Hayhay it's meeee!!!!! I know I know I'm supposed to be doing my parody and I swear I am, I'm just in a weird mood tonight and felt like writing something a little different. But I will update soon. So anyway this is just something crazy (even crazier than my parody) that makes no sense at all and will probably cause either total confusion or brain damage. Maybe both.
Disclaimer: I don't own Jack Sparrow (sob) not even his hat (sob sob) so don't sue me. Also don't sue me for loss of brain cells, it wasn't intentional. Oh and a little note, I guessed when POTC is set, don't yell if I'm wrong.
So here goes nothing....
The personal log of Captain Jack Sparrow
13/7/1756
Brilliant. There is a rum bottle stuck on my index finger. Everyone was laughing and it's not funny, it's stuck there and it won't come off. And seeing as I have absolutely nothing better to do than sit here and sulk about having a rum bottle stuck on my index finger I'm going to write down how it came to be stuck here, don't even know why I'm writing in this stupid thing anyway but I guess boredom and depression do terrible things.
It was boiling hot (as usual) and I collapsed on the comfy old armchair in my cabin after spending the last twenty minutes tearing around the ship after Mr Cotton's parrot, attempting to retrieve my scarf. Yes I am aware it's the middle of summer and the Caribbean, I was using it to strangle that bloody parrot in the first place.
So anyway. There I was sat on the armchair, looking at some maps and whatnot when in comes Gibbs to moan about it being bad luck to sail exactly north at noon. But that has absolutely no relevance whatsoever to this story and I really have no clue why I wrote that. What I do need to write is that he asked me if I wanted a bottle of rum. Little did I know that this rum bottle would become the demon rum bottle that I would become only too familiar with. Little did I know that this rum bottle would become permanently lodged on my index finger and proceed to suck me into the depths of despair.
So I said yes. Curse me. But I said yes (of course I bloody did this s rum we're talking about) and he gave me the bottle of rum. I pulled off the cork and thirstily gulped down nearly the entire contents of the bottle in six and a half gulps. I was just about to finish it when I was interrupted by Mr Cotton's parrot flapping in my cabin window and landing on my head. Yelling and cursing I shoved it off only to see a flea, oh yes, a FLEA hop into my rum bottle.
What did I do? I made the deadly move. I put my finger into the rum bottle I an attempt to get the flea out. I walked strait into the spider's web. I'm an idiot.
So here I am with my index finger suck in a rum bottle. The flea's not even still here. It got out because there is a hole in the bottom. It hopped out along with the rest of the rum. Except the rum didn't hop. The rum leaked out. The hole explained why my lap was mysteriously wet and sticky. The flea is defiantly gone. I saw him hop out of the hole and away across the cabin. So I squished him. Hehe. Well, I tried to anyway. Except fleas don't squish. I know that now, asked Gibbs. He said you have to drown them. So it got away. Unlike my poor index finger which is permanently lodged into this rum bottle.
I will be scarred for life. I am never going to be able to look at another rum bottle when I get my finger out of this one. (Oh my god who am I kidding? This is RUM) IF I get my finger out. What if I don't? What then? Will my finger be stuck here forever? Help! I can't go through life with a rum bottle on my finger!
How will I fire my pistol??? I can't shoot left handed, I'll only end up missing again like the time I sprained my right hand and tried to shoot left handed but ended up shooting a hole in my cabin window. And I won't be able to sword fight either. I tried that left handed once too. I cut a rope holding one of the cannons and when fired it shot backwards and through the side of the ship into the ocean taking poor Mr Cotton with it.
See, I have to get it off! I knew it was serious, people aren't still laughing now....well...actually...people aren't still here now. I probably scared them away. I'm reduced to writing in this bloody again. Life sucks. Nobody cares about me. Everybody thinks I'm crazy. The flea's still alive. And I have a rum bottle stuck on my index finger.
People always said I drink so much rum it would be the death of me, but I never thought it would be like this! I thought I may just drink too much not get the bloody bottle stuck on my index finger! If I'm going to die I'd rather die in battle, this is a very un-pirate like way to go.
Why did I write all this? Basically I have nothing else to do. It's about one in the morning, I'm bored, can't sleep and depressed because there is a rum bottle on my index finger which won't come off. I even tried cutting it off. I made my finger bleed. Nothing works. It's the devil's rum bottle. He sent it to torture me. And it's going to be stuck on my index finger for the rest of my life. Kill me.
WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE hehehahahohohuhu. So off you go. Flame me.
Disclaimer: I don't own Jack Sparrow (sob) not even his hat (sob sob) so don't sue me. Also don't sue me for loss of brain cells, it wasn't intentional. Oh and a little note, I guessed when POTC is set, don't yell if I'm wrong.
So here goes nothing....
The personal log of Captain Jack Sparrow
13/7/1756
Brilliant. There is a rum bottle stuck on my index finger. Everyone was laughing and it's not funny, it's stuck there and it won't come off. And seeing as I have absolutely nothing better to do than sit here and sulk about having a rum bottle stuck on my index finger I'm going to write down how it came to be stuck here, don't even know why I'm writing in this stupid thing anyway but I guess boredom and depression do terrible things.
It was boiling hot (as usual) and I collapsed on the comfy old armchair in my cabin after spending the last twenty minutes tearing around the ship after Mr Cotton's parrot, attempting to retrieve my scarf. Yes I am aware it's the middle of summer and the Caribbean, I was using it to strangle that bloody parrot in the first place.
So anyway. There I was sat on the armchair, looking at some maps and whatnot when in comes Gibbs to moan about it being bad luck to sail exactly north at noon. But that has absolutely no relevance whatsoever to this story and I really have no clue why I wrote that. What I do need to write is that he asked me if I wanted a bottle of rum. Little did I know that this rum bottle would become the demon rum bottle that I would become only too familiar with. Little did I know that this rum bottle would become permanently lodged on my index finger and proceed to suck me into the depths of despair.
So I said yes. Curse me. But I said yes (of course I bloody did this s rum we're talking about) and he gave me the bottle of rum. I pulled off the cork and thirstily gulped down nearly the entire contents of the bottle in six and a half gulps. I was just about to finish it when I was interrupted by Mr Cotton's parrot flapping in my cabin window and landing on my head. Yelling and cursing I shoved it off only to see a flea, oh yes, a FLEA hop into my rum bottle.
What did I do? I made the deadly move. I put my finger into the rum bottle I an attempt to get the flea out. I walked strait into the spider's web. I'm an idiot.
So here I am with my index finger suck in a rum bottle. The flea's not even still here. It got out because there is a hole in the bottom. It hopped out along with the rest of the rum. Except the rum didn't hop. The rum leaked out. The hole explained why my lap was mysteriously wet and sticky. The flea is defiantly gone. I saw him hop out of the hole and away across the cabin. So I squished him. Hehe. Well, I tried to anyway. Except fleas don't squish. I know that now, asked Gibbs. He said you have to drown them. So it got away. Unlike my poor index finger which is permanently lodged into this rum bottle.
I will be scarred for life. I am never going to be able to look at another rum bottle when I get my finger out of this one. (Oh my god who am I kidding? This is RUM) IF I get my finger out. What if I don't? What then? Will my finger be stuck here forever? Help! I can't go through life with a rum bottle on my finger!
How will I fire my pistol??? I can't shoot left handed, I'll only end up missing again like the time I sprained my right hand and tried to shoot left handed but ended up shooting a hole in my cabin window. And I won't be able to sword fight either. I tried that left handed once too. I cut a rope holding one of the cannons and when fired it shot backwards and through the side of the ship into the ocean taking poor Mr Cotton with it.
See, I have to get it off! I knew it was serious, people aren't still laughing now....well...actually...people aren't still here now. I probably scared them away. I'm reduced to writing in this bloody again. Life sucks. Nobody cares about me. Everybody thinks I'm crazy. The flea's still alive. And I have a rum bottle stuck on my index finger.
People always said I drink so much rum it would be the death of me, but I never thought it would be like this! I thought I may just drink too much not get the bloody bottle stuck on my index finger! If I'm going to die I'd rather die in battle, this is a very un-pirate like way to go.
Why did I write all this? Basically I have nothing else to do. It's about one in the morning, I'm bored, can't sleep and depressed because there is a rum bottle on my index finger which won't come off. I even tried cutting it off. I made my finger bleed. Nothing works. It's the devil's rum bottle. He sent it to torture me. And it's going to be stuck on my index finger for the rest of my life. Kill me.
WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE hehehahahohohuhu. So off you go. Flame me.
