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A pirate’s life is not for me


Friends of ours fancy themselves to be pirates. They invited us to one of their infamous pirate parties. We decided to humor them. We already knew that a pirate’s life was not for us, but we decided to try it anyway.

Now we’re really sure it’s not for us.

Apparently this group of 40-odd people has been getting together on an annual basis for decades. Many of them are old enough to know better, but none of them do. I have never seen so much alcohol in one place, outside of an actual liquor store. And the merry band of miscreants was guzzling it as quickly as possible. You could actually hear their livers crinkling up into something the consistency of leather.

Most everyone wore clothing that was some variation of black. Many people had tricorn hats. Many of the women wore less clothing that they should have, given their age. I’m fairly certain that actual pirates, if any were women, did not wear leather bustiers or thigh-high boots or fishnet stockings. And if they did, they were usually younger than fifty.

The partygoers reminded me of some people I once knew who were members of the Society for Creative Anachronism. The SCA people were nice, but they didn’t fit in anywhere. Not even together. Banding together like the Island of Misfit Toys didn’t really help. They were still misfits. Their social pain was not mitigated by their costumes. And this pirate party reminded me very much of the SCA, only with less historical accuracy, and with a lot more alcohol.

So there we were, stranded on the Island of Misfit Pirates. We talked to a few people over the course of the next two hours. Eventually another alien showed up and we talked to it. After awhile the three of us decided to slip out unnoticed. Actually, we could have set off a concussion grenade during our exit and still no one would have noticed. The party was well out of control by then.

We went to bed, so if the police showed up, we slept through it. So we had an alibi.

No. Definitely not the life for me.

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