Bootstrap Bill Turner can safely say he has never commmited a crime so heinous or evil that people would spit on him and cart him off to the hangman. Even as a pirate, Bill had followed the Code to the tiniest, most illegible swish mark of black ink on the faded, yellow paper, which I might add, was designed that way to give an air of mystery and " Piratey-ness" to the whole thing. His crewmates had sighed and shooked his head many a times when they had docked at Tortuga, and Bill had again, refused to indulge in some pleasures away from home.
Jack had once slung a arm around his shoulders and declaimed at length to the noisy, bustling room in a high, drunken shout, swaying uncontrollably from side to side, arms flailing up and down and jabbing everywhere for emphasis as he slapped a heavy hand on Bill's shoulder. "This, mah laaa-rrdries and -hic- gennelmern, ish da besh -hic-" Jack slanted to the right, waving his beer mug about, froth slopping over it. "Hushban to da luckshiest laaaarrrdy in da wlorl... Booshkrap Shill Thrashper!"
A few minutes of dead silence had descended on the whole room as they stared at Booshkrap Shill Thrashper, as Jack had pronounce it before slumping into a drunk stupor onto the pitted table. "Erm.." Bill cleared his throat slightly as he waved a half empty mug at the crowd. "Ale, anyone?" The crowd blasted back into full volume immediately.
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