hooks, the hooks, ye poxed-up land crawlers! Use the hooks!"

The soldiers quickly grabbed the grappling hooks and threw them into the pirate ship's hold. They began hauling the pirate ship closer. While a few soldiers held the grappling ropes the rest leaped over the rails onto the pirate ship.

It was quiet, desperate work. No one was shouting or screaming; there was only the occasional grunt as a man was run through with a blade or slit across the throat with a keen dagger. No quarter was asked; none given. The wind whistled through the rigging and the 'thunk' of the waves hitting the wooden sides of the ships could be distinctly heard.

The pirates were not used to such disciplined and remorseless resistance; they were slowly forced to the back of their ship. They never spared anyone on any ship they captured; they expected the same treatment at the hands of these fellows, so they began jumping overboard. A few fought on and were cut down. At last there was only one pirate left standing; a tall, willowy figure swathed in gaudy silken colors.

"Hold!" cried the Captain. "It's a woman!"

The Captain's chivalry was rewarded with an accurately hurled dagger that buried itself in his right shoulder. Giving a short laugh the woman pirate grabbed a rope and began climbing to the top of the main mast. Once there she grabbed another line and swung out over The Puddle Bat, where her luck deserted her – the rope snapped and she hurtled to the deck of The Puddle Bat. Bleeding from her ears and mouth, she tried to rise but collapsed like a rag doll and lay still.

The pirate ship was secured and the Captain was carried back to The Puddle Bat. Skilled hands tightly bound his shoulder to stanch the flow of blood.

Supported by Lieutenant Markh, the Captain walked over to view the fallen woman pirate.

"Does she still have breath?" he wondered aloud.

"Makes no never mind" growled Scatt. "Over the side with her, Bill."

"Stay a moment!" the Captain said to Bill, whose addiction to barnacle beard was so strong and long-lasting that he hadn't a tooth left in his head. With a hollow grin, Bill backed off.

"Have the men open the portals, will you Lieutenant? And have Doctor Pennocker brought to see if this creature may yet have life. Ease me down here, Markh, for the urge to rest is upon me . . . " The Captain faded away into a deep sleep.

"Hurry, Doctor! Our Captain is in dire need!" shouted the Lieutenant as the Doctor came scuttling along, followed by Jernigan and Pothouse Annie.

"Ah, a perfectly clean thrust" said the Doctor a moment later, with great satisfaction. "I doubt there will be any trouble with this outside of a small scar."

"You're dead wrong, cuddy! Your fine captain is due for a muddy grave by tonight." In surprise everyone looked at the fallen woman pirate, who had propped herself part-way up on her elbows and was staring at them with a smoldering, unfocused hatred. Her auburn hair was matted with dried blood and bloody mucous dripped from her nose.

"Take the wheel, Bill" said Dogger Scatt, who then strode over to the woman pirate to grab her hair and pull her head back.

"Poison on the blade, is it? Ye spawn of the Black Pit – what kind of poison, pox-wife?" he asked savagely.

"He'll sleep and he'll die and ye can stuff your gob for all I care" she replied in the same savage tone.

"I'll have your maggot heart out if ye don't speak!" Scatt put the tip of his dagger to her throat.

"A sleeping poison, no doubt." The Doctor appeared to be talking to himself, but everyone was listening. Scatt let go of the woman pirate, who collapsed back on the deck with a low groan.

"That might be oil of greenwort or powdered oak leaf gall. Fast acting, if he is to perish this very night. Whatever the deadly path, I believe a strong bolt to the heart can save him." The Doctor turned to Scatt and asked for a great lump of barnacle beard. He then asked Pothouse Annie for a glass of her special reserve, which she had prudently placed on board in a large lacquered barrel.

He mixed the two items together until the mixture foamed and turned bright green. He then spoon fed the Captain a third of the glass, at which point Captain Strangeheart gasped and sat up, coughing and spitting.

"Tell me, Captain" asked the Doctor with ghoulish eagerness, "what is approaching death like? Did you see anyone, hear anything?"

"Death is the dream of life" the Captain said in an odd, strangled voice. He then vomited and came back to his senses.

"The woman pirate, she lives?" he demanded.

"We suppose so" said the Lieutenant. "She it was told us there was poison on the blade of the dagger she so prettily presented to you."

"A gifting I could do without! Doctor, prithee attend to her. I must needs rest."

Lieutenant Markh helped the Captain to his cabin. Doctor Pennocker handed the still bubbling glass of green liquid to Bill and bent his attention to the woman pirate. Bill, nothing daunted, was about to drink the rest of the glass when Mistress Annie intervened.

