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MOBY COCK


woodworker
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                                                                                MOBY COCK

Call me Ish Shlemiel.  I had recently washed up on shore floating upon a wooden casket that some crazed Injun had made for himself.  When matters got pretty rough we both fought to take possession of this life preserving coffin, but he was stubborn and unyielding.  I had at first tried to convince him to take the lower birth inside, but he then tried to shove me off as I poked him in his eye and cast him adrift amid the gurgling cries of "YaButs YaButs!.. save me, save me! 

So of the more than eighty two crewmen that set sail upon this creaking old boat, the SS Camcaps, suffice it to say that I alone had survived to tell ye this tale. 

I was in a state of bewilderment, having never been to sea before.  And whereas at first I was comforted and befriended by this strange Injun fellow, I was also keenly weary of him as well, for he was like no other man that I had ever seen before.  From the moment that I first spied him I thought, this is one weird ass guy that I was standing next to.  As he had no doubt in some drunken daze pierced his entire body with a burning stick causing these little welts or bumps to form, and leaving his skin to resemble that of a plucked chicken.   

Yet bit by bit I grew accustomed to all these little bumps and to his indiscernible utterances, to where I would nod at some point to who knows what all he had just said, and to which he too would nod his head back up and down very excitedly while all the while smiling at me.  My other thoughts at this point were, I hope he's not gay.

The captain, who went by the name of A. Hab, and who's actual name was Albert Haberdasher, who incidentally came from a long line of haberdashers in his family, had come a long, long way from sewing on buttons and patching together sleeves. 

For he was once a privateer, forced to turn pirate when the warring states between England and Spain both sheathed their swords and decided to honor their peace agreements.  He was heard to mutter "Drats!" when he first read the document.  So at this point he was no longer under the queens stewardship or protection.

But as his crew looked on after this disheartening news, he then looked up at them and said with a crooked smile,.. "That's alright matties,.. Just more plunder for us to keep for ourselves."  Which brought on a resounding round of cheers and some grog from them all till the night had come and gone. 

He was also, behind his back, known as Old Stumpy, which he didn't take to kindly, but was a reference to his new peg leg.

He had lost his leg in a skirmish with the queens navy by a cannon blast.  And while being sutured on the operating table was heard to say with a stick grit in his teeth.  "Damn that bitch!  I not only gave her some of the best years of me life, but she took me leg too!" 

But then he came to America and turned to hunting whales, for their was a good many of them back then, and it made for a good harvest and a fair amount of coinage as well.  Same fucked up crew, but a different, safer, line of work. 

I had learned all this whilst throwing the bones with my Injun friend, which was similar to a game of dice, and overhearing a shipmate tell another Newbie what I had just mentioned before.

I took a strong liking to this shipmate who's name was Foamy.  He was called that because it was said that his mouth would often foam up and he would become very ill-tempered just before an impending storm would brew up..  So as with any good weatherman, he was indispensable to the captain and to us all. 

The old waterlogged war ship had been modified to adapt to this new line of work far better than the old crew was.  However, the captain still insisted on having two of his favorite canons remain there, for 'old times sake', as he once put it.  He was a nostalgic fuck for a fact! 

However, amid all these wild stories I had yet to see this captain as it has been more than three weeks since we had set sail.    For all I knew, he didn't even exist.  As so many myths tend to go.

But then on a balmy night just at the break of dawn while I laid there on the ships deck still hung over and just listening and watching my empty whisky bottle roll back and forth, to and fro, from one side of the listing ship to the other which happened to be supporting me back.  He sprung open these two louvered doors and jumped out at us.  It was very strange, like a human cuckoo come to announce the time with his clatter.

It was truly startling, and frankly alarming.  Then without saying one word he quickly turned and went back inside.

My thoughts at this point was,.. 'Perhaps he forgot something'.    But then, once again he sprung forth.

And this time he spoke with his fist clenched in the air he said rather angrily,.. "THERE'S A BIG WHITE DICK OUT THAR, AND I AIM TO HAVE IT!"  "NOW WHO IS WITH ME ON THIS?" 

No one uttered a word, as we all looked around at each other.  It was one of those 'What the Fuck' moments.

But then I heard one of the older crewmembers say just loud enough for all but he to hear,.. "Oh, not that shit all over again!"   

