The Barbary Butcher

As Pitbull composed haikus out of pennants, we watched the next rogue swagger onboard. The wiry cur leered at me, boasting how he had conquered the brethren of the Caribbean, armed with but a rusty cutlass and a blunderbuss. Over said cutlass did he then leer at the other hearties, bragging of how he had slain the skeletal warriors of the Amazon, the dog-apes of Allansia and the ape-dogs of Khul. Finally, from his pocket he drew forth a small mirror into which he leered at himself until the urge abated, some five minutes later.

Taking a moment, he then surveyed the crew, snorted “Jackals!” and returned to his looking-glass.

The interminable self-satisfied sneering was eventually broken by the thundering of the man’s belly. Pursuant to this din, he pulled a chicken leg from his breeches, removed its claws with his teeth and began to gnaw, declining all offers to cook the pullet first.

Following this impromptu repast, the heathen expressed some wind of contentment and explained his vision for the future. Key points included teaching toddlers to skin cats, painting all fish black, and changing the number eight to “biscuit”. Such claptrap was best kept as far below deck as possible.


Master of the Bilge
Francisco the Kitten Eater
Likes: harpoons
Dislikes: buskers