Talk Like a Pirate Day
A film from the vault.
Be Careful What You Wish For
Authors were asked to write scenes based on the following prompt:
Miss Snark was thrilled to find herself trapped in an elevator with her favorite actor, George Clooney, but the strict method actor refuses, even under such dire circumstances, to abandon the "pirate" persona from his current film, O Laddie, Whar Be Thee? After two hours, the "act" has begun to wear thin. Even Miss Snark has her limits.
1. It shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. Ever since she quit blogging, the world presented itself with uncompromising clarity.
“Arrrr! It cannot beeee!”
Miss Snark gritted her teeth. The way he rolled his eyes and paused before saying something was beyond irritating. You could actually see the wheels turning in this nitwit’s head. He flipped his cell phone shut. “Did ye say somethin’ durrrin’ meeee…cellularrrrr…er, convarrrrsationnnn?”
“I said, you’re a nitwit.”
He gazed upward, mouth open. After a few seconds, he spoke again. “Arrrrr ye callin’ me the Pirate Lorrrrd of Nitwitarrrrreeeee?”
Miss Snark swung her Prada handbag. Cap’n Clooney fell back, smacked his head on the wall, and slid to the floor. Blood dribbled from his nose, down his clean-shaven cheek. He even bleeds like a wuss, she thought. What was I thinking?
The elevator suddenly lurched and began descending. When it stopped, the doors opened only a few inches, but a pair of incredibly sexy hands appeared and pried them apart. The elevator was still two feet above the third floor, and standing in the doorway with an outstretched hand, was a really gorgeous man. He had a thin goatee and long dark hair underneath a black fedora. “This way, Miss.”
Miss Snark let him help her down. He peeked inside the elevator, saw the buffoon laid out on the floor, and glanced back at her over his shoulder. Then he flashed a wicked grin and pressed the down button.
An overweight man in coveralls waddled up to her rescuer and shook his hand. “Thanks for your help, Mr. Depp.”
“Anytime, mate.”
Without thinking, Miss Snark wrapped her arm around his waist. He raised an eyebrow and smiled. Now this is a real pirate, she thought as they strolled down the hallway. I wonder if rum comes in pails, too?
--blogless_troll
2. "Aye wench, my cutlass do not rise an' salute ye like the bowsprit on a dandy's prow." George said to the woman with moss-green eyes and yapping poodle.
"I love you George, and all you do is act like you're grogged to the gunwales. Your middy stinks of dead cuttlefish, too." She bawled into an overworked hanky, never noticing a light blinking their imminent rescue.
"Don't be cryin' wench. I be wantin' an heir from ye, a stout, ruddy lad. Methinks ye might be me prize schooner."
"Take me to, I think yuns call it, Viola's garden."
"I be mountin' your gangway. Ye wouldn't have me use that squiffy cur Damon, would ye?"
"Scupper that scurvy dog. Sail ho on this bounty!" Miss Snark raised her skirts, revealing scarlet-red silk lace.
"Ye're saucy . . . festoons 'n all. Kiss the gunner's daughter and I'll plow thy seas."
A chime sounded. The elevator door opened. Matt, dressed as a nerdy repairman with no chin, grinned. George whipped out his cutlass.
"Ye scurvy dog, ye be wantin' to plunder me booty. I'll keelhaul ye, scurvy cur!" George yelled. Matt bolted. George pursued. Killer Yapp ran after both.
"Lost him again." The elevator doors slid shut as Miss Snark sank into an ocean of despair.
--Dave
3. “C’mere, me buxom beauty.”
“You, you . . . filthy landlubber! Take your hands off me!”
“Avast! Ye've another man? Who be he? That scurvy dog. I’ll crush his skull. Be it Capt’n Boner? Or that other rat, Evil Egghead?”
It’s you! You nitwit! I’m in love with you. But not this phony pirate you’re pretending to be.”
“Ah, me ol’ self. Tossed 'im overboard quicker'n I down me grog.”
“Grog?”
“Me liquor, lassie.”
“I could use some grog.”
“Aye, lassie. Here ye are.”
“Thanks. Hey, I said, take your hands off me!”
“But I have to get me pillagin’ n rapin’ in somehow . . . More grog?”
“When is this elevator going to open?”
I've a better portal fer ye. Arr. I can open it now. Arr.”
