The One What Bitsed Me Washboard's Leg Off
(An obscure foot note in the anals of maritime jugbandalry)
From the telling of Reggie Miles
Avast ye landlubbers! Ar! That's right I was once known as Master Gadget Master, ar, but that was a
long time ago, ar, and me mem'ry's not what it used t' be. But near as I can ar'member, it was on the
sixth of September, of '78, that I was shanghaied by the Band Of Buzzards to serve aboard The Ship
O' Fools. A surlier ensemble of unscrupulous, seafarin', scurvy scoundrels and assorted scraggly
street scum I ain't seen the likes of afore or since. Ar!
Let me give ya a sense of what was transpirin' by settin' the stage and intoducin' the crew's
compliment. Let's see, first, at center stage, there was the skipper, Scarecrow The Insignificant,
scratchin' and sawin' on his instrument of choice as if possessed by some supernatural spirit
receivin' intravenous injections of LSD. By his side, as always, was Cosmic Gypsy Sea Dog, a
sneering, snarling, savagely astute visionary of surgically precise six strings strummin', nothing
to sneeze at. Next was Artis The Spoonman, boasting the singular most astounding display of
utensil manipulation ever witnessed, a not to be missed, amazingly seismic percussion spectacle,
to be sure. And last, but certainly not least, Space Bass, well versed in the classics, a symphonic
treasure chest, studied and schooled in the production of lush tones and lustrous tunes, sure
to please the most discriminatin' palates. Ar! Why, they could seduce mister Jolly Roger's skull
an' crossed bones clean off it's staff, slick as you please, and set 'im to shimmyin' the skeleton
shuffle right b'fore yer eyes.Ar!
Well, we set sail for the seven seas after sayin' so long, see ya later, sayonara and asta la vista
to several scantly clad, scrumptiously sultry Seattle seaport scullery wenches. There was Sally,
ar, the one what sold sea shells by the seashore and then there was Sue. Ar! There's many a
sleepless night I spent stuck up in the crows' nest designin' amusin' fantasies with, er, oh, uh,
excuse me, I digress. Where was I?
Ah yes, I was sittin' neath the mizzenmast, on the poop deck, takin' a' sabbatical. Scrub 'er down
and polish 'er brass straightaway. Those were me orders. Instead, I was staring at the surrealistic
horizon, observin' the deceptively subtle serenity that surrounded us and in silence reminiscin' me
unserendipitous situation, whilst scrapin' the barnacles loose from me skivvies.
The sea was stifling, breezeless and sweltering. I was a sweaty skuzzy mess and I stank with a
sailor's stench full of testosterone and lust. Ar! Ya see, we was stuck on the outskirts of the
prevailin' winds in some sort o' slack water. Our progress was at a stand still. It was just then
that I happened to glance at me timepiece. It showed seven minutes past seven o'clock. When,
suddenly, the skies were sullied by a stratocumulus cloud mass that positioned itself above us.
Moments later we was socked in by a mist as dense as spoiled soup that obscured our sight.
Soon the surf started to seethe with swells that surged and slammed our vessel broadside,
tossin' us like a Caesar's salad. I scanned the scene with me one good eye seekin' some semblance
of the sun to steer by but it was scuttled by a surprise souwester'that swiftly swept a swirling
squall across our stern. Explosions of thunder crashed and flashing shafts of lighting streaked
from the heavens striking and shattering our spar to pieces in a shower of sparks. A dozen or
so sea spouts spired and spun about us. Our compass was useless against the tempest.
Suspectin' the worst, I swallowed a slug o' some swill that 'ad most certainly sat stagnant for
weeks. The sickly taste made me nauseous but somehow seemed to ease my distress so I swigged
several more snorts. (BELCH!) It had a desensitizin' bouquet, disturbingly complex, robust yet
somewhat sophisticated, reminiscent of soiled hosiery and perspiration of pedal extremities,
hence the name, Chateau Le Stinky Socks. "They should've served this with last night's sushi
smorgasbord," I soliloquized in a whispered voice.
A stinging soaking splash spilled over me. We started listing leeward. Awash in the waves I lashed
myself to the mast. I squirmed and shook in the shadow of that storm, seized by a spasm that
that sent shivers up me timbers! I stood steadfast and stouthearted against the shock and
screeching shriek of the fiercely gusting winds, secretly scrutinizing our situation and surmised,
"Saints preserve us, ah shucks, we're screwed!"
