-1Okay, here's something new. My first POTC fanfic. I'm not sure if you peeps are going to think it's funny or not…I suppose we'll see. Whatever.

DISCLAIMER:s are useless. If they wanted to sue, they would, and they'd probably win. They have the money, and I don't. I'd lose. So I'm hoping that they sue someone else and not me. And I don't own the characters or anything. Just in case that actually works.

Yo Ho, Yo Ho, Shut Up.

Chapter One: Bad Things Happen When The Quadratic Equation Explodes

In my own defense, I didn't know what I was doing, nor the consequences of my actions. Perhaps before I start on about 'said actions', I should explain what the 'said actions' were. You see, there was one day where I was incredibly bored. So, I did what anyone in my position would do; fuck around with the time-space continuum. I mean, come on. That's obvious. How does one go about doing this, you say? Welp, I found myself a randomly loooong and convoluted formula off some crackpot genious' website (after filtering through all the crap about what a genious they are and how they're going to take over the world. You want an example, check out the Time Cube freak. Gotta love the pretty colors.) and plugged in some random numbers to see what the hell would happen. It was all in good fun, you see. I didn't think the stupid thing would actually work. Unfortunately for me, it did. Right after I plugged in the last random digit (3378783748, just in case you wanted to know) when a strange swirly vortex of doom opened up right underneath my sheet of paper. Well, in place of my paper, actually.

"Holy fuck on a stick of shit!" I jumped back in horror. Then I admired my work of doom. "I guess that means I win. Hmm…I wonder what's on the other side of vortexes of doom brought about by tears in the time-space continuum?" I took out a lined sheet of paper from my book bag and wrote a note. Using a pen. Duh.

To whomever receives this;

Sup. My name's Denise, and I'm sending this note, hoping to get a few questions answered, if you can spare the time. First off, what's your name? I'm assuming that since I have a swirly vortex of doom on this side, you must have one too. What year is it? Do you live in the deepest pits of Hell? Because that wouldn't work for me. I don't deal too well with heat. If I get no answer, I'm assuming that this vortex a)leads nowhere, b)leads to somewhere uninhabited (most likely for a reason), or c) you're a bastard and I hate you. Please don't let it be c). Righto. I'm gonna go now, and throw in a muffin for good luck.

Uh, Bye.

Denise.

I folded the note up nicely and tossed it in the vortex with a blueberry muffin. Then, I waited while consuming a blueberry muffin of my own. About fifteen minutes later, something flew out of the vortex and whacked me in the arm. I managed to catch it, and to my surprise, I found that it was a bottle of something with a note on what seemed to be yellowed parchment. I took the note off and read it.

Dear Denise,

The muffin was good. Have this.

"Great," I muttered while taking the stopper out of the bottle. "It's probably laced with cyanide or something. I'm not drinking it." I took a whiff. "The hell? It smells like rum…" I ran downstairs and grabbed a bottle of Bicardi Gold, which seemed to be about the same color. I then sniffed them both to compare. "Yep. Most definitely rum." I paused. "Why the hell would they send me rum?" I ran back upstairs to the vortex and scribbled out another note.

The hell is up with the rum? Don't get me wrong, I'm fine with rum. Very good with a can of coke. But what's up with that?

I threw it in and waited impatiently for a reply, which came much faster than the first.

Rum is good. The muffin was good. We're square.

"Now they're making assumptions about what shape I am? Why do they assume I'm the same shape as them? And when the hell did a bottle of rum equal a muffin? Not in price, and especially not in nutritional value." I know what you're thinking/screaming at the computer screen: He didn't mean that you're square! To which I reply, 'shut the hell up. I was under a lot of stress and communicating with someone that could have been square for all I knew, and was assuming I was the same as well.' So there. I shrugged and threw in another muffin. And some other random crap. Like old magazines no one read anymore. Like my old crappy YM magazines. And some Cosmopolitan. I hate those. Then I followed it with this note;

The hell is your name? Get rid of that crap if you don't want it. Most of it would probably burn well. You could probably get a good bonfire going. Tell me if you do. We could roast some serious marshmallows. Wait! I'm gonna write another note after this and actually pass it through the vortex of doom (whom I have named Miles, after my army's mascot, Miles the text face of vampiric doom). So yeah. Don't put your eyes too close, or I'll poke 'em out.

To which I got this reply:

Smith. You try whatever you want, but don't think I'll help you.

