’Tis a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a far-away galleon; they have been making rum somewhere under the flag of the Jolly Roger, ye Piratical Readers, and the deck-hands are sleeping among the barrels. And we’ll wear their guts for garters!
Arrr, and it be International Talk Like A Great Pirate Novelist Day, ye lily-livered sea-curs. Or will it be ... the cat?
chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek,
-Vardibidian.