Gaargh, I be three sheets to the wind on that fat old fool , I awoke from a night o’ disturbin’ dreams. We’d been swiggin’ vodka for a change, since takin’ it off English merchants just after dawn. Me final memory o’ that night were haulin’ Scotty aboard after ‘e leapt from the bow to catch a shootin’ star.
Yarr, ‘twere worse awake than a-snooze, for me wakin’ were pierced a piteous wailin’, “I be blind, me eyes be not workin’.” A-fearful for me own senses I opened me eyes - to blackness! Me heart raced till I realised I’d moved me eye patch to keep out ye pesky sun – thank God, I were still only half blind. ‘Twere just Manky Eye Billy, ‘is peepers robbed by a surprisin’ly agile flying fish whilst mannin’ ye crow’s nest. is memory’d been nicked too, makin’ his blindness a daily surprise , everyday , and everyday he fell over board ,Yarr, ‘me best suggestion were some kind o’ coconut in need of a trim; so we hooked em back on aboard for further investigoratin’.
The English we’d “met” yesterday’d been so thoughtful as to leave us their weapons, women an’ assorted vittles. In particular, a gleamin’ double-headed axe with which I cleaved the vicious vegetable in two. Both halves fought back, oozin’ sap an’ stickiness. We doused it with pitch an’ a pinch o’ gunpowder, and garnished it with a point-blank pistol blast.
The explosion took ye eyebrows from us all. The orchid crackled and popped, twitchin’ feebly in ye flames. Billy noted the smell were like that o’ fried tomatoes, and though the taste were marred by the aftertaste o’ tar it were fine with our liberated bacon.
Or to put it another way , a mate and I drunk the vodka I got you from Kazakhstan, and I burnt my bacon and tomatoes this morning .