Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Rabbits of the Caribbean

Pirate Captain Bunny, was on the deck of his ship, writing poetry. It was a stormy Autumn night and his ship, the Spektor, was rocking back and forth on the waves. The Captain and his thirteen strong crew had left Shanghai the night before for San Francisco. They would travel non-stop until then. Unless, of course, they come across a helpless merchant ship, hopefully, transporting valuables. Maybe a Kings gold. This thought excited the captain, who twirled his whiskers and bobbed his tail. But this never happens and he knew it. The best they could hope for was a food transport. Spices were spare around these seas and could fetch a handsome price in America. The storm was escalating so the captain elected to go below deck to finish his poem.

He wasn't a poet by any means but it passed the time between docks and most importantly took his mind off rutting. Captain Bunny wrote sex poems transferring his desires to the page, ridding his groin of the heat that can cripple his mind. His latest foray was his worst yet.
"I spend my days weeping,
crying into my socke,
I don't weep from my eyes,
but I cry from my cocke."

The ship heaved suddenly, knocking the captain from his bed onto the mangled wooden floor. He hopped onto his paws and darted for the deck. The storm violently bashed from all directions and was threatening to sink the ship. "Take down that sail", he ordered Patrick Bunny, a young Irish lad, but 16 years of age. Captain Bunny had picked him up in England where he was a slave for a sheep farmer. He had developed the knack for climbing and was invaluable for retracting the sail in these situations. "And release the anchor" he screamed at Peg-leg Bunny. "We were not going anywhere tonight".

The sail was down but the anchor hadn't been released. What's the hell is happening? Captain Bunny rushed to the anchor fearing the worst. He was relieved but angry to find old peg-leg standing by the anchor, not moving. "What's going on, you sticking son of a whore. Why haven't you let go the anchor?". Rain was falling heavily now, matting the captains fur and blurring his eyes. "Listen", replied Peg-leg, distracted. A sweet, harmony was coming from the black in front of them. The captain stopped, forgetting why he came here, forgetting the storm.

"Get that sail back up", ordered Captain Bunny as he ran to the ships wheel and turned starboard towards the music. The sail was back up quickly and the ship groaned as it turned towards fate. The storm was strongest now, whipping at the crew, taking what it wanted. Hats, barrels, anything not tied down or locked up was eaten up by the night. Singing penetrated the storms wail as if it was inside the crews heads, finally becoming the only sound they could hear. Captains crew now stood as still as the wind would allow, dreaming of the wonders that could produce such mesmerising music.

The Spektor lurched forward as it crashed into rocks, tearing through the ships hull exposing it's insides to the hungry sea. All of the crew were flung off the deck forward onto the rocks. Most didn't survive the fall, their bodies breaking and tearing off rock shards. Captain Bunny landed hard, suffering a broken paw, but he did not realize the pain as the music called him forward over the rocks. Three kittens sang. Beautiful meowing, caressing the captain forward into their soft, warm arms. He lay between them, his breathing light. They stroked his fur and purred into his floppy, dirty ears. They kissed him and he tasted blood.


  1. This is good...

    But a big question come to my head...

    Is it going anywhere?

    Knowing you, probaly not, lol...

    Or atleast no where I'll understand :-)

    But I'll be watching anyway, hoping...

  2. Where are my shoes? Have you seen my shoes? Fuck it, Im going out without shoes! Im going out shoeless.

    We'll go as a team. I was in my kitchen cleaning a dish. I heard it. I came out. I was really cleaning and I heard so I came out. Shoes? What shoes? Fuck shoes.

  3. Is that some kind of parabole about me and Sylvain? (sorry, I can't seem to get over myself)
    Whatever it is, I love pirates, and pirate bunnies are a good idea, so why not?

  4. I believe that brandy's mine!

    Good evening robert, you terrible cunt.I won't insult your intelligence by telling you who, or indeed what ,i am. what could be more inappropriate? For we are alot alike you and i. Anyway i just wanted to impart to you the opinion that you write very well,indeed much better than i. You know my obsession is specialised word images, a number of which i have shared with you from time to time. These images are highly stylised and are reliant on certain aquired tastes. however i lack the gramatical grace that you possess.(also kelly writes quite well don't you think?)
    Anyway i would be honoured if you would endever to collaborate on some project.
    Two hundred and fifty pound black prostitute urinates over a litter of dead kittens.

    Yours sincerly,