Shenanigans at the Jolliest Roger

A Pirate’s Dilemma, Part the Second

Old Stella had made some peculiar changes to the Roger, I tell ye true. I remember well a time when a seaman like yers truly could grab a pint of grog, settle into one of Stella’s leather-backed chairs, and put his peg up on an oaken barrel. And a fine bar she stocked, arrrr.

I tarried at the threshold. “Stella, what’s become of the place? Where’s me bar? Where’s me fine old leather chairs, and barrel to rest me peg a spell?”

“Times have changed, Cap’n. See that hunk of brass? That’s an espresso machine. Now I can steam milk like the pros –”

“You always steamed my milk like a pro, Stella dear.”

“Kind of you to say, Cap’n. My new clientele likes lots of glass and stainless steel –”

“Avast! What be those plants on the tables, and hanging off yer beams?”

“Calla lilies, Cap’n. And those be ferns.”

“Stella, Stella. What sort of godfersaken house of ill repute are you runnin’ these days? And what be that on the table — malt vinegar? Stella, I like me lasses to smell like lasses –”

But I had no chance to finish, for at that very moment the beauties appeared, floatin’ down the stairs like visions of Earthly delight. Frenchies and Spaniards, jade-bedecked vixens from Cathay and the finest Nubian princesses. “Oooh la la, it’s Captain Morning Wood!” cried one, and “Can I sit on your lap?” cried ‘tother, and “May I please polish your peg leg?” cried a third.

They surrounded yer blighted hero and whisked me to a table. While Stella plied me with her finest rum (she’d saved me a pint, bless her heart), they begged me fer stories of courage and adventure on the high seas. But before long, I came to know their darker purpose.

“Cap’n,” said the Nubian, a fine lass with a high breast, two of them in fact, “is it true you shipped with the legendary Jack Sparrow?”

“Oooh!” the others did cry out in their feminine ecstacies. “You knew Jack Sparrow? What’s he like? Tell me, tell me please!”

“Ay, ’tis true,” I said most mournfully. “I knew Jack Sparrow. I shipped with the Perrier-drinkin’ scoundrel.”

Aye. At last it made sense: the cafe lattes, the calla lilies, the ferns. Jack Sparrow — that bilge-sucking, eyeliner-bogarting blaggard — Jack Sparrow had come to town and fouled me beloved Jolliest Roger.

“Jack Sparrow is not the man ye think he is,” I said to a chorus of soulful moans. “One fact I’ll give ye, one fact to prove that Jack Sparrow is a right poor excuse for a pirate. Here ’tis: that craven swab don’t even know his alphabet like a rum seadog.”

“Huh?” said me gorgeous beauty from Cathay.

“I tell ye true, Mai Poon, or Rita Cosby taint a man. Ol’ Jack Sparrow, he confuses his M’s for his Arrrs.”

“Como?” said Maria of Cordoba.

“Si, si, Maria. One day we made to board one of Her Majesty’s privateers. ‘Look ye, Jack Sparrow,’ I said. ‘Have ye ever seen a stouter mizzenmast?’ ‘Mmmm,’ he replied. Mark ye! A yummy Mmmm, not a right manly Arrrr.”

I gazed upon a sea of beautiful but sadly blank faces, I did.

“That poxy hunk of shark bait wasn’t looking at the mizzenmast, ye sex-addled dames. He was looking at me bosun’s rudder! And by rudder, understand I be speaking metaphorically.”

These flowers of femininity met me revelation with general consternation. I began to fear me willy would stay dry for another long turn at sea, but then Stella arrived, bless her soul.

“Girls, girls! The Cap’n isn’t here for your pleasure.”

Stella’s lasses needed no more encouragement. With a great whoop, they spirited me onto their fine, soft shoulders, and hauled me bodily upstairs to their den of exotic pleasures.

“Fair winds!” cried me good hostess Stella. “And, girls, don’t forget. The Cap’n has been at sea a very long time. Before you get intimate, you had better swab his poop deck!”

To be continued.

Here be yer pirate romance. Arrr.

In honor of International Talk Like A Pirate Day

A Pirates Dilemma, Part the First

Taint easy being grizzled as a cockswain’s dungbie, I tell ye, and me with a leg o’ teak from the knee down. The eye patch don’t help at all, neither. Of late, it seems I can only wet me beak in the back end of a cackle, or in the bunghole of a portside beauty with fewer eyes than me. Imagine me surprise, mates, when I stirred meself one morning and found not one but two beauties casting hopeful eyes on me sorely underused mizzenmast.

