The freebooters be they players that be kicking the ball around the field when they should ought to be firing it to first base. They gets themselves a error.
Avast be what the batter sez when he be wanting a time out. Mayhaps they umpire be giving it to him, mayhaps not, if’n he not be liking the cut of the batter’s jib.
Ahoy mateys, here be more baseball talk, pirate-style.
The hornswoggler he be waggling the bat around to fake out the pitcher.
But he be no match for the heave-ho. That be the pitch they hornswogglers not be hitting for nothing. They just looks silly while they pitcher he larfs behind his glove.
Yo ho ho and a swig o’ the finest, it be the season for the best game EVER. I be talking about the baseball. Aye, that be a witches’ game, me swabbies. Why for? Because of they team curses. Such as the Chicago Cubs. They be cursed for 71 years on account of they be mean to a goat name of Murphy. And four other teams gots them they curses, too.
Stap me vitals, thar be jobs for witches in they baseball industry. A team witch she could undo any curse that be going around. Or cast a spell on her team’s rivals. Har, har, har, the other batters they swings at everything. They even swings when the pitcher not be throwing the ball.
PLUS, baseball be full of pirate activity to boot. Me dad would have eaten it up like if it be a bowl of fish guts stew. You gets to steal you a base and they doesn’t claps you in irons, they claps for you. Les’n you plays for they other side. Then they goes, “Keelhaul him.”
Nar, they doesn’t. But they should. The baseball it be even better if’n they uses them the pirate lingo. Like this – The manager goes “gangway,” charges onto the field and sez to the umpire he sez, “You scurvy dog, did you forget yer eye patch today?” Then the umpire he goes, “Walk the plank buster,” and throws him outta the game.
Mateys, I gots to go root on me faves – they popup-plunderin’ Pittsburgh Pirates and those strike-mashin’ seafarin’ men the Seattle Mariners. I be enjoying the game in me flying soup bowl while I guzzles a tankard of eye of newt root beer and thinks on more pirate-ized baseball lingo. They be up here later. Mayhaps you got you some to share, too. Bring ‘em on. I be waiting for yer comments.
…do-rag C. I be totally rocking it, right? They splendifcent Terri Cohlene be picking it out for me. Terri sez to me she sez “Arrrrrr! I be thinkin’ do-rag ‘C’ to match the colour o’ yer eyes.” Aye, Terri, I is had me one tough life. Or mayhaps two tough lives. They be giving me the red eye. Terri not only has her the sharp eye for pirate-type headgear, she be a wicked good poet, kids’ writer, and editor – and now she be doing tabletop games too. If’n that not enough, she be a all around good matey to boot. She gots her a website at www.terricohlene.com.
For all you swabbies out thar who not be picking me a do-rag, I feels yer pain. You be too dazzled by all they wonderfulness to choose you just one. That be Baba Yaga’s problem too. It be all good me mateys, it be all good.
And now I be leaping into me soup bowl and taking me do-rag for a test flight.
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.