“That’s . . . disgusting.”
“It’s not the size o' the boat. It’s the motion o' the ocean. Arr.”
“No, George. It IS the size of the boat.”
--takoda
4. Lacking a scabbard, George put his sword back in his pants. Muttering something that sounded like “heart o’gold, arrgh! buns of steel,” he slicked back his love-soaked hair and cocked an eyebrow at the Gin Flask from which the Snark was currently imbibing.
“ I thank ye fer a nip? I be needing to slacke my other thirst ”
Miss Snark adjusted her stockings and pouted contentedly at the pirate George. She was basking in her own private afterglow, but she handed over the flask.
“Where’s your rum, anyway?”
“Aye Missy Snark, ’tis a mournful tale. Me crew, y' see, me cabin boys and the cook (the pagan fool) struck mutiny, aye they set me afloat with nary crumb nor keg.
As the piney fresh gin soughed softly through the branches of her central nervous system, she found she could tune out the annoying cadence of his pirate-speak while floating in a hazy nap-like bubble. The bubble abruptly burst when she felt the stiffness thrust into her hands. Blinking twice, Miss Snark was amazed to see a 400-page Manuscript.
“Arrgh, Missy, could you be looking through me pages here? Damned if Satan himself, down the way o’ the Southern Cross, didn’t tell me you were the best agent in the two one two.”
--ME
5. If you say “Aargh” one more time, I’m gonna knee you in the nuts, buckle your swash and stick my stiletto up your butt, she thought, smiling sweetly at the man who used to be her favorite fantasy. And I’m not your f#@king wench!
She looked down at Killer Yapp, passed out on the floor. He knew within five minutes this would not be a pleasant party. He stole her flask, downed it quickly and now snored peacefully. Grandmother Snark’s favorite Parcheesi partner was nearing Davey Jones locker!
Oh dog, he was speaking again. “Miss Snark, now that you’ve heard all my lines from the dramatic, the semi-dramatic and the drunken pirate fight scenes, would you like to help me practice for my romantic encounter with the heroine?”
Now you're talking, thought Miss Snark. “Why yes, George, I’d be happy to help.”
“Okay,” he said. “You’re about the right age to be Griselda’s mother. In this scene you’ve caught us kissing and are forbidding her to see me anymore.”
“Yapp, you’re dead," Miss Snark said. "Note to self: Buy a bigger flask!"
--Anti-Wife
6. "Look, George, it's been two hours. Obviously they're not trying to rescue us. We could be trapped here for days."
"Aaarrrrrgh! Right ye be, Missy."
"We could die here. I could be the last woman you ever see . . . touch . . . kiss . . . "
"Aye, me last wench. 'Tis--"
"Listen, bucko, could you do me a favor till we get outta here, and can the pirate lingo?"
"Aaaarrrrrrgh! Nay, ne'er, matey." He adjusted his eye patch.
"You realize you're ruining ten years of delicious fantasies, don't you?"
"Avast, ye smarmy--"
"Fuck. I knew I should have gone with Hugh Grant or EE. Look, George, someone's gotta climb through that door in the ceiling and figure out how to get help."
"Aaaaarrrrrrrrghhhh! Ye can't lift me that thar high, I be too heavy for the likes o' ye. I'll 'ave to lift thee."
"Fine. Whatever. Maybe I'll get lucky and there'll be someone in the elevator shaft who speaks English."
George squatted below the escape hatch. "Stand on me shoulders. That's it . . . Aaaaarrrrrrrgh!"
"What?"
"Yer stilettos! They're diggin into me shoul--"
"Wimp. Dog, did I ever have you figured wrong."
"Can ye open th' hatch?" He looked up. "Whoa!"
"Now what?"
"Missy, I've plundered me share o' booty in me day, but that's the prettiest booty I e'er did lay me eyes on."
Miss Snark dropped to the floor and threw her arms around George. "Why Cap'n," she said. "Be that a cutlass in yer breeches, or arrrgh ye just 'appy t' see me?"
-EE
Another Film from the Vault.
Miss Snark was thrilled to find herself trapped in an elevator with her favorite actor, George Clooney, but the strict method actor refuses, even under such dire circumstances, to abandon the "pirate" persona from his current film, O Laddie, Whar Be Thee? After two hours, the "act" has begun to wear thin. Even Miss Snark has her limits.
