May - ham on the high seas
In previous stories and tales you have heard of the collaboration of two seafaring men that desired to become pirates. These two, now know as Red Morty Flint and Black Billy Cash, procured a ship, honed their craft and began their quest for treasure.
Value is a strange thing. The rarest of things becomes the most valuable. This is also true of need. A man marooned on an island has no need for jewels, but offer him water and food and he will gladly make the trade.
For obscure reasons forgotten even to us the most highly sought prize, the Holy Grail our “White whale”, as it were, became the act of making a ham sandwich, at sea, with totally appropriated ingredients.
This then was the general tone of our conversation at our assigned meeting place in the Port – o - the Strand…also known as the Hooters at 39 th Avenue. We had made several excursions since our first two reports and these were met with mild success. We pulled along several other catamarans demanding beer and, “ The makins of a Ham Sandwich!”. A few times it was necessary to open up with the water balloons. “Give’em a taste of latex!” became our battle cry. We had been rewarded, more times than not, with beer. It is , after all , a favorite among seafaring men and tourons alike. Yet we had never obtained the ham. This made it all the more important to us to actually make a ham sandwich.
“Aye. The Ham eludes us Morty.” Said I. “ The problem lies not with the Ham….but with our prey.” replied Morty. “As I sees it,” he said between bites of chicken wings and clams, ( which we had taken the habit of naming…the clams that is. ie: Cheryl, Bonnie, Lorna and such…crude but FUNNY), “ We been hitting mostly day sailors. Locals. They’re close to home and their own provisions so they need not pack supplies for long term sailin.” “ LIKE THE HAM!” blurted Billy. “Aye….the Ham.” Grinned Morty.
Oh, I had seen that grin before. Morty’s eyes would take on a faraway gaze, his smile would be serene and his demeanor very calm, yet I knew the maelstrom was coming….”We need to go up the coast where the party is hap’nin.” And then Billy’s eyes took on a clear blue sheen. He leaned in close and with a terrible smile said in unison with Morty: “Bird Island.”
Yes, Bird Island. It is the mainstay of the touron party boat rentals. The little obscure sand bar was the destination of many a pontoon boat laden with tourons, alcohol and yes….pork products. And so, the terrible deal was struck in an instant of clarity. Morty and Billy would sail north to Bird Island and pillage and loot the plethora of party goers there. This being settled they returned to the task of naming their clams. “Bettie!” “You said that already! Besides, she reminds me of a Lucy!” and so it went into the night……….