Alan the Pirate

When my commute was two hours, I found myself fantasizing about different, exciting lives. And maybe that’s something everyone does; they’re just thinking of what’s possibly better.

I didn’t sit on my ass ten hours a day anymore. I didn’t stare at a monitor burning my retinas out anymore. I was a fucking pirate (I actually never imagined I was a pirate. It was always the award-winning novelist fantasy). And I don’t mean the Jack Sparrow kind of pirate. I mean Captain Phillips, ‘Look at me. I’m the captain now’ kind of pirate. Yup, I was a pirate with a machine gun.

“I see a ship,” my first mate called to me. His name is First Mate Matt for alliteration.

“Yes. Let’s get them.” There I was in my captain’s quarters with my walkie-talkie, in my ship with my many cannons, in the pacific ocean with the dolphins. And there it was, some loser dinghy barely making any waves.

They were obviously no match to my superior ship. I pull up. My crew is looking intimidating, especially Crab Claw Candice. She keeps the crab claws of the crabs she eats in a neat necklace she wears everyday.

“Oh hey man. Can you help us?”

“No!” I blatantly gesture to my machine gun.

“Come on, man. We’ve been here for a few hours, and its scary.”

“No! I’m going to steal all your things, and I’m going to be your captain now. Look at me. I’m the captain now!”

“We don’t have anything.” They were right. They didn’t even have clothes on, for they were nudist.

“Gross. Put some clothes on.”

“We can’t. We’re nudist.”

At this point my crew is quite disappointed. I can feel the tension in the air. “Argh,” I mutter to myself. I fiddle with my machine gun for a few seconds. “Where you guys going?”

“We want to go back to shore.” The old man stands up and points back to the beach. His belly heaves when he gestures. Everything sags.

“Oh god.” Candice leaves at this point.

“All right. Throw them a rope,” I say to Matt. “Hey you guys have to wear clothes on this ship because I’m the captain.”

The nudist comply. They succumb to my authority as captain. I sail them back to the shore, where an army of nudists welcome back their marooned brothers.

“Listen, Alan. This isn’t working out.” I turned to Matt. “We haven’t stolen anything for months now. I got to pay rent somehow. Sorry, I’m out.”

Deep down, I know he’s right. But I’m immature and angry. “Walk the plank then!” I yelled at him. Candice leaves as well, shaking her stupid judgmental head.

At this point, I have to concede that pirating is simply not for me. Whatever. There are plenty of other endeavors. I’m back at my desk. In my head, I cross pirates off my list. At least I have writing…








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