When I got the letter from my cousin, Abu Abdiallah, I was overjoyed.
Cousin Dude, the letter said, the opportunity of a lifetime, it continued.
Free grog and good times! the letter proclaimed. Just as seen on TV!
But act now, it's a limited time offer that won't last.
How could I refuse?
The Motherland and my pirate ways
were calling me back to Somalia
-and besides, the factory was talking lay-offs
So I grabbed the first schooner pointing East
which happened to be the Vanderbilts, who happened to need a deckhand.
-hee hee, silly rich people
I was a little rusty, so for practice, I raped the old bag and keel hulled her dick of a husband
before setting them adrift South of Bermuda.
I was amazed how it all came back to me, like riding a bike,
or rolling a joint.
Finding Somalia wasn't hard but cousin Abu's friends weren't too keen on a pirate named Rick
wearing wranglers and reeboks and sailing a pink boat called The Carnation. So i grew a beard and changed my name to Hassan.
In no time at all, the pirate Union #487 approved me as they were short handed and gave me sandals for my reeboks which sucked in salt water anyway.
Glory to Allah! That first year was great!
I traded up from my Sears hunting knife to a real cutlass, and then later for an AK-47 with a feather trigger.
But they took away my bullets when I accidentally shot off the ear of Abu's sister during a drunken beach orgy-but hey! It still looked cool slung over my shoulder and got me lots of babes.
The first few months they kept me on the B-team, kinda like junior varsity, but it was cool as we snagged a lot of yachts and got home most nights to write ransom notes, smoke hookah, get blitzed on khat, and fuck poor girls. I could offer a girl 5000 shillings (about 3 bucks American) and she'd fuck like a monkey all night long. It sure beat the factory.
But about the time I made the big leagues in the Gulf of Aden, the boys were getting over ambitious.
It's one thing to grab a Liberian garbage scow, it's another to take an Iranian weapons smuggling ship.
To say the least, things got hairy, the guns bigger, and the chasers more determined.
One day, as Captain Saleh was looking through the binoculars and salivating heavy, I turned to Abu.
"Um, he DOES know that's a Russian oil tanker, doesn't he?"
Abu tried to hush me, but it was too late. The Captain turned and sneered.
"Is the American GI Joe afraid of Russia?"
I was thinking, well, fuck yeah! But they had all turned to look at me now so I had to save myself quick.
"Praise be to Allah! Allah is great!"
It took a second or two but finally a big cheer went up. I had long since found that such a proclamation could get you out of a lot of hot water. It was like saying, "Hi, I'm Bob and I'm an alcoholic."
Once you knew the code, you were in.
But the Captain was shrewd. He raised a wary eyebrow and scratched his beard, so I shouted something in Somali. Everyone looked puzzled but they turned back to the prize on the horizon.
Abu whispered to me, "Why did you declare jihad on their prickly underpants."
I just shrugged.
It turned out I was right. Half of us got away, the other half never will, and the ship shot us to pieces.
Captain Saleh blamed me, of course, and let everyone know.
"It is the American Swine! he has cursed us with his fear and unbelief!"
I wanted to say, "Er, no, Dickweed. You took a knife to a tank battle." But instead I said, "Praise be to Allah!"
No one cheered, and then some wise ass said, "Are we even sure he's Abu's cousin? He could be a spy. Has anyone seen his birth certificate?"
Oh great, I thought. Birthers! Just what I need in the middle of nowhere with an empty AK-47 and my Wrangler patch showing.
They didn't kill me, but they took away my card and gun and I was banished from their reindeer games.
It was just as well as we had pissed off a lot of people by now and the jig was up anyway.
I had to sell my beach villa and Vette (as if there's a Texaco in Hobyo anyway) and now I'm sleeping in a tent by the harbour trying to hitch a ride back to Detroit.
And none of the locals will talk to me, not even Abu or his one-eared sister.
Pleasure cruisers are very rare through here, and they never leave again anyway, and Saleh took The Carnation in place of my life which I found prudent to agree to.
I figure there's a pretty hefty warrant out for my arrest back in the states if the Vanderbilts ever made it there, so I guess I'll brush up on my Spanish, change my name to Pedro, and catch an opium trader bound for Mexico. With any luck, I'll be in Acapulco by spring, and running a cartel by fall.
"God bless the Pope!"
