Tag Archives | gold coast

It were 2011, and a year had passed since the Le Fromage de Satan had sunk our frigate with an exploding cheese, killing all hands except for meself, Jim Quinn, and the chef’s assistant, Paul Le Whisk.

Arrr!

Le Whisk gave up yer life at sea after his near brush with the Belugas. And I? Well, after the disaster that befell the HMCS Shag Harbour, it were clear to me His Majesty’s fleet was not going to capture the worst of Canada’s curdaneers, Captain Jacques LaBung. It would be up to me to get LaBung and his ruthless gang of cheese pyrates, whose savage bowel obstructions were infamous along the Gold Coast.

So I hit upon the idear of luring them in, so to speak, with me own tempting cheddar. I resigned my commission, and entered the shadowy world of bathtub cheese making. Dangerous work for sure, keeping clear of the authorities while yer curds age, and I almost lost me good hand in the press one time. But soon, I had load of unsanitary cheese, ready to lure LaBung and his plugged-up pyrates with.

I let it be known that I were transporting my salmonella-laced booty that night, and knew the word would get out to LaBung. Even if he suspected its quality, he could never resist a boatload of gold. My launch were a sturdy craft, but it would not survive the explosives I’d put in the hold. Me plan was to destroy the ship when La Bung and his constipated crew came on board.

I were willing to die for me revenge, but it were not to be.

Sure enough, their awful ship, Le Fromage de Satan, came at me as soon as I was in the St. Lawrence, but before they boarded me, a swarm of birds rose from the craft. It were a flock of aggressive parrots, trained by the demon La Bung himself! They came at me, screeching profanities in Quebecois, and pecking at me good eye! They stunk of the ship’s bilge, where La Bung had been keeping them, driving them mad with the reek.

Ashamed as I am to admit it, I panicked, and abandoned me wee launch to the feculent birds.

I dove under the water, and swam away as fast as I could, knowing the pyrates would stop for the cheese, and leave me be.

But I could hear the roar of LaBung’s laughter, above the din of evil parrots, screeching: “Kétaine! Vas te faire foutre!” I vowed (yet again) that revenge would be mine.

Arrrr!! Two more sleeps to Talk Like a Pirate Day! Part one of Cheese Pirates! here.

Authorities seize “bathtub cheese” | Flock of Houdini birds hits city | Other sources of giggle-guano can be found at alltop.

The year were 2011 and I joined the Navy for one reason alone — to get me vengeance on Le Fromage de Satan, and her scurvy master, Captain Jacques LaBung.

LaBung and his crew of plugged-up sea-dogs were known all along the Gold Coast — the north shore of the St. Lawrence. The bilge rats were infamous for their cruelty, their addiction to Quebec water-aged cheddar, and their malignant bowel obstructions.

Me own father had been a boson on Le Fromage de Satan; killed by LaBung for some minor offense. Arrr!

They Strapped him to the Wheel. This was the worst fate yer cheese pyrate could suffer, worse even than keel-haulin’. When yer underwater cheddar goes bad, that wheel of cheese is used as an anchor — or in the case of me Da’, he were strapped to it, and tossed over to be Mocked By the Belugas.

Down to Davy Jones he went, and I vowed me revenge. So now here I am, Ensign Jim Quinn, newly minted by His Majesty, and ready to take on the worst of Canada’s curdaneers.

Avast! There she be, heeling out from Baie des Ha! Ha! in full flight. But she’s no match for our frigate, the HMCS Shag Harbour.

And then, the milky whey of fate stepped in, and a fog bank came up to obscure our prey. We had to slow, and we thought we’d lose them, but then we heard them in the fog, laughing at us.

Our captain piled on, and the Shag she responded! We could hear their laughter above the roar of our engines, and then I noticed it in the water.

“Hard a larbord!” cries I, but too late. We hit the cheese-barrel dead-on; I was abaft, and so, were thrown overboard in the blast, not kilt outright.

The bow of the Shag were in flames, and then it began to sink, taking me crew with it. Me captain had been caught by one of the oldest tricks of yer Quebec curdaneer — the exploding cheese.

The flames went out as the Shag Harbour went down, and Le Fromage de Satan disappeared into the fog, the laughter of her pyrates mocking me, me Da, and those few brave seamen who’d survived the wreck.

Mocked me, they might have, but killed me they hadn’t, and vengeance would still be mine. I’ll see you in Davy’s yet, LaBung!

Tomorrow: The Revenge of the Crimson Parrots

Three more sleeps to Talk Like a Pirate Day!

Sunken Quebec Treasure | Photo by fourthirtythree | Other bunged-up bilge-rat humor at alltop. Originally published in 2005. Arrrrrrr!