1. It shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. Ever since she quit blogging, the world presented itself with uncompromising clarity.
“Arrrr! It cannot beeee!”
Miss Snark gritted her teeth. The way he rolled his eyes and paused before saying something was beyond irritating. You could actually see the wheels turning in this nitwit’s head. He flipped his cell phone shut. “Did ye say somethin’ durrrin’ meeee…cellularrrrr…er, convarrrrsationnnn?”
“I said, you’re a nitwit.”
He gazed upward, mouth open. After a few seconds, he spoke again. “Arrrrr ye callin’ me the Pirate Lorrrrd of Nitwitarrrrreeeee?”
Miss Snark swung her Prada handbag. Cap’n Clooney fell back, smacked his head on the wall, and slid to the floor. Blood dribbled from his nose, down his clean-shaven cheek. He even bleeds like a wuss, she thought. What was I thinking?
The elevator suddenly lurched and began descending. When it stopped, the doors opened only a few inches, but a pair of incredibly sexy hands appeared and pried them apart. The elevator was still two feet above the third floor, and standing in the doorway with an outstretched hand, was a really gorgeous man. He had a thin goatee and long dark hair underneath a black fedora. “This way, Miss.”
Miss Snark let him help her down. He peeked inside the elevator, saw the buffoon laid out on the floor, and glanced back at her over his shoulder. Then he flashed a wicked grin and pressed the down button.
An overweight man in coveralls waddled up to her rescuer and shook his hand. “Thanks for your help, Mr. Depp.”
“Anytime, mate.”
Without thinking, Miss Snark wrapped her arm around his waist. He raised an eyebrow and smiled. Now this is a real pirate, she thought as they strolled down the hallway. I wonder if rum comes in pails, too?
--blogless_troll
2. "Aye wench, my cutlass do not rise an' salute ye like the bowsprit on a dandy's prow." George said to the woman with moss-green eyes and yapping poodle.
"I love you George, and all you do is act like you're grogged to the gunwales. Your middy stinks of dead cuttlefish, too." She bawled into an overworked hanky, never noticing a light blinking their imminent rescue.
"Don't be cryin' wench. I be wantin' an heir from ye, a stout, ruddy lad. Methinks ye might be me prize schooner."
"Take me to, I think yuns call it, Viola's garden."
"I be mountin' your gangway. Ye wouldn't have me use that squiffy cur Damon, would ye?"
"Scupper that scurvy dog. Sail ho on this bounty!" Miss Snark raised her skirts, revealing scarlet-red silk lace.
"Ye're saucy . . . festoons 'n all. Kiss the gunner's daughter and I'll plow thy seas."
A chime sounded. The elevator door opened. Matt, dressed as a nerdy repairman with no chin, grinned. George whipped out his cutlass.
"Ye scurvy dog, ye be wantin' to plunder me booty. I'll keelhaul ye, scurvy cur!" George yelled. Matt bolted. George pursued. Killer Yapp ran after both.
"Lost him again." The elevator doors slid shut as Miss Snark sank into an ocean of despair.
--Dave
3. “C’mere, me buxom beauty.”
“You, you . . . filthy landlubber! Take your hands off me!”
“Avast! Ye've another man? Who be he? That scurvy dog. I’ll crush his skull. Be it Capt’n Boner? Or that other rat, Evil Egghead?”
It’s you! You nitwit! I’m in love with you. But not this phony pirate you’re pretending to be.”
“Ah, me ol’ self. Tossed 'im overboard quicker'n I down me grog.”
“Grog?”
“Me liquor, lassie.”
“I could use some grog.”
“Aye, lassie. Here ye are.”
“Thanks. Hey, I said, take your hands off me!”
“But I have to get me pillagin’ n rapin’ in somehow . . . More grog?”
“When is this elevator going to open?”
I've a better portal fer ye. Arr. I can open it now. Arr.”
“That’s . . . disgusting.”
“It’s not the size o' the boat. It’s the motion o' the ocean. Arr.”
“No, George. It IS the size of the boat.”
--takoda
4. Lacking a scabbard, George put his sword back in his pants. Muttering something that sounded like “heart o’gold, arrgh! buns of steel,” he slicked back his love-soaked hair and cocked an eyebrow at the Gin Flask from which the Snark was currently imbibing.
