“But regard! T’ seasons past, the diesel whales were slow,” I cried. But with dismissive snort Bloodmonkey lectured on the calendrical conundrum and the Crossedmanday celebrated by the Right Believers this very silent night. “Agreed,” I wailed, “But look, the Fat Red Star hangs limpid and malevolent in yon sky, while this rockship, this Kurmatum al Hurd of the Pirate Sheep, sticks limpet like to the Hard Earth!” To this Bloodmonkey responded with a nod, a smile and a demonstration of his black-devil hand, sans hook.
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11 Comments
all this water makes me wanna go pee
Water? Whatter?
HAAAAAAAAAR, YAAAAAR, been to the sea foo’ twenty years now…
do pirates eat lunch?
Pirates eat people! That is then called a big dinner, not lunch!
They also have tea parties. And candies.
Dickmann’s
As long those are brown Dickmanns and not white, everything is OK!
Big?
Middle sized, half baked!
Sort of centre-leftist-rightist?
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