"Drink at your peril, you hollow-headed piece of shipwreck! If it don't kill you outright I'm charging you ten coppers for the drink."

"Ten bright ones? Tosh! Imps take your boggled drink! I'd rather have tar and vinegar." He sullenly gave the glass back to Mistress Annie. She promptly tossed it off without a wink.

"A most refreshink combination, Doctor. Twill make a great addition at my tavern."

"A close run thing with those pirates, wouldn't you say Mast Scatt?" asked Merdin Jernigan.

"Close enough. Where there's one viper there's bound to be more" replied Scatt, back at the wheel and gazing keenly ahead.

Jernigan swelled with indignation.

"When next we meet such riff-raff I'll have them begging for mercy in no time. Give me a sharp blade in one hand and a battle axe in the other and I can hold mine own against a score of rascals! I'm minded of the time I was up in the North land for gemstones and was set upon by a troupe of snow bears . . ."

"And verily you fought them off with a tankard of ale in one hand and shank of boiled beeve in the other" interrupted Annie impudently. "You're as likely to play hero as you are to grow wings and fly to the stars!"

"I've not lost my cunning when it comes to bashing noggins, despite your fleers and japes! Hand me yon posten, Mistress Annie."

Annie handed him the large wooden pin. Jernigan proceeded to spin it and juggle it like a jester. The demonstration was impressive up until Jernigan lost control of the whirling wooden pin and allowed it to make contact with his nose in a most disconcerting manner. The Doctor had to interrupt his ministrations to the woman pirate in order to put some yellow ointment on Master Jernigan's throbbing nose.

Pothouse Annie's great, raucous, laughter boomed through the ship.

"I can see you would massacree any pirates foolish enough to engage arms with you, Master Jernigan" she wheezed through tears of mirth – "they'd all die of the laughter!"

"Tis a pity the woman pirate hath not another poison dagger to wield . . . " murmured Jernigan to himself. Further discourse was brought to a halt by several large, fluffy gray birds landing on the deck, and then more trying to land on Jernigan, Pothouse Annie, Dogger Scatt, and Bill.

"Go 'way, you vagabondages!" cried Annie, brushing them off her head.

"Bill, get the boom out! Tis coony birds sure as I'm weaned and nappered!" shouted Scatt. Bill ran for the boom – a long, stout stick – which he used to batter the coony birds into the water.

"This wench is sure to die if we can't keep your coony birds off of her face" the Doctor said irritably. The fluffy gray birds were settling everywhere on the ship; huge flocks were zeroing in on every available inch of footing. The birds were molting; a blizzard of dirty gray feathers flew into eyes, mouths, and ears.

"What in the name of the Seven Sleepers are these creatures about?" cried Jernigan above the noise of the bird's high-pitched crooning.

"Coony birds – ye can't count the number. They fly out beyond the land then look for someplace to rest – they can sink a ship." Scatt said no more – the birds piled on the oaken wheel and on Scatt until he appeared buried alive.

The crew waved their arms and brandished postens, knocking a few birds into the water – but for every bird they threw off the boat another half dozen came on board and fluttered to a stop on top of one of their own.

Bill pulled the Doctor onto his feet before the weight of the coony birds could smother him.

"Pull up that woman pirate, Bill" gasped the Doctor. Bill obliged, and was rewarded by a resounding clout on the side of his head.

"Leave me be, scupper-pants!" she snarled at him. Bill was tempted to use the boom to sweep her away with the coony birds, but the restored venom in her eye made him think better of it. The number and depth of coony birds was such that she couldn't do more than take one or two steps in any direction.

"We need a loud noise to drive them off the ship" shouted the Doctor above the manic crooning of the preening birds. "Bill, fetch up some of the Captain's dragon powder and a lit candle lanthorn!"

Bill gave the boom to another member of the crew and practically dived into the nearest hatch. He was back a moment later with a small wooden casket and a burning lanthorn.

The Doctor, now wearing a suit of coony birds, pantomimed for Bill to lay the casket on top of the ring bolt by Bill's side and apply the candle's flame directly to the keyhole of the casket – he was about to instruct Bill by dumb show to cover his face but it was too late – there was a tremendous flash of flame and thunder and the coony birds rose up in the air in alarm. Poor Bill was also sent up in the air, but, since he had no wings to speak of, he was obliged to come back down and bounce once or twice off the hard wooden deck.