I wrote another note and held it in front of Miles. To be completely honest, I had my reservations about shoving my hand through the vortex. I mean, normally I wouldn't do something like shoving random body parts through rips in the time-space continuum, but this one proved to be safe (the muffin seemed to be received and still delicious), so I figured to give Miles the benefit of the doubt. My hand was shaking as I watched the note disappear through the vortex, followed by my fingers, then my whole hand. I was scared shitless at this point. What if I pulled my hand back and it the flesh was gone, or turned blue or something? What if my hand was gone, period? The air on the other side of Miles (that sounds strange, but you know what I mean) was warm and very humid. It reminded me of when I was in Nova Scotia, or that time I went to Holland. Bottom line: wherever my hand was, it was near an ocean. Nobody took the letter, and I really wanted to take my hand out of the gaping hole in the time-space continuum, so I began to wave the letter around wildly.

"Come on, take the goddamn thi-AUGH!" Someone- or something (shudder)- had grabbed my wrist. I tried to pull back, but whatever it was didn't let go. "Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit…" I muttered quickly, looking around to see if there was something I could use to free myself. Like a gun, or knife. Unfortunately, the knife drawer was out of reach, and the guns were stored downstairs in a safe to which I didn't know the combination. Shit on a stick. I felt the letter taken from my hand, but the grip on my wrist didn't release. Suddenly, I had a random brilliant/retarded moment. I grabbed a nearby sheet of paper and managed to roll it up. I put one end to my mouth and shoved the other through the vortex, which was still swirling with doom.

"Paper tube warning say s LET ME GO!" My wrist was instantly free. I pulled it back and sighed with relief as I realized it was completely intact. Except for the red marks around my wrist where the person (or thing…) had been holding me. They had a fucking death grip. "That'll bruise." I pouted angrily as I rubbed my poor wrist. "The hell was wrong with them? Why didn't they seem to like my super cool paper tube warning?" I was pondering said questions when I saw someone else's hand pop through the vortex. And their hand was holding an old school pistol. When I say 'old school', I mean, like, seventeenth century old school. I screamed and ran over to a nearby drawer. Where I armed myself with a spatula.

"Taste my l337 spatula s illZ!" I whacked the hand with the spatula, and it retracted. "Why do I get the feeling that my actions are going to bring about bad things for me? AUGH!" I screamed as someone's head popped through the portal, looking very angry. The man seemed to be older. He had salt and pepper hair, and the mutton choppiest mutton chops I had ever seen in my entire life. He gave a quick look around and spotted me. An incredibly surprised look crossed his face. I think he had just realized where he was. Or, alternatively, wasn't.

"Oi, Cap'n! This isn't part o' the ship!"

"Ship? The hell crack are you smoking, dude? This is a bloody house!"

His eyes went incredibly wide and he popped back into his side. Taking this opportunity, I grabbed some crap from my room and shoved it in my bag, because after that little look, I didn't get a good feeling about things.

"Lemme see…makeup, a couple thingsa deoderant, underwears, clothing, book, laptop, solar charger that I made last week from things I randomly stole from people, mp3 player, shove it all in a plastic bag and tie tightly. Serves me. OH! Toothbrush and a tooooob of toothpaste! BRUSH!" I heard unpleasant crashes coming from the kitchen. "SHIT! Hairspray, lip balm, socks uh uh uh OH GOD!" Something REALLY loud crashed upstairs. I faintly heard someone say 'oops' before roaring laughter filled the house. I sure couldn't think with them being jovial and whatnot. "Would you retards SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. The house instantly became quiet. Unfortunately for me, I heard swords being unsheathed. "Son of a BITCH. This really isn't my day, isn't it?" I quickly put on whatever jewelry I had (maybe I could use it to bargain) and threw the ugly duffel bag over my shoulder just as I heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. "To hell with it." I opened up my door. " Over here, losers." I picked up the bottle of rum I had randomly laid down in the hallway and walked over to the creepy people who seemed to like to dress like pirates. And, to my dismay, they seemed to like to smell like pirates too.

"Ugh…give me a second…" I walked back to my room and grabbed a spray can of Febreez and proceeded to spray the hell outta them until they started coughing and bitching. "Shut up! It smells like freshness, rather than ass, like you do! Stop your bitching!" I was about to throw the can back into my room, but decided it would be better to bring it along. "Righto. What the hell are you doing in my house?"

The one with the mutton chops stepped forward. "The captain ordered us to pillage this place. You know, steal everything of value then set the pace on fire type of thing."

