I is uncovered 2 (count ‘em 2) cases of skullduggery in they baseball park.
Skulldugger #1: The speed demon. Wanted for wanton stealing of bases.
Skulldugger #2: Springfoot. Wanted for grand theft of a home run away from the batter.
If’n you catches these skullduggers in the act you be sending over the boo birds to drop a big one on they heads. Les’n they plays for yer team. Then you be giving them the standing O.
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.
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.