Now I was deeply troubled, and vexed in my thoughts.  Is this going to be like I had read once with one of those disgusting and perverted emperors of Rome?  And I going to be trapped here on this tiny ship with a mad man?    But just then as the captain gaged that he had lost his audience momentarily, he pivoted himself upon his wooden peg leg, and kicked over a small cask of Spanish Doubloons, saying "Here ye,.. there's still some left over from our past campaigns, and this is fer ye all, if ye should spot this aquatic cock floating around out thar."  "It's white I telt ye,.. white as the driven snow, with these blackish spots from where a canon shot had grazed upon it in me haste some time ago."  "So keep a sharp eye out fer it, and there will be gold and grog all around."

End of part one.

 

 

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Part two of this exciting saga.

Well I knew that things were going to turn to shit real quick now.  As there came a cry from the look out up in the crows nest.  "THAR SHE BLOWS." 

And while the gulls all made these dizzying swirling circles just above, there came protruding from out of the water a big bulbous white head of a cock, and it just sort of stared at us for a while.  But I could sense  that this angry cock had a good sense of smell and a memory of that past canon blast.

I was standing stock still while all others were scurrying about excitedly.  And none less than Old A. Hab.

He was shouting out orders from the top deck.  "Train that canon and wait for me command!"  "Alright men, let er have it!"   

Just then came a loud report and a ringing in me ears, as the canon ball hit that mountain of a cock right at the waters crest.    And at first there was this pink spray that shot up and away from that huge pud.  But then it squirted out of it's blow hole all of this white murky substance.  And as it sprayed up over the decks we were a-washed in it's peculiar stickiness. 

Some got it worse than others, and it was not a pleasant thing to encounter.  But it almost seemed as if the Injun was happy somehow and was doing some kind of weird dance over this.

Then I looked back again as this angry aquatic dick was heading right at our starboard side fast.  And I heard the captain yell out, "Brace yerselfs matties"  And then with a huge thud, the once proud ship, Camcaps was hit hard, and began listing over severely, almost capsizing.

There was panic all around at this point.  But the captain in his furry grabbed a harpoon, and from the look out mast swung himself out on a rope and hurled himself right on this angry cock.  And He shouted out something, as he got himself tangled up between the rope and this whale of a dick.  And yet we were taking on so much water now that the ship was clearly doomed. 

At that point I went about looking for anything that I could pry off that would still float.  And then I remembered and raced to this coffin that the Injun had made.  We both held on to it fast, and refused to let go, though it was clear it wasn't able to sustain us both.  Meanwhile, all the screaming had died away, and there was just me now on top this oblong box.

It was an arduous journey back I can tell ye, from the constant rocking from the waves, I had a hell of a time trying to stay on.  With all of these mother fucking sharks following close behind.

And when I finally made it to shore, I only had enough strength left to crawl up the sandy beach like some old hermit crab.  But then I was discovered and nursed back to recovery by some beautiful Tahitian girl.

And that is the end of the story.

I know, it was a real stinker this one.  But if you would have known my condition when first approaching this, you would no doubt better understand. 

I should have just left it all in my fucking head, it was funnier that way.

                                                                               

                               

                                                   

                                                                       

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I had just re-read this ill-fated adventure, and have come to the conclusion, given my inebriated state, that it wasn't really all that bad of a tale after all. 

I mean, sure, there were some grammatical errors brought on by the liquor.  And yes I could have tarried on for a bit longer before rushing to it's inevitable conclusion, which is more the pity, since there was still plenty of meat left just simmering away in this old stew pot just waiting to be served up to ye all. 

But all in all, it wasn't as bad as I first had thought.  In fact, with a little polishing up here and there, it could have been made to glistened and shine like a bright new penny in the new days sun. 

I'll just have to learn temperance in me drinking when it comes to this type of mind bending shit,.. that's all.  :o

 

 

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aye aye me hearty.

I took time out from plundering and pillaging to peruse this parchment.

As a pegleg pirate partying precariously on the poopdeck in my purple pantalooms.

I ponder how many perverted peadophiles pay pennance.

Keep the stories short or you will have theses longwinded scurvy ridden shipmates

walking the plank

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I appreciate your critique about keeping the stories short.  But 'ART', even in it's most lurid forms must not be compromised. 

I mean we're not just talking about a little outing in the family boat on lake Pleasant you know.

This was about a whale of a dick, with scars, and some bad memories!  And one should never be rushed when dealing with such things.   

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