David L. Harrison

Gather 'round, ye scurvy mates, I'm signing on a crew. You there! Can ye tie a knot? Ye’ll do. I'd say you've snatched a purse or two. Ye'll do. Does the thought of plundered gold make ye shiver? Make ye bold? Ye'll do. Ha! You’re rotten through and through! Ye'll do. Phew! You stinking, drunken lout! You'd whack your uncle’s gizzard out! Well step right up! Beyond a doubt ye’ll do!

Tonight's your lucky night, boys. Look what I fixed for you! Stood all day in the burning sun to make this son-of-a-gun stew. Longhorn steaks two inches thick, dig in while they're hot. The coffee'll keep you up all night, belly up to the pot. You know your Cookie loves you, boys, loves to see you fed. Stood all day in the burning sun to bake this sourdough bread. Sop up all the stew, boys, take another steak. Have another hunk of bread. You know I love to bake. You know your Cookie loves you, boys, tell you what I'll do— tomorrow I'll fix steak and bread and a big old pot of stew!

My foot’s asleep, my seat is sore. You said “another hour” before. You say “an hour” every time. Your hours are much longer than mine.