A/N: Rum is written with two lines around it (like this: -rum-). Imagine that it's crossed through.

Captains Log

January, or December? Maybe it's February. No matter, it's so cold it'd freeze the balls off a brass monkey and the sun is out, savvy? That's enough. I'm not the one to take to writing, but seeing that Will and Liz gave me this here book for Christmas-what some book it turned out to be, bloody blank pages- I thought I may as well give it a go.

When I last left the lovebirds, Liz was as big as a bloody whale! Oh, and they were just tickled pink about having the little sod. I swear I'd have lost my lunch if I didn't split the waves in a scurry to leave.

When we docked at our usual -rum- supply stop, a letter from the parents to be was waiting for me. As it turns out, Liz has done dropped her litter, and they actually want me to come meet the little scabber!

Yeah, so we're not sailing for Port Royal? Wrong! Damn Will Turner for making a noble man out of me! We should be docking Port Royal in a jiff.