No, Polly doesn’t want a bloody cracker!
“Row ho! Throw your man down! A bottle of rum is a pirate’s life for me! *hiccup* what a lot of bat dung! *hiccup buuurrp*. They never tell you the truth when you take this cursed job *hiccup* you think you just have sit on the boss’s shoulder for a while squawking and being fed crackers *hiccup* they never tell you that you also act as a bloody messenger pigeon flying from ship to damned ship with commands tied to your foot. Or having no where to bloody hide when the cannons start firing, swords start slashing and your boss has to charge into the middle of the whole damned mess. *hiccup* I thank my feathers for rum, whiskey, gin and all booze in general. That’s one thing these damned idiots get right. But as their idiots they never think to offer me some so here I is in the cargo hold whilst the filthy beggars are asleep *hiccup* would you like some? No? Fair enough *hiccup gulp gulp gulp sigh*. I used to have a good life before all this rubbish. Used to be a fine bird me, had me own large cage, nice trees to perch on and no one ever said ‘Polly want a cracker?’ May the great skies curse thunder, hail and lightening upon the person who invented that damned cursed phrase. *hiccup* in all my flying days I have never met or heard of a parrot called Polly and no decent bird would give the name. My real name is Arkam but Polly or Claws or Rainbow tail! Yuk! Bloody horrible names that can force a bird to feed itself to a cat. *hiccup* maybe that’s why us parrots are always given these damned jobs, out at sea, cos Mr fur balls cant handle the water *hiccup* ah well *gulp gulp* once we harbour I’m off. I’m not having any more of this tripe. I’ll go find myself a nice place in the jungle somewhere then they will never find me. I’ll have sunny weather all year long, no more wretched sea storms that make me sick, no more left overs for breakfast. I will have lovely big melons and fruits and maybe even a female or two under my wing at night. *hiccup* oh that’s the true life for me, not this dank messy ship with men of disgusting habits. I’m not surprised you don’t see many female captains around these parts *hiccup* they would throw themselves over board at the sight of such a dung heap. Although the ones you do meet, well, their equal matches to the squalor of these men. You got Merciless Mary, Cursed Cathy and worst of all Bloodthirsty Bertha. *hiccup* all women who somehow converted to this stinking way of life, I’m sure their parents were proud of em that day. I know mine were when I first came aboard the Seadog. It was my dad who taught me how to squawk properly. We all thought I might have teamed up with a soon to be Pirate King HA! *hiccup gulp gulp* what a fool I was. It was only a matter of time before I realised that this lot were all washed out pirates, many from different crews and had been thrown out because of one horrid thing or another. The boss, well you only have to look at his name to know he won’t get very far fame wise. Gory Gary! Hahaha this guy must have been seriously messed up in the attic when he decided to be a pirate. It’s like calling a parrot Polly; you simple don’t get a pirate called Gary that will be the next Pirate King. All the other Pirate Kings had great names such as old Blackbeard and Davy Jones, now they were true pirates. My mum even claims to be a distant relative to the lucky parrot who served old Blackbeard during his day. I don’t believe her though. *gulp gulp gulp gulp sigh* ah well dawn is approaching and if I’m not back perched on the boss’s bedside then I might end up in the cooking pot. *hiccup* I bid farewell to ye young sailor and if you listened well enough you will get off and stay off this dung bucket when we hit harbour.