It’s a little like taking the blue pill and the red pill, and chasing them with Windex.
** aka, ‘Talk Like a Pirate Day’
So, as usual, I’m determined to do things just a little bit differently around here. (You should be used to this by now. Or at least tolerant. Have a damned heart, will ya?)
Anyway, I’ve decided to commemorate ‘Talk Like a Pirate Day‘ not by ‘avast’ing and ‘scurvy’ing all over the place, like most folks might.
(There are still a few ‘avast’ stains on the carpet from the last time I got all swashbuckly, and I don’t even want to describe what happened with the scurvy.)
So, just to be different (and to save the furniture), I’ve decided to blog like a pirate. But not just any pirate, and certainly not the stereotypical Long John Silver / Captain Morgan / Blackbeard hybrid that people seem to want to emulate. No, instead, I’m going to blog like a particular pirate, one of the saltiest dogs to sail the seven seas.
Today, just for you loyal readers, I’m going to blog like Jean Lafitte.
(Pretty cool, huh?)
Which, um, means, since I don’t really know how he talked, that I’m going to do the next best thing, and blog in French.
(Not bad, eh?)
Except… unfortunately, I don’t speak French and can’t write it, so I’m going to have to blog in English, and then use Babelfish to translate it into French.
(How’s that for going the extra mile, folks?)
Only… it occurs to me that many of you may not know French, either, so you may not get much out of an entry fully in translated French. So, I’ll tell you what — once I’ve paid homage to the dread pirate Lafitte by converting the post into French, then I’ll use BabelFish to translate it back to English.
(Now we’re cooking with gas, no?)
(And to all of you smarty-pants types out there, no, this is not just some contrived and ill-conceived attempt to get out of talking like a pirate because I can’t think of anything clever to say in buccaneer-speak, while simultaneously justifying doing something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time now — namely, see if I can artificially cause an entry to make even less damned sense. Well, okay, fine. It is that, but it’s not just that. So you can suck my ‘arrrrrr’.)
Now, for the rest of you, here we go. Everything below the line was written just like a regular post, then translated into French (in honor of Monsieur Lafitte), and then translated back into English. I’ve left it exactly as it was spit out by BabelFish. But just in case any snippets of hilarity were lost in translation (or re-translation), I’ve also saved the original post. [Ed. note: But I lost it in a move. So no link. Sorry.] So, if you don’t get something, look there. Or even at the French translation, if you really think that’s going to help you.
(But if you don’t get it once you’ve read those, then you’re on your own. It’s perfectly reasonable in my little world, whatever it is. Oh, and it’s hilarious, too. So you should probably laugh, whether you get it or not. You don’t want to look foolish in front of all these people, do you?)
And the English-to-French-back-to-English-but-not-quite-the-same-English post, in honor of ‘Talk Like a Pirate Day’ — and even about pirates, at least before all the grinding — begins… (wait for it…) … begiiiins… (wait…) NOW!
Yo Ho Ho and a Well Completely of Mud
Thus, pirates. Queest this which I can say to the pirates?
I am afraid which I do not have a terrible fate of experiment with pirate truths, manner that the majority of the people think of them. In fact, I sure that no matter whom am not made imagine the experiment with the kinds of pirates the majority of the people. Seriously, how much real buccaneers of plundering of cutthroat you think accessorize their equipment with leg of ankle, the eyepatch, and a smart-assed parrot? I doubt of whom good number of them buckles equalizes their lappings more. (Not that there is something badly with that, naturally.)
Thus I suppose that what I should say is that I was never exposed to pirate truths.
(Which is completely an exploit, really, because I exposed myself to all the kinds of people during years. You would think that at least one of them would have been the bloodthirsty man, skittle-transporting the type. But not.)
Probably, it is easy thing right of geography. What I hear that — and see in films — pirates trail mainly in and around the Caribbean. What is a luxury to which I am not really accustomed,I am afraid. To say the minors.
(Hé, perhaps there is something with all this boat-which flies and hostage-which takes, if these people obtain to pass all their lives moving of the beach to the beach in the sunny Bahamas. Perhaps is a change of career in rule, yes?)
Thus, I suppose that it is not any surprise which I did not mix much with crowd privateering. We have various circles of the friends, I guess, not to mention in an extravagant way various sections of imposition of imposition.
Not that the pirates pay really taxes, naturally — I would think who would rather demolish the goal of all plundering. More, they usually left there in international water; with which they pays taxes, at all events? Switzerland? NATO? Forget the thing of taxes thus. I was to speak insane there.
But I do not want to disappoint, naturally. I can leave you with nothing; nobody goes far from my blog the empty hands, you see.
