PRIOR CHAPTER

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Babble On, Pimp

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There are foolish people who,

when they see a man dressed in fine clothing,

look no further than the garment.

- Adolph Franck

The Kabbalah

 

There’s a sucker born every minute.

- author unknown

 

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    Prostitution was a boom-or-bust industry in the Caribbean ports that catered to pirates, and long lines often formed on corners worked by the more popular ladies whenever ships disgorged nouveau riche crews after successful ventures.  In these frenzied marketplaces, the law of supply and demand carried more weight than the law of any European crown, and a smart whore could earn a king’s ransom with only a few well-timed tricks.  

    In just such a sellers’ market, two half-broke and half-spent pirates raked the bustling wharves in search of more whores, but found – much to their chagrin – all the ladies within their current price-range already hard at work.  Seaman Stan, though average height, glanced down at One-Eyed Willy, his slightly shorter and thicker partner-in-crime. 

     "Oi! We hittin’ Da Bearded Mussel den?" 

     In Nassau, The Bearded Mussel was the house of ill repute of last resort.  It could provide any service imaginable, if you didn't mind the vermin.  Vermin weren’t a problem for Seaman Stan and One Eyed Willy.  A man of few words, One-Eyed Willy replied with a nonchalant shrug and monosyllabic grunt. 

     "Aye."

   The lecherous pirates had taken no more than two steps toward their destination before One-Eyed Willy pulled up short and nudged his elbow into Stan's gut.  Willy pointed with his eyes and gestured with his thumb at a well-tailored dandy slowly walking down the dock towards them.  

    The quirky man was dressed in black leather shoes and black breeches, jacket, and hat; his white ruffled collar, cuffs, and silk stockings barely visible.  The plume in his finely embroidered tri-cornered cap provided one of the few splashes of color, and that merely the subtle purple/blue iridescence typical in the feathers of black birds such as ravens and crows.  But, it was not the pirate’s almost entirely monochromatic wardrobe that elicited the two friend’s undivided attention, however, 'twere the abnormal manner in which he strutted through the boisterous crowd.  

    Seaman Stan hid a spontaneous guffaw behind a pretend cough.  The more talkative of the two, Stan whispered loudly out of the side of his mouth. 

     "Oi!  Willya 'ave a look-see at dis flash git's swagga." 

     The Right Honourable Reverend Doctor Heronimus Jones strolled down the dock like a drunken cock, the plume in his embroidered tricorn bouncing jauntily with each queer stride.  I use the term "queer" here in the archaic sense: meaning “oblique, perverse, and/or twisted”.   

     I'm assuming most readers are familiar with what is colloquially referred to as “the pimpwalk".  What you are most likely envisioning, according to one admittedly obscure scholar, is the direct descendent of the sea-legged stride of the mariner gone ashore.  The pimpwalk's rolling cadence, so obviously born while riding ocean swells, is evidence that the gait did not evolve from the bow-legged strut of the cavalier cowboy.  Furthermore, the contemporary pimpwalk incorporates elements designed to conceal both wounds and contraband, another testament to its piratical origin.  Most relevant to us, the setting of this tale is not modern-day Chicago, New York, or West Hollywood.  Nor is it Dodge City or Deadwood of the American Wild West.  This is "pirate proven" Nassau in the Bahamas, in the very heart of the Golden Age of Caribbean Piracy. 

    And, while this was not the first time a style of walking was used to convey meaning or to entrance observers, The Right Honourable Reverend Doctor Heronimus Jones’ ritualized saunter – made even saucier by his recent imbibing of his own patented VodouBrew™  – was not devolved mimicry.  The Right Honourable Reverend Doctor’s pimpwalk was both meaningful and unique. Like a battle-stricken man-o-war, Heronimus Jones listed to his port side, limping with a pronounced bounce and a shuffling hop.  The result was an oddly hypnotic, curiously shifting rhythm – his right foot in 4/4 time, his left in 3/3, both feet in 12/12 –, a “medicinal" rhythm learned from a Vimbuza shaman many years before.  

     Stan and Willy had most certainly never seen anything like it in all their travels. Heronimus spied Seaman Stan and One-Eyed Willy staring at him.  He hailed them, waggling his cane’s pommel – the extravagantly large, blood-red cut-stone scintillating hypnotically – in the air.  The Right Honourable Reverend Doctor Heronimus Jones changed his pace and quickstepped across the torch lit wharf towards the pair of pirates. 

     "Avast ye!  Stand fast, bred'ren!  D'Agon fhtagn." 

     Powerful magic can be quite subtle in effect.  Victims of mind-control often self-create elaborate fictions in order to rationalize their actions.  That is, of course, if the victims dwell on the matter at all, which most never do.  Seaman Stan and One-Eyed Willy exchanged quizzical smirks.  One-Eyed Willy winked at Stan.  The two friends waited for The Right Honourable Reverend Doctor.  

     "Ahoy, lads.  Might thou be seekin' feminine companionship?  Perchance thou seeketh an experience a wee bit more exotic in nature?  Aye?  Well, come.  Join us at ye Brew D'Agon Tea, Rum, & Coffee Haus.  Ichor or succor, ye first one's always free." 

         A crescent moon grin spread across Heronimus’ face.  His words were sweet as nectar to the lecherous pair's ears, though neither quite understood what they had heard.  Stan prodded Willy with a boney elbow. 

     “Suckers?  Like on da Kraken’s tentacles?  Oi, right.  Willy ‘ere tells me he seen dat before in sum Oriental woodcarvin’s.   Ya says ya ‘ave dat kinda thing in real life?  Aye, wot da hell.  Me mate ‘n’ me be willin’ to catch a free show.  I’ll try anythin’ once.  Ain’t that right, Willy?" 

     Willy’s overactive imagination was already wrapping itself around the dream come true.  One-Eyed Willy stopped thinking about tentacle erotica just long enough to reply on cue, happily grunting his signature monosyllable.

     “Aye.”

 

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So, what is octopus sex like?

- www.ranker.com/list/octopus-sex-facts/machk

knowledge is power.

Read this list

and all the questions

you didn't know you had

about octopuses

getting it on

will finally get answered. 

- www.ranker.com/list/octopus-sex-facts/machk

Playing with themes popular in Japanese art,

it depicts a young ama diver

entwined sexually

with a pair of octopuses.

- en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Dream_of_the_Fisher man%27s_Wife

 

a term used to describe their villagers

who were part of the sacred guild

- Dolores P. Martinez

Identity and Ritual in a Japanese Diving Village:

The Making and Becoming of Person and Place

 

This octopus is so large

that its tentacles now reach into all

of the legislative halls, all of the union labor meetings,

a majority of religious gatherings,

and most of the schools of the whole world

- Robert Welch

The Blue Book of The John Birch Society

 

The Illuminati can be considered

the "Head of the Octopus" 

- Ken Hudnall

The Occult Connection

 

Octopus sex is a bit of a mind-fuck.

- I fucking love science

Facebook, twitter, tumblr, Google+

 

In the text above the image

the woman and the creatures

express their mutual sexual pleasure from the encounter.

- en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Dream_of_the_Fisher man%27s_Wife

 

I’d like to be under the sea

In an Octopus’s garden with you

- The Beatles

Octopus’s Garden

 

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