Arrrgh… A little about me Buddy, Drew…

Seeing as how me good friend Drew was the only scurvy swab confident enough to take a guess as to my vacation whereabouts, he be the winner of the “Where’s Robbo?” contest. It should be noted for all you sea salts out there that his answer was only half right… While I did indeed partake in the plunder of yer nation’s capitol, I also made me way up ta see me pappy. Along the way, I made the aquaintence of various wenches and scullery maids that ain’t been seen by my eyes in a whale’s age. I would make the obligatory “booty” joke here, but it seems forced somehow.

By now, I know there be those of you land-lubbers wondering why it sounds like this entry be logged by the dread pirate Kahunah… Fer those not in the know, today is national “talk like a pirate” day here in the states. In addition to giving me an excuse to wear me eye patch, it affords me the rare opportunity to write the winning log entry about Drew in pirate speak, which be far more fun than seems would be allowed by law.

I met the scurvy dog back in the school of higher learnin that I met most of me friends… where while I spent most of my time chasing haughty wenches, Drew spent his time learnin ta build things what make use of the power behind Poseidon’s stormy bolts from the sky. While many would probably think that Drew was unlucky in the ways of cupid back then, Twas not his fault ya see… as his Privateer Place room was built upon cursed ground, which allowed none who laid their head there to ever get laid… but instead allowed those around him to consistently get some in his room when he be not there. I would tell you some of me better scandalous Drew stories, but he now be a family man, and it just don’t seem right somehow.

I will however tell you the story of how all the educatin’ in the world will never make up for the stupidest thing I have ever seen him do. We were out for a night on the town, having gathered a veritable heard of wenches into the back of his old Chevy Cavalier and made our way along the costal waters to the port of Biloxi fer doughnuts. As I recall, we crammed three wenches of ample frame, Myself, a Duck, and Drew into a car designed to seat four at the most. There was ample booty, (sorry, couldn’t resist) but I was riding shotgun and merely laughed heartily at the sight of the wenches squeezed into the back seat like dubloons in a buried chest. We were on our way home when Drew makes a turn to port… right onto the port side of a divided highway… completely ignoring all the oncoming headlights, and the large red signs saying “WRONG WAY”. I covered me eyes. The women screamed. The Duck quacked loudly. Drew calmly said, “oh, wait… this is the wrong way.”, put the car into reverse, backed quickly to the intersection where the trouble began, and us back on course on the STARBOARD side of the road.

To this day, when I catch him doing something stupid, I say “Ruh-ohn-guh wuh-ay Drew.” If ye sounds it out, it’s a lot funnier.