(Stupid, I am not sure I can guarantee for. But empty hands? Not.)
Thus, I will say to you a little about my preferred history of the buried treasure of pirate who. is not most probably
(Hé, it is not much, but it is nothing, either. More, this will be good filler so that the translators chew above. Make confiancemoi. It all will establish at the end.)
At all events, my of large tale very the majority preferred of sea turn around the legend of the Island of Oak. It seems that towards the end of 1700s, three men rowed outside in the Island of Oak, in addition to coast of News-Scotland. There, they discovered a tree with a sawn member hanging above a depression in the ground. The sight caught their attention, and carried out their to believe that something could be buried under the tree. And thus, they are turned over, and started to dig. More than two hundred years afterwards, to dig continues, and nobody knows for sure what is in the hole, now doubled ‘the money well’.
(Correct, just to be clear, they are still not same the three types digging. You began again on that, right? It is a whole group of others, including six which died the test to obtain at the bottom things. Um, thus to speak, which is. Ahem.)
Thus, I do not want to give far the whole history. There were specials of television about the site, and the whole sites of sequence devoted to the mystery. That it is enough for saying that what the three original men the diggers — and following — found is that the well is a problem very crafty one, indeed. Check this diagram of the EC what about the well for an idea with the Juste is known what they treat. It is not any ordinary hole in the ground, people. The treasure or not at the bottom, that which established this thing was serious frickin’.
Naturally, that supposes that somebody really built. At least a person does not think thus, statement the this whole hubbub is a result of the phenomena, coincidence, and hoax normal. Well, and avarice, naturally. There is always avarice.
Even if the well is true, and were built to safeguard the treasure, there remains the question of which treasure, and by which the thing was dug. There are several theories as for the two questions, but I, for one, voice for pirates (today, at all events, because it is adapted with the occasion. I reserve myself the right to vote for Templar knights, or of the freemasons, or even Vikings certain an other day. When is ‘maintenance like one day of Templar of knight’, at all events?) And apparently, a couple of truths doozies of pirate is plausible — Blackbeard and Kidd captain were digities because the possible suspects in this pled case of ‘encavator and skin and veil far’.
In the final analysis, we can never know the truth. The whole side of the Island of Oak is alveolate with tunnels and wells dug in an effort to reach the price. The majority, if not all, are flooded and useless, and — given the fact that it is an island speak us here — it is rather sure of saying that the new tunnels will not solve the problem any time soon. Ni is the whole Atlantic Ocean approximately to pump to the top of the well and outside. Thus this can be a case where you are free to believe that which the hell want you, without fear unquestionably contradiction. You cannot be proven badly when nothing can be proven whole, you see. Ask the Christian scientists just.
(Group of boobs clueless.)
Thus, it is my history. If all is well, before you read this, it will be always a history, and not simply a random disorder of gibberish.
(Well, not a more random is order of gibberish, at all events. Unfortunately, I think that I gave him completely a principal beginning in this direction.)
I hope that you appreciated this ‘maintenance extravagance like pirate’. Agree sure in the next year, and will do we it once again. The hell, which knows? Perhaps by then, I will have met by chance some pirate truths, and I will have better stories to say to you. Or at the very least, I will have had one year to compose the shit. Thus it cannot help but to be better.
I can hardly wait, I mateys! Arrrrr!
Well, that was fun.
Not terribly useful, but fun, nonetheless. I had a good time with it, and I hope you did, too. If you want something that you can actually read now, go see the original post.
(In the meantime, though, check out the links in the post. I’m pretty sure that BabelFish is munging those pages, too, so they’re getting the same English-French-English treatment that my entry went through. And frankly, the more the merrier, in this case.)
In the meantime, I did get a few laughs out of this version.
(Including ‘I was to speak insane there.‘ and ‘Thus, it is my history.‘)
I also liked how ‘brouhaha’ in the original ended up becoming ‘hubbub’ in the end. I really had no idea that ‘hubbub’ had become the accepted term for chaotic willy-nillyness. I’ll have to keep that in mind in future.
Anyway, happy ‘Talk Like a Pirate Day’. I suppose I should have just said ‘Arrr!’ and ‘Ye landlubbin’ keelhaulers’, like everyone else, and been happy with that. Instead, I brought you a taste of what ‘Talk Like a Drunken Parisian with Brain Damage Day’ might be like. It’s up to you to decide how close to ‘pirate’ you think that is. In the meantime, I’ve learned a couple of French words, and finally put Babelfish to good use, so I’m happy. Oh, and I finally see why we’re always bitching back and forth with the French. How the hell could anybody get along with this sort of language barrier? ‘Skittle-transporting the type‘, indeed.Permalink | No Comments