Yo ho ho to all the wayfareres whose drunken or otherwise disastrous perusals of the internets may have left them washed ashore in the salty brine of the crockpot today! 'Tis talk like a pirate day, and my affinity for both pirates and theme days led me to change the tone of the crockpot accordingly. 'Tis also the anniversary of the birth of one of the sauciest wenches on the seven seas, the dastardly Doc Robins, a loyal crockpot follower, and the originator of the only crockpot merchandise in existence! Twas the dread Doc Robins herself who sent me a crocker stalker tshirt, complete with celery stalks, so well does that scallywag know my love of hardtack is only surpassed by my love of puns, and so efficient is her memory of things like birthdays, anniversaries, and rap lyrics. Ah and as true as the beard of Poseidon, may it be said there is no wench more worthy of being birthed on this day, as she was born with the spirit of piracy in her bones and took to impaling others on the sword of her sharp wit as easy as a dolphin to a tuna net. ARRRRrrrr indeed, her eye patch is nearly as famous as her booty. Many are the days I walk the weathered, structurally unsound boards of the high decks of the shopping center that used to house Doc Robins and me in one office, watching the horizon for any hint of her flags flying in the crafts in the sea of cars in the parking lot. Her colors now feature a devil, teeth bared and fork readied. Tis true, Doc Robins has land-locked herself in the desert of academia found in Arizona. While the won't give a degree to Obama, they will to her, and I can personally say her competence would lend well to fixing the economy. A wiz with spreadsheets like the hand of Old Ruddy Randy with the twine for macrame. From all of yer mates in the crockpot, happy birrrrrrrthday matey!!!
Tis true, crocker faithful, that a football team of mine that I may spend hours rowdily cheering forward in their pillaging of the end zones of opponents was felled today, by a pack of scurvy dogs. Like an outcropping of rocks below the surface, our bow was busted by the huskies! Arrrrr-ghhh. I kept some hope alive that we might find safe harbor with the friendly assault of the Red Raiders of Texas Tech, but arrrrrr twas also not to be. Hooked by horns, it is possible, in Texas, to be land Lubbocked. But tonight it was once again Austin City that provided the limits to pirate ambition. YARR! Twere that it were possible to not give a crap about college football, but nay, this would be as idle a way to pass the fall as the leaves on the palm trees changing not a hint of a hue. All that's left to do, next week hope for positive yarrrrdage. Yar!!!
Now I find myself watching the movie Sweet Home Alabama, the commercial air time for which has been nearrrrrly exclusively purchased by companies selling dog food and cat food to lonely pet owners home on Saturday night! Yar, tis heartening to me that me stuffed pup Marrrrrty is by my side, loyal ole' sea salt that he is, and he only asks for occasional lodging and endless nips of the ship's rum. Yarrr the delights of piracy! Watching this movie again (tis true, I'm a sap of a scallywag apparently for Skynard-titled cinema) I find it remarrrrkable that this movie's Southern town is very close to the fairytale Southern town in the movie Big Fish. YARrrrrr twas a fish tale I followed then too! Oh the mystic South versus the actual South, and the amazement I find that despite knowing the exaggeration, I still am taken in by Hollywood Southern accents. Let's say it's Ethan Embry and call it a draaaaaaw....l.
Well mateys, let me pass along humble wishes for a wonderful talk like a pirate day from my crockpot to yarrrrrrrrs.
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