Me luv uv tha sea, eh? Long ago, whin I was a laddie. No bard on me chin, no bard bout me netherpurse. Ah, so yong an bonny! How I could fall in luv with jussabout anythin! Well, til I luved tha sea.
Llanwrst was a sailers town back before. Not like now with the moter engines and all that autermatic sailin. No, it was for men of bravery an spirit! Once a sailer -- oh, whatsit, Grwn -- I captined tolt me uv El Dorado, all jems an shiny medels on tha walls. Pools uv diamons an champane. I told im I knew tha place here in Wales, me childhood home uv Llanwrst. Me lads we rompt thru tha gittos. Gold pisst on tha walls, glidderin emerald boddle shards, ruby blood outsida pubs, tha sapphire smoke o tha opium burrows. Grwn wodnt know treasure from fancytales, twit!
We chillins lifed inna land o legend, Lord we did, none a doubt. The sailers we knewt were magishins, they havin all sortsa elixirs an artifacts an seen all sortas magical beasties nona the cityfolk knowt. They tolt all tha boys in town of tha sharkies, sure, but tha Kraken, tha Leviatan, tha long an slippery Jorrymurgand, tha beasties that makes em relize mans justa wee rabbit in a wickt glade.
A fadder o Catmail sailt all round tha seas. Catmail alweys toutin new trinkits ta ogle at -- you know, parls, sords, talsmans. Once there were mankeys, but they diet becos we dint have a bananer betwin we. An relics uv wars, scraps uv sails uv scurriless limey drednots, even tha canninball whicht had nockt off his best mates bloody ol noggin!
An one tha days, he pullt out a liddle cuff. We thot it parta dolls outfittery an callt him a bugga. But no, was made uv flesh! Like a sasage casin. Catmail's fadder leant in close, his eyes fulla lurid secrets, an his tongue barrelin all over his gapped teeth. Like hes wantin ready to feast, spiddle droppin from his lips.
Catmail's fadder riddles to we -- ahem, lemme do all pompous in his bloody briddish accent, "This, boys, is the thing between a mermaids legs that men love so; the reason for all the wars, for all the sins, for all the poetry on this wretched earth." Even tho he knewt damnwell theres no legs for sucha thing to hid tween onna mermaid! He gives us tha riddle-thing, right in our little scamp hands, sayin well know what to makeuvit.
Catmail claimt senority on us all, which was all tha bedder since wed neer seen a thing like it. Catmail tolt us his fadder had promised a means to ease the what he called tha "stickypricky". He slipt it on first. Then Hadyn. Then Garth. Then me too. We all diddit.
One day hes pisst at tha pub oer there. Or mebbe its this very one. And hes tellin tales so as to feel as a man, as we all do, and as I doin wit you here an now. Hes gottimself a crowd uv mosta tha men uv Llanwrst in there, so prolly tha fadders of all tha boys. Hes gottim all redfaced half drunk half laughin. The bastard crowing, ahem, "Bass entrails!"
Still, no womans touch ever been as good as that place between tha legs that no mermaid has.
No comments:
Post a Comment