Heya hotpots, it's ya best bizzle Robbie Pizzle here, delivering you the hottest in news, reviews, and ghost ship sightings. Stay tuned for all your ghost ship related chat, right here on this little show I like to call "The Internet".
There, now I've done my regular introduction, which I do every post, it's time to get down to business.
Oh, that's a lie, I don't have any business. I've got nothing today. Absolutely zilch. I was up at 8am to walk to town for a staff meeting, then I went to a coffee shop to hang out and stroke my beard and peruse the New York Times, and to try to concentrate on a bit of writing. That didn't work, so I walked the 40 minutes back up the hill for a nap, then I walked back down for my shift, watched football not come home -- I think it's like a timid cat that got scared off from us all shouting it -- then I got back 20 minutes ago, and I'm back up in five hours to be at work for the delivery in the morning.
I mean, I swapped shifts with Zoe so I'd be off tomorrow evening for a friend's birthday, so I'm not complaining, I'm just saying to you that if you want the reason there's no substance in this post, then that's it.
Umm... OK. Let's do some writing. About...? Drrrr... Ghost ships? No. Yes? Yep. Ghost ships. That's all I've got. It's ghost ships all the way down. What about ghost ships, you ask? Erm. Well. There's... a meeting of ghost ships. Once every six-hundred-and-sixty-six years, when the tide is low and a red moon hangs motionless in the night sky. The spectral vessels drop anchor around a hidden cove on a forgotten island in seas off South America, and if the wind is blowing in just the right way, and the crashing of the waves against the rocks calms at just the right instant, the sound of shrill voices might perhaps carry on the breeze into one's waiting ears...
"Call that a ghost ship? More like a ghost rowing boat, you ask me!"
"Whatever. Which are you from? The Caleuche? Sounds like a particularly violent sneeze."
"Do not besmirch our lady's good name. The Caleuche--"
"--Bless you."
"I am warning you. Our vessel is an ancient and sentient being, crewed by the drowned and the lost, doomed to forever sail the Chilean oceans on her macabre mission. She bewitches sailors. She is captained by mermaids and warlocks. All who gaze upon her know the face of death. She is no mere ship. Do not take the name of Caleuche--"
"--Bless you."
"That is really incredibly irritating."
"Look, how about we all just cool off and..."
"Oh, go boil your barnacles! You bloody Mary Celeste lot, always playing the peacemakers. No one cares about your stupid pansy-named ship, and no one cares about you, pansies!"
"Hey, it's the 21st Century. There's nothing wrong with a ghost ship being in touch with its feminine side, if it so wishes."
"Oh, sorry. I thought it was still 1352. Which ship are you from?"
"Ahem. The, umm, Lady Lovibond."
"Figures."
"And there's nothing wrong with that!"
"Heeeey guys! What is, how do you say, ooop?"
"Oh, no."
"Oh, no."
"Oh, no."
"Yaaaah! It is us, the crew of the Flying Dutchman. You know, the most famous ghost ship in all of the world! Sorry we're late. We were just picking up royalty checks from Walt Disney Pictures and Jerry Bruckheimer Productions. Have you heard of them? They're rather popular, it turns out. It's actually hard work, you know, being this well renowned."
"Salty Satan, who invited these chodes again? I thought after last time we were going to tell them the wrong meeting place or something."
"Anyone fancy a stroopwafel? Or maybe some weed? I have so much of it, I can't smoke it all myself. I'm so baked right now."
"They're really not doing anything for the stereotypes, are they?"
More is surely said. More ghoulish schemes are surely hatched. More nefarious plots are surely plotted. But at this point the wind chooses to whip up. The pounding of the ocean intensifies. And any further conversation, if further conversation exists, is lost to the ceaseless thrashing of the waves.
And the waves keep their secrets.
The watery bastards.
Good night.
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