Dear Journal,
Been
a while, 'asn't it, mate?
Four years almost! Bugger!
Lemme catch you up on what happened, aye?
Turner-lad is a bloody bastard! All right, all right, so I gave 'im to that ol' squidface Davy Jones (I always wanted to 'ack off a tentacle and see if 'e tasted any good...) to pay my debt, but bloody hell, mate! No need to get THAT angry o'er it! God knows I wouldn't be happy either, but Turner's a good lad, with a good 'ead on 'is shoulders, and I thought he would at LEAST do ol' Jack a favor!
Oy, my mind's a bit of a jumble, but the thing furthest back I 'aven't covered that I can remember is me gettin' eatin' by Jones's li'l beastie. Was a cute bloody bastard, really, mate. Big slimy tentacles and whatnot. Ate me, though. Me n' the Pearl. Methinks he only meant it as a sign of affection, really. Like a big puppy with about a gazillion pointy teeth in 'is mouth. 'e don't mean to eat ya.
Crabs, mate.
No, I 'aven't had THOSE crabs. Not since that night in Tortuga yyeaarrsss ago. Gibbs shaved me up like a sheep givin' wool for that li'l fiasco.
But CRABS. Bloody everywhere. I was in some bloody death-realm or whatever abrakadabra it was. Lemme tell you, that whole place is a story in its own. No water ANYWHERE. Jus' sand, and crabs.
Anyway, the crabs.
Ay, they were cute li'l things. Big black eyes, looked like rocks. You go up to try an' pet 'em and WHAM!! They get ENORMOUS with 'uge bloody teeth and seven tongues (believe me, that was certainly interesting to see) with FIRE for hair and--...Oy, no wait a minute. I think that was a nightmare or somethin' I 'ad.
...Ta! I remember now.
I
tried to go an', you know, maybe eat a crab, but I licked one an' it
tasted like a rock! An' you know what? I think they were rocks! They
looked like 'em, aye? If they look like 'em and taste like 'em, then
they must be 'em! Not always the case, I know, mate, but I'm pretty
sure that these rocks were crabs when I wasn't lookin'. Or
vice-versa. Or somethin' like that.
But you don't care about me crabs or me rocks or me bloody hardships, aye? Last I wrote was somethin' about a Thef Rench/The French whatever the 'ell that ship was. Aye, I never figured out what it was. I asked Gibbs about it few days before an' he don't remember a bloody thing. I'm startin' to think that one was one of those camouflages like those crabs were.
...I don' think camouflage is the word I'm lookin' for.
What the bloody 'ell are
those things called?
Bilge, mate! Don' play stupid! Those...Those
things! You know. They're there, but they're not really there...
Bugger!
You're no bloody 'elp!
I'll 'ave to finish my
story later.
I'm lookin' for the Fountain of Youth now. No, what
I'm tellin' you is not bilge. I 'ave a map for the bloody Fountain of
Youth! Took it right out from under Barbossa's nose. OH! That's
another thing. Barbossa's back from the dead! An' he isn't a zombie
or anythin' special. He's just...Barbossa. An' just as stupid as
ever. Ah, an' I found out 'is first name. Hector. Nerdy,
aye?
Anyway, a storm's creepin' up on me. I 'ave to be on my toes.
Word of the Day: er...Well, I don' have one.
Lesson
of the Day: If it looks like a rock an' tastes like a rock, then it
must be a rock!
Yours truly,
Jack Sparrow
