Watch this space. You won’t see it anywhere else.
Happy spring, mateys. Wazzup with you? As for me, I gots hats on me brain. But I not be having a hat on me head. Once upon a time, I had me a regular witch-type hat that tied under me chin so’s it not be blowing away when I paddles me soup bowl. But the March winds they be something fierce. Me hat it flies orf and the knot it squeezes me throat shut. Yar, me hat it almost strangulates me. I wastes no time giving it away to me landlubber witch pal. Now I be on the lookout for a hat that completes me look without cutting orf me circulation.
Stap me vitals! They thought it just smacks me upside the head. I needs a gen-u-wine pirate do-rag like me love Black Jack Higgins and me nanny Fish Guts Malloy. I could conjure one up with me little wand. But it not be a official do-rag with they pirate stamp of approval. So I takes me down to a dusty old shop that be selling all things pirate. They gots them racks and racks of do-rags. Bonus! I picks me out the perfect do-rag so’s I has me a killer head shot for when me book it finds itself a publisher.
Not bonus! They be too many choices. The salesman he be giving me the big-time stink eye after the 23rd do-rag I tries on. I be giving him the bigger-time stink eye until I finds me the Final Four. And thar I be stuck. Here they be:
I leaves it all up to you, me hearties. Tell me which one be The One – and why. You gets you extra credit for talking like a pirate. I be pronouncing the winner on April 30. If’n that not be enough, I be visiting yer website or blog and giving you they Baba Yaga Seal of Approval. Go for it. You knows you wants it.
Avast me hearties, don’t go blaming this blog on the Valentine’s Day. The real scallywag it be the stick of Black Jack gum me tween mateys be giving me. “It’s so YOU, Baba Yaga,” they sez to me they sez, “Black for a witch and Jack for a pirate.” Son of a sea dog, they not be knowing the half of it. It was like as if that thar gum he be a time machine – takes me right back to me times with me love, Black Jack Higgins.
Black Jack be a member of me dad’s pirate crew. He gots no place to go when they ship it be in port so me dad lets him stay with us. The first time he came he sticks up his nose and sniffs like as if our eye of newt stew it be bad grub. The next time he comes I be giving him the big time stink eye, but he shoots me the look that sez, “Arr, I be a lucky buccaneer to be here with you, Baba Yaga.” Stap me vitals! I be the witch, but I fell under his spell. When they be at sea I waits for me dad to come home, but I waits for Black Jack more. Then one day me dad’s new first matey tells him black cats be unlucky.
Aye aye, Black Jack Higgins not be no scruffy pirate. He be they ship’s cat. Every good pirate ship it gots it a cat so as to catch all they rats so as they not be eating up all the food. So me dad he gets him a buff tabby cat and Black Jack he gets to stay home with us permanent-like. Yar! What pirate-talking witch not be loving her a pirate ship’s black cat? I makes him me sidekick. That black cat he rides tall on the lip of me flying soup bowl. Oh, the places we went! Too bad he be using up all his nine lives 77-1/2 years ago. But he still be me love.
Gang way mateys, this blog be reminding me I needs to go shopping. Why for? Tune in next month and you be finding out.
Ahoy, this be for all ye mateys out there who be telling me, “I soooo wanna be you, Baba Yaga. You can totally do whatever you want. You don’t have to take no guff from nobody.” Blimey, that be a shipload of bilge. I bets you seven pieces of eight you not be saying that if you knows about The Big Book of How Things are. So I be giving you the poop.
It not be like I wants to live in a house with chicken legs or paddle around in a poky smart-mouthed soup bowl or get older when some swabby he be asking me a question. But The Big Book says I gots to. When I be a witchling I goes, “Fie! I grabs that Big Book and makes it walk the plank.”
Me mom she sez to me she sez, “You can do that Baba Girl, but you’ll also throw away all the rules that keep things the way they are. Then anything can happen. Cockroaches could become witches. AND witches could become cockroaches.”
Stap me vitals, I not be wanting to be askeered of questions, but I not be wanting to be a cockroach even more. Arrr, so Baba Yaga be Baba Yaga, chicken legs, soup bowl, and all.
Mateys, I be loving our little chats, but for now I hoists me anchor and sails away. Next month I be blogging about me one big love. Aye aye, it be a thing. Wait for it.
I sits in front of me Yulea logga;
With me matey and his blacka dogga;
Outside me house thar be thicka fogga;
Creeping over from the bigga bogga.
Me matey guzzles a mugga grogga;
While I sips a cuppa egga nogga;
And we toasts you all with thisa blogga.
May all yer doubloons be solid gold and all yer spells be charming.
PS: Me matey Pat and me we be thanking the South Sound Scribblers for they inspiration.
Arr, me mateys, how went yer Halloween? If’n you not be reading me blog in time, mayhaps you got yerself scared by a creature using me spine-chilling Halloween tips. Well, don’t be feeling like a stupid idiot. Remember, even a big bad witch name of Baba Yaga shivers her timbers under her covers at night when she thinks about some swabby asking her questions.
And even me big bold pirate captain dad had him the vermiphobia. Any time he spied him a worm he be stomping it into the ground with his size 19 boots. “Worms be EVIL, Baba girl,” he sez. “Just ask Captain Blue Tooth Jaggli. No, avast kiddo, you not be asking him nothing. Aye, aye, he be resting in Davy Jones’ locker.” That means he be deader than dead.
