Kludge Klassic: Hoisting The Jolly Roger

Upon reading the title of todays post, you might be asking yourself one of two questions:
"Why pirates Peter?"
or
"How in the world did I get to this stupid page?"

As for the later, I cannot begin to understand the inner workings of search engine algorithms, let me instead take a stab at the former.

I imagine it's because they live rather short and exciting lives. Out of the reach of the law, pillaging the innocent, robbing those who happen to have more than them, and then spending that loot on their own vein pursuits. What other profession offers these draws, with the possible exception of working at the IRS? The main advantage over working for the federal government of course, is not being required to wear shoes and getting to carry around a blunderbuss.

I always like being able to work the word blunderbuss into a post.

Generally by this time of year, I've purged many of my pirate urges. As the build up of September 19 comes and goes, most things pirate-like go with it. Sadly this year, while everyone was enjoying their pirate levity, I was busy yelling at my department manager. I suppose this hostility could have been the platform for a classic mutiny, but all it did was sink my frigate. So with "Talk Like a Pirate Day" behind me and a Star Wars party closing in front of me, I find that I still have a heap of pirate urges to purge.

Just recently I've been feeling trapped. Like the routine of life has got me down. Work, coffee, sleep, coffee, home, coffee, work. It's a good job and a good home and the coffee really isn't that bad either, but I can't help feeling unhappy. Like I just need to feel the spray of salt water on my face and the looming threat of scurvy at my heels.

There are just times in your life when you want to set yourself leeward to run along side a speeding sloop packed with treasure. There you are, swinging from the jib, heading loft with a scabbard held fast in your sparsely toothed mouth, coming in for the kill. After a hard day of piracy, dividing the booty with your mates and setting sail for the first port to spend your ill gotten gains on wine, women and song.

Sure the law might catch up with you soon and demand you get current with both your personal hygiene and that whole slew of back taxes, but for now you don't care. It's just you and your smelly unwashed shipmates spending someone else's hard earned coins, planning the next big run. For now there are no beards to be shaved, no reports to file, no meetings to attend and nothing is on fire. Well actually there might be, but you lit it yourself, with a torch in one hand and a huge toothless smile on your dirty face.