captain jeans and the quest for keith - chapter two

8/8/2019 Captain Jeans and the Quest for Keith - Chapter Two

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Chapter Two

The Quest Begins

This is not going well...In the absolute panic some poor

fellow got caught up in the rigging and his head flew off

in a red spurt of rope based unpleasantness. At last we are

in open water. I need to take stock of what has just

happened.

Finally found my sea legs. I have spent the last 24 hours

violently barfing. This would not have looked good to the

crew so I blamed it on Juicy Bob's cooking. I was informed

during one of my less pukesome moments that it was the

First Mate Jim who had got caught up in the rigging during

our hasty departure. The crew tried to revive him but the

absence of a head of any sort had made the whole exercise a

messy and fruitless one. Salty Pete has also sustained an

injury...he was shot in the leg during his escape from gaol.

We are charting slow progress indeed. Our average speed is

around 10knots. I'm not quite sure what that means but it

sounds at bit, well, naff! Our destination is the Rock of

Gibraltar as that was the last known sighting of Keith. He

was spotted by a gaggle of Nuns swimming naked in the sea -

Keith that is, not the Nuns!

The infinite ocean, the ceaseless groaning of timber, the

ghostly howl of the wind...all of these things fill myheart with a desperate loneliness. God I'm bored. I have

tried conversing with my ship mates but I don't know what

they're on about most of the time. So, I bark the

occasional order and strut about the deck like I know what

I'm doing, then return to my quarters and wallow in the

darkness that envelopes my soul.

Day four of our journey and Salty Pete's leg wound is

beginning to emit a ominous funk reminiscent of rancid dog

cheese. Alric the Huge (carpenter and surgeon) has begun

sharpening his tools and staring at Pete with gruesomeanticipation.

Unbeknown to me it seems with have another crew member, a

cat no less. I did verily admonish the crew for such a

lapse in security until one of the crew (George I think he

is called) informed me that said beast was there to kill

the rats that would otherwise nibble at our supplies. I


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thanked him for his candor then had him immediately

flogged. I know he was right but I am the Captain and if my

position aboard this vessel means nothing else it is to be

the ligaments that hold the muscle and bone of this ship

together. On a related note, to distract the crew from my

ignorance I have given Alric permission to hack Salty

Pete's gangrenous leg off.

Discipline has reached an all time low.Questionable Bob has

obviously got into the rum again as he is running about the

ship dressed only in a ladies bra spouting the most obscene

obscenities that even Satan would be a bit embarrassed

about. Thankfully none of our mothers are here to witness

this. What are we going to do with him at this early hour?

Salty Pete did not take too kindly to having his leg cut

off. Usually we would have filled him with rum before the

"operation" but after Questionable Bob's antics we were

forced to sit on him while Alric hacked away. Christ, the

screams, poor bastard! When it was over we tried to calm

him down with a spray tan, we had heard of "beauty therapy"

but it turned out to be a contradiction in terms and made

matters worse. He seemed to relax and fall into a quivering

unconsciousness.There was much debate upon what we should

with the severed limb.Some of the crew thought we should

cook it and eat it,some thought we should hoist it on the

main sail as a warning to our enemies.In the end I had to

put my foot down(which is something Salty Pete will never

do again without falling over)and commanded the offendinglimb be thrown overboard.

Nothing much to report. Heading steadily south, moral is as

high as is to be expected, oh and a Seagull shat in

Amille's beard.

The Sailing Master, while fiddling in the rigging (that's

rather a good name for a sea shanty methinks) noticed

something drifting in the waters to the west.On closer

inspection it would appear to be a small boat. I was unable

to spy any signs of life on board but I have instructed thecrew to head toward the stricken vessel. Even if it be

unmanned it may contain plunder to be, err, plundered.

We arrived at the mysterious craft much sooner than any of

us had expected. Maybe the trade winds had caught us or as

some of the more superstitious members of the crew

suggested, Satan's gut pipes had blown us toward that


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desolate vessel with all the vigour that only a million

undigested souls, festering in Lucifer's hellish bum hole

could muster.

Whatever force drove us here has surely negated our efforts

by ramming us into the very launch we had journeyed to

rescue.

All is not lost. We have managed to pluck two female women

from the debris and from what I've heard most of the crew

haven't plucked a woman for ages!

We are heading to the nearest harbour (Viana do Castelo on

the Portuguese cost). Well obviously its on the coast,

its the only practical place to have them. The two women

we have rescued are in a sorry state indeed. It would have

been ungallant of us not to afford them safe passage.

The first soggy woman to be hauled on board was a putrid

hag so encrusted with gnarly warts that we at first mistook

her for a lump of heavily barnacled debris. She gave off an

aura of sweet death and an aroma of rancid life...very

strange.

The second was the most exquisitely mountable creature I

have ever laid eyes upon and, indeed,did yearn to lay hands

upon.Her ebony hair cascades gently around a face as soft

and flagrant as a fairys fart.Her shapely bossom hung

serenely from her frame like two nesting flesh puddings.Her

hips had a shapely litheness like the wisp of smoke from aswan's cigar,but still...the strength to bare an elephant!

We have laid anchor in the Minho estuary by the town of

Caminha. The river marks the boarder of Spain and Portual

so according to our Quartermaster we are in International

waters and still under the jurisdiction of Her Majesty.

What this means in practical terms we shall soon discover...

I have fallen in love with the most divine creature that

God has ever locked his bedroom door and had a private

moment to himself about. Her name is Maria. Damn! I have animportant mission abound and must not be distracted by such

vaginosities. I have already felt the cold and bitter

slivers of envy at the way she looks at him.

My sweet Maria was rescued with her mother and I have spent

most of my time trying to quell the heebiejeebies that the

rancid old bitch has unleashed upon my vessel. It would


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seem that in my absence our Quartermaster Doomsford

Blackheart has been exhibiting his manhood. I am hoping

that means doing press ups and shit, maybe tying a

particularly impressive knot.

She was delivered to me by fate and it seems fate shall

take her away. This fleeting glimpse. I was duty bound as a

Captain and a gentleman to send her to safety. I put

together the finest fellowship that did ever man a rollock

and watched the them debark with a heavy heart. The boat

steadily grew fainter. Every stroke of the oars like a

dagger in my heart.

I couldnt let her go. I gathered the rest of the crew and

launched the secondary row boat thing. A dark mist closed

around us like an endless past. I was avast in an ocean of

time.Every second lost from her was an eternity of

loneliness.

So, she guided me to shore and the crew rejoiced at the

simple pleasures of a nice hot pie and a brief venture into

the local whores. Its good for moral and hopefully we will

have more interesting topics of conversation than hows

she holding? and full sail ahead! and loads of other

boaty things. Its all they seem to talk about!

captain jeans and the quest for keith - chapter two

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