In an instant the sea sagged. A second later it sank. Then it split asunder! A steady stream of
sulfurous stench, scalding steam and sooty smoke rose from the chasm, as if the sharp sword
of the sea devil Satan himself had sliced it. The scar separated the surface off the starboard
side of the ship.
That's when I saw something that would surely strike scaredness into the soul of any swab
what gazed upon it. Well sir, ya says, spit it out. What sort o' slimy sea serpent was it, famished
sea lion, smelly salmon, snooty expectant sturgeon? 'Twasn't so simple. I saw the saltiest
scourge to ever swim the south sound estuaries, that scrawny scaly scallywag, that skinny,
scheming, scrappy scamp, that shrimp of a shark, the chartreuse seahorse, Seasick Cecil!
This wasn't just any seahorse. He was a monster, six, seven centimeters, if he was an inch.
He had this single saber tooth, a razor sharp incisor, that he'd slash you with. (SNAP! SNAP!
SNAP!) Erstwhile he'd simultaneously spew sludge like secretions and cast scurrilous
aspersions in numerous directions. Besides, he had these steely eyes. All glazed over and
glossy they was, from starvation. Ar! Well he wasn't stoppin' by to pay us a social visit.
As he sprang from the maelstrom I could see his icy jaws was salivatin' to be masticatin'
somebody and ol' Master Gadget Master's skin 'n' bones was his selected savory suppertime
snack.
I was certain a scuffle with the accursed beast would spell casualties or at least disastrously
catastrophic destruction. The fearless crew scattered, scurryin' like rats from a sinkin' scow.
Whilst a stupendous struggle of fist o' cuffs ensued betwixt that nemesis and me. The scrimmage
sapped me stamina and me strength was slippin' fast. All seemed lost! Exhausted, I summoned
every once I could muster to search for a shillelagh or spear for defense. I spotted some ship
stores strewn and sloshing about, cans of stewed and strained spinach in a sweet syrup sauce.
I skipped several like stones at the cantankerous creature's cavernous esophagus. "How's that
taste ya stunted stubborn stubby stump?," I stuttered. The sarcastic taunts only succeeded
in increasing his ferocity. I snatched me washboard to use as a shield against his malicious assent.
He smashed me cymbal in a symbolic show of force. Then he started scratchin' the washboard
usin' his tiny spiny fins as brushes. The stylishly systematic synchronicity of his syncopation was
hypnotizin'. Entranced, yet incensed, I screamed, "Skullduggery, that's the last straw showoff!"
I extended me washboard's telescopin' support, stabbin' and thrustin' it like so, desperate to
save us from a shipwreck and seein' Davy Jones' storage shed first hand. I sallied, "So ya wants t'
swashbuckle eh? I shall smite thee to very gates of Hades if that's what it takes! Surrender or be slain!"
That's when circumstances took a swerve to worse. I slipped on some seaweed and settled on me
posterior. Cecil wasted no time instantly severin' me make shift cutlass in two with a single stroke of
his fearsome incisor. Helpless I soggily sat staring face to face with destiny. When, as suddenly as it
started, it was finished. Strangely satiated or perhaps just simply satisfied, I was never sure. He
ceased his menacing pursuit and swam away, ne'er to be seen nor heard of again.Though it seems
to me I perceived a slight swagger in the way he slowly sauntered off, as if to say, "See ya later
sucker!" Ar!
Well mates that's the whole fish story. Now some of you may assume this is simply a silly nonsense
story scrawled by a psychotic schlockmeister schlump. Still others may suppose these lines to be a
sham, a ruse, insane oceanic scuttlebutt or just the scribbled inspirations of a screwy stowaway slacker.
So I swears a solemn promise, should so much as a solitary phrase of this manuscript be false, may I
be struck by an extremely localized tsunami.
Seriously mates, it my sincere desire that this little illiterate alliteration has supplied some small
measure of whimsy. If so, then this witticism has successfully accomplished its' mission.
Now, I don't mean to abandon ship or desert ya but I've got t' shove off, that is, skedaddle.
But don't ya be forgettin' ol' Master Gadget Master and ar'member, if you're ever crusin'
the salty seas, there's a shiny simulated solid silver Mardi Gras shillin' t' th' one what spies 'im,
(AR!), the chartreuse seahorse, Seasick Cecil. (AR!) The one what bitsed me washboard's leg off!
(AR!) Thar she blows!
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