A Peg-Legged, Hook-Handed, One-Eyed Pirate...

After thirteen months of sailing the seven seas, a battle-worn schooner filled to the brim with booty and booze makes port in the rag-tag pirate isle of Tortuga.

The captain - a buccaneer known the world over for his utter lack of mercy, his terrible greed, and his hearty girth - lumbers off of the ship and, as per tradition, makes a beeline for the nearest hard-hitting watering hole.

Upon stepping into the tavern, he is immediately greeted by the barkeep, who is a close friend of his. "Captain!" the man cries out in delight, "It's wonderful to see ye again in these waters, ol' boy!"

He puts down the clay mug that he's wiping and walks towards his friend, arms open wide in welcome.

However, before he gets close enough to embrace his customer, he doubles back in shock, almost tripping over a table behind him. "Fuck!" he yelps, "What happened to yer leg, man?!"

The pirate captain looks down at the wooden pole stretching from his right knee and shakes his head in memory. "Aye," he replies solemnly, "That's a story, that is. Me 'n me crew, we're sailin' off the shore of Montego Bay with a hull full o' fresh Jamaican slaves when a heavily armed merchant vessel comes right up to our starboard side, tellin' us that we've gotta let go of our cargo 'cause we've got their employer in there. But we ain't lettin' go of one slave, no way, so we tell 'em to fuck off or we'll send 'em right down to ol' Davy, but no, they don't listen. In fact, they fucking fire one of their cannons as a warnin' shot, and it fuckin' blows me leg clean off!"

"Golly!" the barkeep gasps, "That must've been right bloody painful!"

"It sure was. But we showed 'em, we did. They took me leg, but I'm an honest man, ye see, I don't go back on me word. So we sent 'em right down to 'ol Davy."

"Masterful work, captain!" the barkeep applauds. However, he quickly goes quiet again, his eyes moving from the peg leg to...

"But captain," he says, "What happened to yer hand?"

The pirate looks down at the hook curving from his severed wrist and shakes his head in memory. "Aye," he replies solemnly, "That's a story, that is. Me 'n me crew, we were sailing 'cross the Moru Passage when another crew, one of 'em bastard Welsh sons o' sea-cucumbers that dare call 'emselves buccaneers, and they go on demandin' our booty. MY booty! The fuckin' gall! D'you have any idea what we had to go through to get that there treasure? So we tell 'em to fuck off, or we'll pin their gizzards to the masts, but no, they don't listen! They just go right on an' board us, and one of 'em ninnies chops me hand off with that puny cutlass of his!"

"Golly!" the barkeep gasps again, "That must've been right bloody painful!"

"It sure was. But we showed 'em, we did. They took me hand, but I'm an honest man, ye see, I don't go back on me word. So we cut 'em right up and pinned their gizzards to the masts."

"Masterful work, captain!" the barkeep applauds once more. However, he quickly goes quiet again, his eyes moving from the hook to...

"But captain," he says, "What happened to yer eye?"

The pirate touches the patch covering his empty socket and shakes his head in memory. "Aye," he says, "That's a story, that is. A bird shat in me eye."

The barkeep is taken aback. "A bird shat in yer eye?"

"Aye," the pirate captain replies.

"But... you wouldn't have gone blind just because of a little poop. That's total gullshit!"

"Nay, but y'see, I wasn't quite used to the hook yet."