Herein contained is set down a record of that wily fellow
from the wanted posters named Captain Alan Sloshbeard, who I am not now nor in
anyway have I ever been, the same as or related to in any fashion… indeed. Yours, The Pantsless Pirate…Privateer…Merchant…right.
Hello journal,
I found myself on the run once more; that is of course
assuming that those servants of the crown who gave chase were not simply phantoms
of a mind besotted with strong drink. I sought
to seek sanctuary at the church but I got shut out for having no pants, or
being man with no pants, or perhaps it was because I was a man with no pants
and it was not a church so much as a nunnery; I digress. Needless to say I charmed the habit off some
silly nun, stole it and set about hiding amongst them. I find that the more hair a woman has on her
face the less anyone is willing to point it out, works every time. A fine time it was surrounded by women all
starved for manly affections, they were all drawn to me for reasons they just
could not calculate. Everything was
going fine and I was certain that the crown’s search for me had to have moved
on by now. In the end however all good
things come to an end. Enter the Mercenary,
he was some sort of Scottish lordling, and goodness knows how he ended up in
Sister Melinda’s bed, or was it Belinda…Miranda…? The one who giggled a lot. I found myself with the misfortune of other
men chasing him and then finding out where he was. So it fell upon me to get him and myself out
of there. So after feeding Father What’s
His Name his teeth, for all the times he got too free roaming with his
hands. I grabbed all the shiny trinkets
I had been hoarding for the past few weeks, set fire to the place and dragged
that sorry Lord Rose fella to the Docks. Where we escaped aboard the first
vessel I could lay hands on. In
retrospect stealing a merchant vessel fully loaded with arms ammunition and
powder was not the best plan, but that Journal is another story.
With abject humility
and total honesty I swear
Captain Alan
Sloshbeard.
