As you stand there pondering, you notice your fake leg seems to be leaking. The cursed thing must be waterlogged from all your time at sea.
Wait a second, you don't have a fake leg. All your limbs are still perfectly attached.
You take off your boot. Joy of joys! It's filled with grog! In your sober state, you'd forgotten about the secret stash of grog you keep in your boot, for emergencies such as these. After all, a pirate never knows when he'll need a boot full of grog.You praise your drunken forethought and are about to take a swig from the boot when the faint scent of cinnamon wafts through the open door, tickling your noise hairs. Where could that be coming from? Curious, with Grog in hand (or in boot), you venture outside to find...
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a bake sale. A large one.
ReplyDeleteYou drink all your grog, turn around, and go back into your cabin.
A trail of cinnamon, forming a dotted line which curves all over the yard, and the surrounding houses and taverns, through a large house, under some mailboxes, and finally is discovered to be made by a little boy with someone following along behind him, "drawing" the cinnamon lines. Weird.
ReplyDeleteThat your mother has finally convinced you to exit out of the basement you call a 'ship' with cinnamon buns. You plunder the seven C's (Coca-Cola, Cinnamon Buns, Carrots, Cucumbers, Cutlery, Cute Animal Apron, and Cider) and stumble back downstairs, celebrating your good fortune.
ReplyDeleteDamn that mother; she's a saucy wench.
Cinnamon eh? That must mean pie, which must mean autumn is upon us! Glory day, you found the Halloween party!
ReplyDelete