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The Pirate Queen: A Two-Part Fatty Epic, Part Two

Part II: The Pirate Queen Goes to War

 

(If you missed the first one – Here’s Part I – The Pirate Queen)


Perhaps the oddest Pirate Queen Experience took place in Grenada in 1983, days after the USA ‘won’ the war and boldly commandeered the Holiday Inn’s beach bar for its HQ. She insisted we sail in and “help with the war effort.”

Needless to say, I knew we wouldn’t be doing much helping – but I figured, correctly, that it would be an amazing adventure regardless.

It was – and one that might have gotten us all locked up if we haven’t been able to slip away (sans running lights) in the dead of night … before official-dumb knew what we were up to.

But, it all started off innocently enough. The Pirate Queen just luffed up her yacht, Life’s a Beach, in front of the Holiday Inn – which was party central for the victorious invasion forces – and waved.

Basically the entire war effort and Ronald Reagan’s “valiant fight against communism on the doorstep of the Americas” ground to a halt over the next few days while every American Service Man in Uniform shifted his focus from finding Bernard Coard (the bad guy) to nailing the Pirate Queen.

I still have a tattered, faded photograph from those days, a classic shot of a bygone era. The Pirate Queen is naked and running through the rain forest wearing only two crossed gun-belts of bullets and an M16 in each arm … trailed by a battalion of panting Army Grunts, attempting to both run and hide their attentions at the same time. Caribbean wildlife, indeed.

Here’s a collection of some of Cap’n Fatty Goodlander’s Books

The problem was, the Pirate Queen was insatiable on all levels. I mean, I thought that an entire invasion force adoring her would be enough –WRONG!

And, she had no sense of proportion. If she wanted more coconuts for her Pina Colada – she’d just inform a nearby gunnery sergeant. Within seconds, field-radios would cackle, U.S. Army tank turrets would menacingly rotate towards their targets, whole groves of palm trees would be shot down, and the surviving nuts gathered. (The invaders hadn’t yet mastered the art of palm tree climbing – not that it mattered with such massive weaponry at their command).

I tried to head off the inevitable with, “…but it costs the American taxpayer, say, 50 grand per coconut!”

However, the Pirate Queen seldom listened to logic. “Zee boys love me, no?” she’d say. “I do not tell zem to shoot down zese silly Nut-of-the-Coco trees – I just slurp the cream, yes?”

About 10 days into our visit, just when the Pirate Queen was really having fun, our spies at HQ informed us the Commander of the U.S. War Effort was going to order the Pirate Queen and her entourage to leave. She was going to be deported by military decree.

The Pirate Queen was outraged. “But I have just started to enjoy myself and sample the delights of zee military. I have barely scratched my – how-you-say – my itch!”

She immediately came up with a plan and rushed over to our boat for encouragement. “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I said. “I mean, inviting the Top Military Brass aboard your boat for R&R could be very dangerous if, well, things got out of hand.”

“Zees es no problem,” said the Pirate Queen. “I will be there whole time, watching like eagle! They will see what a nice girl I am, and what fine, sensible American friends I have in you and Carolyn and your sweet American child Roma Orion. And they will decide to allow me to stay and finish working my way through the battalion. I am young and have energy, no?”

With great misgivings, Carolyn and I took our prop… er, our child Roma, over to Life’s a Beach and joined the party. The Commander brought his first officer, a black nurse from Philly, and a chaplain from rural Montana. The Pirate Queen was nervous. Alas, when she got nervous, she drank –twice what she normally drank – which was a lot. Enough to kill a horse … even a Clydesdale!

The Commander was in a particularly relaxed mood on his first day off since the war started. “I understand from military intelligence, you have a no-clothes rule,” he leered, and within a blink of an eye, the Pirate Queen was biting off his uniform with her teeth.

“…is there a ‘contraband problem’ in the Caribbean?” asked the First Officer.

“Zees is not,” said the Pirate Queen hotly, “we have plenty!”

My wife Carolyn decamped with Roma at this point. The next thing I knew, the Pirate Queen was wantonly sitting astride the dazed and delighted Commander, blowing huge lungfuls of sweet blue smoke into his gaping, drooling mouth via a discarded cardboard toilet-paper tube. Steam-rolling, it’s called – and not a good idea for the faint-of-heart.

Things started to get really out-of-hand. Once the Commander was naked, his First Officer followed suit (or un-suit, as the case may be), and even the now-drunk nurse from Philly belligerently took off her top. The chaplain resisted the madness for a bit – then started to play patty-cake with the nurse, who was lying on her back in the middle of the main cabin sole.

I tried not to watch, but it was just too bizarre how the chaplain’s tongue sort of lolled out of his mouth obscenely. He was making little, wet, mewing baby sounds. His eyes were glowing orange – as if in reflection of the hell-fires awaiting. Damn, he was around-the-bend.

The Pirate Queen didn’t seem to notice. After all, the party was going well. People were totally incapacitated on various substances – just like every night aboard Life’s a Beach. Why worry?

At this point, it was obvious that the nurse – whose breasts which were still being “splatted” by the devilish-behaving chaplain – was a lesbian. She was continuously attempting to grab the Pirate Queen, with greater and greater determination. The Pirate Queen still wore a smile, but it was an obvious effort when the nurse was holding her by the ankle, and reaching upward with frantic desire.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get much worse, the nurse peed. That’s right, she lost control of her bladder. Right in the middle of the boat, middle of the party, right in the middle of the evening, shortly before the main course was scheduled to arrive.

There was shocked silence until the automatic float switch in the bilge kicked in. Suddenly, things got very ugly.

“You’re out of uniform!” shouted the Commander to his First Officer – before looking down at his own nakedness, and covering his deflating manhood with his hands. He was having some sort of psychotic break – alas, back to reality!

“Nurse,” he screamed. “Put those mounds away immediately! Chaplain, belay the patty-cake!”

Soon they’d awkwardly gathered up their clothes in their arms, and left via the official launch. The last thing I heard was the chaplain reciting some religious tripe – he’d probably have to spend years in a monastery to get suitably pious once again.

“Stupidos,” hissed the Pirate Queen afterwards, “leaving before the whiskey chicken was even served!”

“I’m going back to Carlotta,” I said, “and hoisting anchor. There’s no telling what those idiots will do when they awake with a brutal hang-over. Somebody is gonna have to pay – and I don’t want it to be us. I’m going to be in Trinidad – getting lost in the carnival crowds.”

“What a shame,” said the Pirate Queen sadly, “dat zee American Brass can’t hold their liquor.”

Dawn found our vessels far offshore en route to South America.

“Brazil has no extradition,” I said grimly over the VHF radio.

“But it was funny, no, when she peed!” said the Pirate Queen.

Cap’n Fatty and Carolyn Goodlander are currently refitting for their third circumnavigation.

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