But I be gettin’ ahead of meself. Name is Wood, me friends. They calls me Morning Wood, on account o’ I rise before the cock crows and I be barking orders before the sun peeps out her shiny eye. We’d just taken a fine haul, having scuttled Her Majesty’s ship The Drake off the Ivory Coast, and I was of a mind to give me men some much needed shore leave. And, truth be told, I longed for a fine young maiden of indiscriminate tastes to shiver me timbers right well.

We put anchor at the Port of Sassandra. So many bronze beauties lined up at the docks, I figured I had to be in Davy’s grip to be this close to Paradise. Old Stella herself met me at The Blinkered Eye — that be right, Stella of the Ivory Coast’s most famous house o’ ill repute, The Jolliest Roger. Stella had so many rolls of flesh, twas said she could satisfy the whole Spanish Armada with nary a risk to her honor.

“Ahoy, Wood!” she cried. It tickles her fancy to talk like a pirate, it did. “Is that a hornpipe in your pocket, or do you be glad to see me?” Sadly, she ain’t too good at it.

“Darlin’, how would you like a ride on the Cap’n’s Fo’c’s’le?”

“That be a fine proposal, Wood, but I’ll do you one better. I have me some new blood, I do, and I’d be honored if you’d inspect the merchandise.”

“Inspect the merchandise? What do you take me for, woman, a common water-clerk? I be here to find meself a good time –“

Old Stella sighed. “I meant, how would you like to get laid? Really laid? Not just a roll in the hay with my pet sheep.”

I was as stunned as if I’d been clogged on the head by sodden oar.

“You mean it, woman? A real dame, one of the human persuasion?”

“Two X chromosomes and all, Cap’n.”

That one went over me head, but I liked the sound of it all the same.

To be continued.

Watching the Train Wreck

I’ve been watching the HBO miniseries, Rome, but I have mixed feelings about the program.

For starters, Rome compares poorly to I, Claudius which is an all-time classic in my opinion. I, Claudius was a sharp satire on government and human frailty while Rome plays it straight and relies too heavily on sex and nudity to maintain interest.

The main problem for me, though, is watching the collapse of the Roman Republic; it’s far too close to present-day America. I don’t claim to have any formal training in Roman history but I do have some interest in the subject.

In many ways, we are very close to Rome. Western culture is a direct descendent of Rome but the U.S. seems to have more in common with it than the rest of the world.

Rome was an Etruscan-dominated monarchy which was alleged to be morally corrupt. The Romans claimed they revolted against the Etruscans for reasons of piety, patriotism, civic virtue, etc. The revolution resulted in a type of representative democracy which favored the aristocracy while giving a limited voice to the plebians. In some degree, this is reminiscent of the Puritans in the Colonial Era and the American Revolutionary War.

In any case, Rome grew to dominate its neighbors. Her armies brought home plunder in the form of gold, slaves, and tribute. Rome conquered Egypt, whose farmers could bring in two crops per year. The grain surplus fed the Roman populace. Slaves from conquered nations fueled industry like oil does today.

Rome’s greatest rival was Carthage, which was eventually defeated in the Punic Wars. For Carthage, one could liken it to the USSR.

After the defeat of Carthage, Rome grew far more prosperous and its aristocrats became incredibly wealthy. The vast majority of Roman citizens lived in poverty with high unemployment rates. They survived on a welfare system underwritten by war conquests and aristocrats who bought votes and support with their wealth. The people were pacified with bread and circuses, not unlike Monday Night Football and American Idol.

Traditional Roman virtues decayed and sexual mores loosened. Divorce rates skyrocketed and lawyers became wealthy as Roman citizens constantly sued each other in civil lawsuits. Government corruption and cronyism was rampant.

In a society like Rome which based its power on military conquest, reverses on the battlefield created fear and panic in their people. This made Roman society susceptible to ambitious aristocrats who sought more and more wealth and power. Generals battled each other and civil war raged for decades. Eventually, the senatorial ranks were decimated until there was little opposition to a monarchy/dictatorship which could provide stability to a war-weary country.

Are we there yet? No, Bush is too incompetent. The U.S. military wouldn’t follow him in a coup to topple the government. Who will follow Bush? In the aftermath of an economic breakdown, a demagogue could seize power by promising to reform government corruption.

Bush isn’t the fascist we should fear. It’s the competent fascist who comes after him that scares me.

Your morning blast from the past

This is my favorite photo of me and Jake. We took it at my parents’ fiftieth anniversary celebration in Las Vegas — about six years ago, I think.

Cute kid, eh?

D.

It gets worse

If you came here expecting humor, don’t waste your time. I’ll try to be funny later.