Captain Jaggli had him a handsome pirate ship called the Swiss Raider. One day on the way to an epic raid he spotted 15 worms dancing a hornpipe on the deck. He be in a hurry so he lets them stay. That be one huge mistake. They not be yer cute wiggly garden worms. They be hungry ship-eating wood worms.
The ship she sailed away from the raid full of loot. She also be so full of worm holes that Blue Tooth should ought to have renamed her the Swiss Cheese. That ship she sank lower and lower and lower until all that be left of her be a few ripples on the water. Then, nothing.
Rats and slugs, I be extra thankful me flying soup bowl it not be made of wood. I doesn’t have to have me the vermiphobia. Son of a sea dog, what if we all sat us down and had us a think about the things we not be afraid of? It might could become a thing.
Son of a son of a sea dog, but that be heavy stuff. I be ready for me blue rose tea and a grilled cheese sandwich while I works on a holiday greeting for you, me mateys.
Ahoy, all me fiends, I be feeling yer pain. You looks forward all year to Halloween. But then they kiddies runs away from you as soon as they sees the cut of yer jib. So how for you gets close enough to give them the gen-u-wine monster scare? No probs. Baba Yaga gots yer back.
If’n you be a ghost, you puts on a sheet. Make sure it looks like a sheet. Arr, it could even have pirates on it. You sneaks up to a kiddie, taps him on his shoulder, and goes “BOOO” in a fakey voice. The kiddie sez, “You’re in big trouble, Tommy. You know mom told you not to scare me.” He rips off yer sheet. You goes “BWAHAHA” and you passes right through him. GAAA, Epic creep fest!
If’n you be a ghoul, you puts on a rubber chicken mask. When a kiddie shows up you goes “Cluck, cluck, cluck” and struts around doing the chicken dance. They kiddie she be larfing so hard her eyes be closed. You slides in real close, whips off yer mask, and goes “BRAAAINS.” Yo ho ho, her timbers be shivering like she be in a storm at sea.
If’n you be a goblin, you puts a coat over yer head so it looks like part of yer body. Then you sticks a false head on top. You lurches over to some kiddies TP-ing a tree, tears off yer false head, drops it on the ground, and goes “Aaah, that got rid of my headache. Anybody else have a headache? I can fix it.” You opens and closes yer fingers. They runs away so fast they be leaving a trail of smoke behind them.
But – and this be one huge but. If’n a kiddie sez, “Arr fiend, Baba Yaga be me matey” you backs way way off. Or mayhaps you gives they kiddie some candy for being so smart.
We be talking more about fears next month. For now, all I gots to say is – Happy Halloween mateys, whoever or whatever you be.
Quante-who? That be a thing? Aye, aye, quantephobia be a 500 gold doubloon word for fear of swabbies asking questions. Arrr mateys, it be true. Big bad Baba Yaga be afraid of a few weenie questions. But I has me reasons.
When I be only a witchling me mom she sez, “Baba girl, beware of questions. They make witches like us get older. Pretty soon our skin is all wrinkly, we can’t stand up straight, and our teeth start falling out.”
I thought she be feeding me a plateful of bilge so’s I not be asking her anything. Until one day. I flies me soup bowl over to the schoolyard. That day I be late and thar be only one kiddie left. He gives me the stink eye and he opens up his mouth. I is never seen a mouth that big on a kiddie. That mouth it be firing questions at me like they be the cannonballs me dad shoots at Blackbeard and his crew.
Something be happening. Me skin it looks like a prune, me back it bends so far over that me chin sez hello to me knees, and me teeths they waggles back and forth. Son of a son of a sea dog, me mom she be right.
Only one thing be saving me. I sez, “Bowl, heave ho for home, double time.” As soon as we clatters down me chimney, I grabs me a flagon of blue rose tea, drinks it up, and yo ho ho, I be meself again. But that shivers me timbers so much I gets the quantephobia.
Ahoy mateys, we be talking more about they phobias next month. Now I gots to fly. Halloween it be coming at me faster than a speeding soup bowl and thar be a shipload of things to do. I be seizing you later.
Ahoy me mateys, Baba Yaga be blogging. Son of a son of a sea dog, it be a family thing. Me dad he be writing in his captain’s log every night even if he be dead on his feets from doing his pirate stuff. And me mom she be forever scribbling down spells in her witches’ notebook. Sometimes they smoke it be coming offa her pen. Then she cackles and snorts. Shiver me timbers, thar be some good old-timey blogs. Now it be Baba Yaga’s turn.
Aye, aye, I be blogging at you from deep inside the Cedar Woods. Don’t waste yer time looking it up on you computer thingies. You isn’t finding it and you doesn’t wants to come here anyway. The vultures in they cedar trees be giving you the stink eye while drool drips offa they beaks. If’n you sneaks by them with yer liver still in yer body, thar be me house.
Me house she gots her two big chicken feet. She be stomping you into the ground if she not liking the cut of yer jib. If’n you escapes the stomping, you still not be getting inside unless you sez the secret words, which be “w0 xfdf vncn y sdjf.” Oops, me house she shakes me up so’s I not be telling you the secret words. Jfiicreric. Avast me house, I gets it.
Har, har, har, this be more fun than watching a one-eyed parrot dance the hornpipe on a hot stove. But I gots to go now. It be time for me grilled triple cheese sandwich. I be blogging at you again next month. Until then, check out me matey Pat’s website at www.patstarzyk.com. Her ‘What’s New’ page be giving you the poop on me and me Troubles. And send me yer favorite pirate words. Arrrr, we be having us some deep pirate talking. Mayhaps I be telling you one of me secrets.