An ornithologist might have predicted how the coony birds would react to such a sudden insult – as they rose they showered the crew and the boat with excrement until it dripped from everything like rotten whipped cream.

The birds made a hasty circle around The Puddle Bat and then began to settle onto the pirate ship. Her skeleton crew of soldiers scrambled off just in time – a few moments later, as the coony birds continued to pile on the ship by the thousands, there was an ominous groan of timbers, both masts collapsed, and the pirate ship turned on its side and sank, taking most of the coony birds with it. The birds made no attempt to save themselves and were devoured in the water by horn snakes. Several pirates that had managed to hide themselves in their ship were seen struggling in the water, but not for long. Horn snakes circled them several times before lunging at them with glistening fangs. Their screams were short.

"Better man the pumps, Bill" said Dogger Scatt wearily. "Afore this shitewash hardens like quickstone."

"Me hair's gone!" cried Bill in bitter surprise. "That dratted dragon powder blew me hair clean away, Dogger!" It was true; under the thin layer of coony bird excrement, Bill, who had once proudly sported a pigtail that reached halfway down his back, was now as bald as a gemstone – even his eyebrows were gone. For the first time in his entire adult life Bill felt like crying in his mother's lap.

Lieutenant Markh reported all this activity to Captain Strangeheart as the Captain lay in his cabin bunk. The lieutenant had not had time to clean himself and looked like a carnival mummer, covered in bird droppings and feathers. The Captain was hard put to keep a grave demeanor the whole time.

"Give the men an extra gill of ale with their evening meal today – they've certainly earned it. And make sure the deck and rigging . . . and, ah, clothing, are all washed and cleaned thoroughly – what a ghastly smell you bring in here, Lieutenant!"

"Sorry, sir!"

"Couldn't be helped, I know. And the woman pirate?"

"The Doctor brought her around, sir. She's as vicious as a viper, sir. Shall I put her in irons, or have her thrown overboard? She gave our Bill a stout blow to the head just now and she'll do the same to anyone else who comes near."

"Doubtless she'll have to be removed at some point – we can't feed and guard against a plaguey villainess every waking moment. Bind her and bring her down here to me; she may prove useful in navigating these waters, since pirates seem much bolder about leaving land behind than our own sailors."

"Yes, sir."

It took two stout soldiers, plus the Lieutenant, to subdue the female pirate with ropes and bring her before the Captain. Even at that, one of the soldiers was so worried about how deep she had bit through his thumb that he asked permission to go see the Doctor about it. The Captain waved him off and eyed the female pirate coldly. She returned his gaze, at first with hostility, and then with heedless mockery.

"Your wicked shipmates have all now met their unhallowed deaths; can you give me any good reason why you should not join them?" he asked her directly.

For reply she spit at him. Lieutenant Markh raised his hand to slap her but the Captain shook his head.

"If the woman must needs clear her throat, so be it."

Suddenly the stench in the room became overpowering to the Captain.

"Lieutenant – go and bathe at once, and have someone bring a bucket of salt water down here to douse this woman – she reeks more than you!"

"Yes, sir."

The woman pirate writhed in her ropes like a real viper but eventually a bucket of salt water was poured over her cursing head. The filthy water ran down the angled floor out of the room.

"Better" said the Captain. "Look at me, woman."

She refused to do so until the one remaining soldier, a huge, hulking fellow, physically twisted her head between his hands until she was staring at Strangeheart.

"Your life isn't worth the peel of an onion to me, not unless you can give me some knowledge of what lays ahead for us and how long it might take us to reach our destination."

"And if I gives ye what ye wants, what of me, cuddy? Fine wine and a cushion by your side, is it?"

"You'll face trial when we get back – but you'll stay alive at least until then."

The two adversaries glared at each other. The Captain had no more to say to her. The woman pirate knew he would have her thrown off the ship if she wouldn't be useful. His eyes told her so – and they told her more, more than she wanted to see. They were eyes that brought back the bad times, the very bad times, of her girlhood.

"Ye sail past the Pillar and Post sometime afore sunset; take heed you go widdershins around it, man, lest you run up on the shoals" she said at last, grudgingly.

"Pillar and Post? What is that, some kind of sea mountain?" asked the Captain.

"Aye. Tall and ancient-like. Ye may want to go in close, but ye dasn't."

"Very well. Take her up to Scatt and if her information holds true she may live to be invited to her own hanging."