"Oh no he didn't!" I snapped my fingers in a mock fashion. The man was about to say something back. I couldn't tolerate that. " Shut up. Don't say anything. I want to have a word with said Captain. So, this is the plan. Either you bring him here, or you take me there." The man chuckled and shook his head.

"I don't think that'll be happening, missy. Now step aside."

"Suck me, bitch. I don't give two fucks what the hell you say, now take me to your goddamned captain before I get fucking angry! The fuck is wrong with you?' No one said a single thing. They just stared at me, mouths hanging agape. Some of them actually looked quite flustered and had suddenly found the carpet quite interesting. I scoffed and pushed them back up the stairs. "Now, you're going to jump back through that nice little swirling vortex of doom and tell your captain his options. Got it!" He nodded, his eyes wide. I watched as, one by one, the pirates disappeared through the portal. "This has got to be the worst day of my life." I mumbled darkly as I waited in silence for about ten minutes. I grabbed a bagel, so it wasn't too bad. Suddenly, mutton chop man stuck his head through the portal.

"The captain says you can meet him through this…thing."

I looked at him blankly. "Meh. Changed my mind. If he wants to talk, he can shove his bloody head through the portal. No way am I risking my neck to talk to a bunch of pirates."

Mutton chop man, whom I had named Bob, frowned. "The captain won't be liking that, missy."

"Oh yeah? Well you can tell your captain that I don't give two shits about whether or not he 'likes it'. If he doesn't like it, he can shove it up his ass and piss off."

Bob looked like he had just shrugged. I couldn't see whether or not he did, though, since only his head was through the portal. He disappeared for a while again. I grabbed a bottle of water, and a couple cans of pop. I checked the clock. "Only four PM. Mom won't be home for another two hours, at least." I sniffed and sat on the countertop. That's when saw what they had broke. "You shitfuckers!" I hastily picked up the remnants of what used to be a dish my parents bought when they went to Mexico and laid it on the counter, trying to it the pieces back together. "SHIT! If only I glue now, everything would be perfect." I stated dryly. I sighed and turned around to see the back of someone else's head popping up through the vortex. "Uh, hi?"

The head quickly spun around to face me. I was guessing he was the captain. He wore a red bandanna over his dark hair, which was in a very strange style and had random things poking out and dangling making jingly noises. He wore a thick line of eyeliner around his eyes, which looked to be either a dark brown or black. He had a beard type thingy that was in two braids that dangled from his chin. He smiled widely.

"Ah. Denise, I assume?"

I shrugged as I began to rifle through a drawer, looking for glue. "And you are?"

"Smith. Smithy if you like." I looked at him for a couple of seconds before rolling m eyes.

"That is obviously not your name. I'll call you Joseph instead. So, Joseph, what was up with that whole 'pillaging the house' idea, hmm?" I gave him a sideways glance of doom. "I don't take too kindly to people threatening my personal belongings."

He shrugged. " Pirate."

"No shit, Sherlock." I slammed the drawer in frustration. " Bsatards! Broke the bloody bowl and I don't even have anything to stick it back together with."

He chuckled. "Shit happens."

"That sounds wildly out of character, Joseph."

"Whatever do you mean, luv?" I scoffed before walking over to the table. He looked at my hand. "That's a very nice ring you've got there, missy."

"The hell is wrong with you? Is that why you sent your little pirate crew to pillage my house?" He didn't reply. "Fuck off."

He raised his eyebrows. "Gibbs told me that your language was a bit strong. Didn't believe him. Should've."

"Who the hell is Gibbs?"

"He's my first mate. The bloke you've been speakin' with."

"What, you mean Bob? So Bob's name is Gibbs?" The man looked at me like I was a freak. Which is a point I won't argue. "So what's your name, el capitan?"

"I told you, it's Smith."

"And I told you I'm not a retard. What's your name?"

"Smith."

"I guess I'll just keep on calling you Joseph then." He frowned at me, so I shrugged. "It's your own fault for not telling me your name, Joseph. Get over it. Anyway…about this whole pillaging my house thing. It's a no-no. But, I know that being a pirate and all, you really don't care, so I'm willing to make a deal with you. Name your terms."

And now, because I'm getting tired of writing crap that doesn't seem to get anywhere, Joseph's head disappeared and the whole crew jumped out and kidnapped me. They dragged me through my lovely vortex, down to the lower levels of a ship, and threw me into the brig. I was quite angry with them. Quite angry indeed.

Mmm. And there it was. Feel free to comment. It gets better later on. More interesting. Anyway...go away now.