***

Feeling happy and peppy this delightful Sunday morning? Please, read this diary from Daily Kos. Highlights:

1. I talked to FEMA reps, RC reps, State Health reps and the hospital folks and received the same “we don’t need doctors or nurses to run clinics” (I’ve been placing medical teams)

Today at the Red Cross shelter, the doctor I traveled with…Dr. Ken Levine, was STILL seeing patients that ‘didn’t need him’ when I left at 7 p.m.

This is what bugs me. According to an email I received from the Feds, 33,000 docs have volunteered their services. There should be no shortage of medical care. What if we’re being kept out of the area thanks to dumb-ass mismanagement? But, wait! There’s more:

I have heard that a ‘BOBCAT’ is worth $1000/day paid by FEMA (us), flatbed trucks something like $500/day. Then it seems the contractors try to collect additional money from homeowners, many poor.

It doesn’t surprise me that this disaster is bringing out the worst in human nature. Yes, I realize it’s bringing out the best, too, but this is still heartbreaking.

The author of this diary asks that you contact the national media. Americans in my crowd, let’s take it one step further and contact our Representatives and Senators, too. I’ve posted links (to the right, at the top) that make it easier to send emails to these folks.

***

Another interesting peak at human nature:

According to a recent Rasmussen poll, dubya’s numbers have suffered thanks to his post-Katrina speech. Why?

The spending plan has not been well received by conservative voters–just 43% favor the huge federal commitment . . . while 37% are opposed.

Irony of ironies. Dubya’s in trouble: when he proposes that we throw giga$$ into the NOLA rebuilding effort, he loses support from his base of conservative Republicans (who doubtless don’t like the idea of that much money going to the poor) and fundamentalists (who reveled in NOLA’s destruction, considering it an act of God, a latter day redux of Sodom and Gomorrah). If he does nothing, he loses the rest of America.

Oh, those silly conservatives and fundamentalists. Chill, guys! Don’t you realize dubya wants to funnel that money into Halliburton & friends? And he’ll use the expense as an excuse for further social engineering in the form of cuts to evil programs (Medicaid, EPA, public education . . .)

That’s all for now, folks.

D.

Passing notes

Before I get rolling, Karen has written about the Gretna, Louisiana atrocity-in-progress over at her blog. Now, on with our regularly scheduled blathering.

We had a saying in residency: “You’re either in this hospital working, or you’re in here as a patient. Either way, you’re here.” Point being, no time off for illness.

In five years of training, I only missed one day, and that only because I had food poisoning and couldn’t bring a barf bag with me on rounds. Well, I suppose I could have, but the other residents frowned upon that degree of obsessive dedication. In any case, at L.A. County Hospital we functioned in a perennial state of “swamped”. If you stayed home, someone else had to do your work, someone who already had too much work of his own.

Now that I’m out of that zoo, I have no excuse for not taking better care of myself. Office patients can be rescheduled, ya know? But, no. I had to go into work, because . . . ah, who knows.

I still eat fast, too, which made sense during residency (you never knew when the ER might call) but makes absolutely no adaptive sense nowadays.

Thanks, everyone, for your thoughts & best wishes. I’m a little better today, but not much.

I tend to get political on the weekend, which means I get depressed, too. For you non-Americans in my crowd: we’re indoctrinated from kindergarten with a slew of nationalistic ideas. America is the greatest nation, and we’re great because of the freedoms we enjoy, the freedoms our country symbolizes, the freedoms our military defends. You have to find out about the atrocities on your own: the genocide of Native Americans; My Lai; Andersonville (a Confederate POW camp); the LONG history of black oppression, from Day 1 to the present; the firebombing of Dresden. Robber barons of every generation raping the underclass. Iraq. New Orleans.

There’s so much evil out there now, I don’t know where to start. If I were Christian, I could only conclude that Dubya is the Antichrist. Tell me I’m wrong.*

But, hey. This is a humor blog (sometimes). So, for your pleasure, consider the following:

I have it on good authority that this image is a fake, a clever bit of photoshopping. However, there’s a good deal of confusion as to what Dubya really wrote in that note. Thanks to close questioning of eyewitnesses, I have narrowed down the list of possibilities to the following.

1. I’m bored. Can I go home now? Wah!

2. Condi: there’s the Colombian ambassador. Think you can score me some blow?

3. I never been in a room with so many nigras. Nothing personal, Condi.

4. How many of these here ambassadors are Republicans, anyway?

5. The Iranian ambassador keeps staring at me. He is so dead.

So . . . have you folks heard of any other possibilities?

***

We’re watching one of my all time favorite movies right now: Men in Black. Awesome script, great special effects, and every actor was on his/her game. Nothing sucks in this movie, not a single damned thing.

