CAPTAIN BLIGHT’S SKUM SKOW by David Arthur Walters
Captain W.W.W. Blight arose with a startle one Tuesday morning when his beloved barge, The Skum Skow, suddenly listed and threw him out of the filthy bunk where he’d been sleeping in his grimy long johns – he usually slept with his face in his sweaty armpit, which he licked with great pleasure when he had sweet dreams of long lost love.
“Cap’n Blight! What’s that?” he heard Billy Barnakle, his First Mate, yell, from somewhere starboard, he thought, but the Captain couldn’t really say for sure, because, you see, he couldn’t remember which side or end was starboard or windward, although he often thought about “starboard” and “windward” and also “fore” and “aft” when he wasn’t thinking about the “head”, which he referred to as his “poop deck.” It certainly was a poop deck, and the stench was overbearing, quite disgraceful considering the fact that the captain was a plumber by trade – his license was suspended in five states due to his defective handiwork.
“Ahoy, Billy!” Captain Blight clammered to his feet and called out as the barge arighted itself, “Avast ye, mate, have ye no fear, this old square-bottom is made to last!”
Captain Blight felt pleased with his turn of phrase, but grimaced when he saw his computer had crashed to the cabin floor during the night, taking the monitor with it. Billy Barnakle came down the stairs into the cabin.
“Man, it stinks real bad in here!” Billy complained, “What you been eat’n?”
Billy had come on board The Skum Skow as First Mate after quitting his job as dishwasher over at Bittenbyme. He had a truck, so he brought practically the whole Barnakle crew – cranks all – with him after they had been banished for swearing like sailors – one Barnakle had even peckered his profile.
“Blimey! The server’s shot!” Captain Blight began cursing profusely after repeating his favorite scatalogical term three times.
“Hey, Cap’n, no sweat, John MacLeech has one stowed away.”
“You fool!” exclaimed Blight. “I am MacLeech!”
“Oh, right, I forgot, Cap’n. Congratulations on winning the writer’s contest.” – Captain Blight had several fictitious entities on site, so he could award them the top writing contest prizes.
“You got a back up server stowed away, right?”
“I had to give it back to the homeless shelter.”
“They actually called the cops?”
“Yeah. Now how am I gonna work on Slimelife.mag? I got some backing up to do today, dang it, so I can throw the writers overboard and grab their stuff. I ain’t gettin paid until Friday. What to do, what to do?”
“Ahoy, I’ve got it!” Billy ejaculated, and excitedly scratched his rear end, “just ask the Full Crew for money, say $30 each, for high ratings – that’ll cover it.”
“Hey, great idea! Ahoy! But I’ll have to get lots more than that from the members, mate, cuz many of them are really me.” The Captain suddenly thought of Jen, his main source of funds, then his heart sagged after he remembered their quarrel over the pedophilia charges against him. “Oh, oh, I won’t be gettin’ nothing from Jen.”
“Oh, yeah, Cap’n, guess that source’s dried up. ” Billy noticed the decaying sandwich on one end of the captain’s bunk, and thought he was going to puke. “Excuse me, I gotta get some fresh air.
“Don’t worry, Billy, I’ll figure something out. I’m not captain for nothing. I swear on Davy Jones’ locker, I’ll get Slimelife.mag up and running before the week is out.”
To Be Continued