The burly soldier grabbed the woman pirate roughly to lead her out, but she gave a swift backwards kick to his shin and then body-slammed him to the floor. Her ropes were coming loose as she made a leap for the Captain. He rolled away on his good shoulder and bludgeoned the back of her head with his fist. She reached for his throat and they fell off the bed, locked in each other's deadly, determined embrace. Bright specks of light filled the Captain's head as he heard himself wheezing for air. Then the Lieutenant and the burly soldier had her pulled off, ripping her colorful dress into shreds. The Lieutenant helped Strangeheart back into his bunk bed.

"Glad you could rejoin the festivities, Markh" panted the Captain.

"That vixen can't be trusted, sir. The horn snakes are still following the ship, and they're still hungry . . ."

The Captain was not listening to Markh, but was staring at the woman pirate's bare right shoulder. It bore a tattoo of a heart surrounded by a halo of fire.

"Where . . . where did you get that?" asked the Captain in a suddenly quiet and shaky voice.

The woman flung her head back and said nothing.

"Bring her closer to me, Markh."

"Yes, sir. But beware – she may spit poison!"

The Captain reached up and touched the woman pirate's shoulder blade, where the tattoo was.

"How long have you had that?" asked the Captain in a voice that troubled the Lieutenant.

"I grew up with it. I've got no others, so don't go lookin'."

In response the Captain slowly unbuttoned his leather tunic and pushed down his linen shirt to reveal his own right shoulder. There was the identical tattoo of a rose surrounded by a halo of fire.

"Woman, what do they call you?" asked the Captain.

"I'm called Strangeheart on the water, Bonnie Sally on land."

"My father gave me this tattoo when I was but ten – he disappeared soon afterwards." The Captain's voice was sluggish, as if he'd been drugged or was reporting a dream after just wakening. "His name was – "

"—Henders Strangeheart LaMerit" finished the woman pirate quietly. "He was my father as well, and gave this unto me on my twelfth birthday, just before mother died and he went away."

The Captain delicately touched his neck – this woman had a powerful, and deadly, grip. She was an unrepentant pirate. And she was apparently his sister.

Winter Parking

2010-12-28T22:35:00.001-06:00

When the plows have done their duty

And the snow has lost its beauty,

As it turns to slush and looks a dirty gray,

There's a scramble oh so brutal,

Which for many is quite futile,

Looking for a spot to stow their car away.

If the parking in the summer

Seems to be a lousy bummer,

In the winter it is surely ten times worse,

As the elements conspire

To destroy chassis and tire,

And you pay for parking with a shrinking purse.

Now the streets are lined with snow dunes,

And we are not humming show tunes,

As we try to find a spot that's close to home

That we do not have to pay for –

Even cynics now will pray for

Anything that doesn't leave them far to roam.

Once a spot has been bespoken

Should another make it broken

By inserting their own vehicle instead,

There will be a feud so brutal

That when Gabriel blows his tootle

Those involved will tell each other to 'drop dead.'

There's no parking in the city

That is not . . . well, it's a pity

That I cannot use the language that I'd like;

But the moral here is certain

That more people should be flirtin'

With the bus or train or even motorbike!

Coming Home

2010-12-28T20:03:00.001-06:00

An empty room inside a house is pretty rare today;

Children, pets, and Uncle John could use that place to stay.

How many generations can a house hold till it cracks?

How many people does it take to cause some heart attacks?

You should be self-supporting – that is bred into our bones;

But what to do when ev'ry bank recalls their mortgage loans?

And ev'ry job you've ever had dries up like grandpa's prunes,

And all that talk of opportunity now lies in ruins?

We ought to build more flop houses and poor farms, seems to me,

To spare our flesh & bone such 'coming home' indignity.

Wait . . .

2010-12-28T01:16:00.001-06:00

We are born to wait in line;

That's why feet become so flat

As we stand while marking time,

Growing older, growing fat.

Oh, the young think that this world

Spins to meet their ev'ry need,

And that ev'ryone's concerned

To keep life right up to speed.

But inertia's always been

More our birthright certainly,

Or perhaps the way things are

It is backwards that we flee.

They also serve who stand & wait,

Is Milton's motto grand --

Whether as angelic hosts

Or just at Disneyland.

The Sardine

2010-12-27T21:28:00.001-06:00

Avoid the canned sardine, my son,

When going on a date.

Otherwise you'll find yourself

Far from first base (or plate).

They're chockfull of omega-3

But health is no concern

When a kiss or two, or more,

Is what you'd like to earn.

The pilchard and the anchovy

Should also be avoided

(otherwise your breath will almost

Surely be destroyded!)