Even though Guido and I aren’t going to Key West until Friday, our heads are already there. We love Key West.
The one thing that KW has emphasized recently – it’s on the wane, thankfully – is this fascination with pirates. I’m not into pirates at all. I don’t drink rum, I get seasick easily, and excessive body hair and jewelry leave me rather cold. In fact, the only thing I like about the pirate mythology is their appreciation for flogging.
However, last time there I find myself standing next to one. Poor bastard has a hook where his hand should be, a peg leg, and an eye patch. I tell Bartender to set me and the pirate up with a drink, then ask him what the story is with the body hardware.
“Aaaargh,” begins Pirate. (How typical ). “I lost the leg in a battle off the Ivory Coast. Cannon ball put a hole in the foc’s’le, I fell through. Bled like a stuck pig but saved my life.”
Ouch. How ‘bout the hook?
“Aargh again,” says Pirate. “Bar fight in Jamaica. I think there was a woman involved. Can’t remember exactly, but there were a dozen nasty bastards with knives and swords and broken bottles…….and the next thing I know I’m in bandages and missing a hand.”
Thank god for Obamacare, right? How ‘bout the eye?
Pirate shakes his head. “Goddam parrot on my shoulder has the runs, shits in my eye,” he says.
That shouldn’t have cost you an eye.
Pirate drains his drink. “Right,” he says. “But that was the first day after the hook.”
I love Key West.