Watching Vincent D’Onofrio’s alien bug reminds me of something Karen showed me on Arachnopets yesterday: a series of photos and messages from a guy who lets centipedes crawl on his hands. Now, I know a lot of you are terrified of spiders, but I’m here to tell you that spiders ain’t got nothing on centipedes. Centipedes are far more aggressive than most spiders, and their venom is WAY more painful.

If you don’t like creepy-crawlies, do not, repeat DO NOT view this link. I’m telling you, we’re talking Major League Formication, got it? But those of you with creepy-crawly loving kids, you’ll score points for coolness if you let them look at these photos.

Have a great weekend, y’all, and thanks again for your kind thoughts.

D.

*Yeah, when I get published, I am definitely going to have to get me an apolitical blog.

Addendum: I’m not the only one who thinks Bush is Eeeevil. This guy has written the book on the subject. For example: by several separate numerological systems, Bush’s name adds up to 666. So there!

Gretna, Louisiana

I was reading about the situation in Gretna, a predominately white city next to New Orleans. In order to keep the “violent and dangerous darkies” from contaminating their pure city, they’ve set up a roadblock manned by armed police officers. Effectively, they prevented thousands of New Orleans residents from escaping a flooded hell.

As bad as this may seem, Gretna was not the only city to block escape routes. Other cities have blocked roads as well.

There was a similar situation in the Great Mississippi Flood. Communities on opposing sides of the river could see the rising water begin to threaten their levees. Each side knew that if the levee broke on the opposing bank, the river would flood the other town. Their community would be saved.

Both sides formed armed groups and patrolled the levees. As far as I know, no one purposefully destroyed a levee.

So, in today’s America, would we break our neighbor’s levee?

No Blogging Today

Karen’s version: Doug has a note from his doctor excusing him from blogging today. He injured his index finger picking his nose and cannot type. (That’s an ENT doctor joke, they’re snot doctors.)

Jake’s version: He injured his pointing finger while sticking it up his butt.

Doug’s version: I pulled a muscle in my back while coughing.

How the hell do you pull a muscle coughing? Well, he did it this morning. Jake claims he screamed like a girl. I unfortunately had to help him put his underwear on. Ewwww!

Okay, that last bit was Jake again.

Doug will never let us post again after this. WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Karen and Jake

Sorry, fiends

I’m feeling even less scintillant today than yesterday. Except for 45 minutes at lunch, I’ve been on my feet from 8:30 AM to 7 PM. Late day today, thanks to a semi-emergency which required a trip to the OR. My life isn’t usually this screwy.

Now I have a two-aspirin-and-sledgehammer headache and the cold is squawking, “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” This (and Jon Stewart) reminds me of Intelligent Design. Stewart’s counter-argument was the human scrotum. (Take the most sensitive organ in the male body, and hang it out there in harms way.) Mine would be viruses. What good has a virus ever done? Bacteria have a place on this planet — they help break down the dead stuff. But viruses? They’re effing parasites, man. Proof that if there is an intelligent designer, he’s a sadist.

I missed dubya’s speech. Karen says it was excruciatingly boring, and she couldn’t believe the way the talking heads were yapping afterwards how great it was. You know what that reminds me of? The Vice Presidential debate between Geraldine Ferraro and dubya’s daddy. Karen and I thought Ms. Ferraro rocked, while georgie seemed like a milquetoast weenie. Everyone else in the room (my thesis advisor and a bunch of molecular biology post-docs) thought georgie won the debate.

I firmly believe that one of the main things wrong with this country is the fact that Karen and I represent the fringe, rather than the mainstream.

Here’s what else happened today:

I’ve already signed up with Louisiana DHH, but I’ve been conflicted over whether or not I should fax my information back to the Feds. FEMA is still running the Federal relief effort, and you can imagine how much confidence I have in FEMA. Finally, I punted to my lawyer. I sent him the documents and asked him if they looked kosher.

I asked him why they wanted me to sign a loyalty oath (notarized, no less!)

“You’re not going to like this answer,” he said.

“Try me.”

“Our government is run by fascists.”

I knew there was a reason I liked this guy. Anyway, he looked things over, told me none of it looked horrendous and that I’d be safe sending it in. So now the Feds have me in their system, assuming they have their act together.

That would be funny, except that it is so not funny.

D.

Your morning linkage

Check out Rae Alexander’s blog for a particularly creepy bird story. Yeesh. And I thought I had exaggerated their cruelty in my NiP. She also has some fine frog pix up, for you frog lovers.

More later.

D.