“ I thank ye fer a nip? I be needing to slacke my other thirst ”
Miss Snark adjusted her stockings and pouted contentedly at the pirate George. She was basking in her own private afterglow, but she handed over the flask.
“Where’s your rum, anyway?”
“Aye Missy Snark, ’tis a mournful tale. Me crew, y' see, me cabin boys and the cook (the pagan fool) struck mutiny, aye they set me afloat with nary crumb nor keg.
As the piney fresh gin soughed softly through the branches of her central nervous system, she found she could tune out the annoying cadence of his pirate-speak while floating in a hazy nap-like bubble. The bubble abruptly burst when she felt the stiffness thrust into her hands. Blinking twice, Miss Snark was amazed to see a 400-page Manuscript.
“Arrgh, Missy, could you be looking through me pages here? Damned if Satan himself, down the way o’ the Southern Cross, didn’t tell me you were the best agent in the two one two.”
--ME
5. If you say “Aargh” one more time, I’m gonna knee you in the nuts, buckle your swash and stick my stiletto up your butt, she thought, smiling sweetly at the man who used to be her favorite fantasy. And I’m not your f#@king wench!
She looked down at Killer Yapp, passed out on the floor. He knew within five minutes this would not be a pleasant party. He stole her flask, downed it quickly and now snored peacefully. Grandmother Snark’s favorite Parcheesi partner was nearing Davey Jones locker!
Oh dog, he was speaking again. “Miss Snark, now that you’ve heard all my lines from the dramatic, the semi-dramatic and the drunken pirate fight scenes, would you like to help me practice for my romantic encounter with the heroine?”
Now you're talking, thought Miss Snark. “Why yes, George, I’d be happy to help.”
“Okay,” he said. “You’re about the right age to be Griselda’s mother. In this scene you’ve caught us kissing and are forbidding her to see me anymore.”
“Yapp, you’re dead," Miss Snark said. "Note to self: Buy a bigger flask!"
--Anti-Wife
6. "Look, George, it's been two hours. Obviously they're not trying to rescue us. We could be trapped here for days."
"Aaarrrrrgh! Right ye be, Missy."
"We could die here. I could be the last woman you ever see . . . touch . . . kiss . . . "
"Aye, me last wench. 'Tis--"
"Listen, bucko, could you do me a favor till we get outta here, and can the pirate lingo?"
"Aaaarrrrrrgh! Nay, ne'er, matey." He adjusted his eye patch.
"You realize you're ruining ten years of delicious fantasies, don't you?"
"Avast, ye smarmy--"
"Fuck. I knew I should have gone with Hugh Grant or EE. Look, George, someone's gotta climb through that door in the ceiling and figure out how to get help."
"Aaaaarrrrrrrrghhhh! Ye can't lift me that thar high, I be too heavy for the likes o' ye. I'll 'ave to lift thee."
"Fine. Whatever. Maybe I'll get lucky and there'll be someone in the elevator shaft who speaks English."
George squatted below the escape hatch. "Stand on me shoulders. That's it . . . Aaaaarrrrrrrgh!"
"What?"
"Yer stilettos! They're diggin into me shoul--"
"Wimp. Dog, did I ever have you figured wrong."
"Can ye open th' hatch?" He looked up. "Whoa!"
"Now what?"
"Missy, I've plundered me share o' booty in me day, but that's the prettiest booty I e'er did lay me eyes on."
Miss Snark dropped to the floor and threw her arms around George. "Why Cap'n," she said. "Be that a cutlass in yer breeches, or arrrgh ye just 'appy t' see me?"
-EE
Another Film from the Vault.
3 comments:
Am I the only one who misses the writing assignments?
One possibility as to why EE isn't offering more writing assignments is that he may be feeling there is a general lack of participation by the minions. He may be thinking, "Why should I offer writing assignments to those who won't offer examples of their possibly-crappy-but-just-as-possibly-exceptional writing in the first place?" Just a thought, but maybe we minions could submit samples of our darling trunk novels a chapter at a time. By "trunk novels," I mean completed stories that we've finally come to realize will never go anywhere without help. Help is something EE freely and generously offers, by the way. It would be like a writing exercise we've all already done. Just name the chapters individually so that they will have their own identity. Show me yours and I'll show you mine.
Or rewrites in progress? That's another possibility.
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