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Welcome to the WHORE ISLAND blog. A place recording the inhabitants, places, fauna and culture of WHORE ISLAND.   WHORE ISLAND is a mythical island, known for its whores, its rum, and the strange beasts that roam its shores. Because of its remote location, it has long been home to pirates, and has over the years grown from a small, forested island to a small…semi-forested island with a great many inhabitants, and a thriving economy based on the vice trades. Unlike some other islands, WHORE ISLAND has never engaged in the slave trade, and has never come under colonial power.

Visitors to WHORE ISLAND are warned to not feed the TURTLES or PONIES, two of the local species of wildlife, which are said to feed on trolls almost exclusively.

Two of the most popular places to visit on WHORE ISLAND are its most famous pubs;

the Surly Mermaid, and the Insolent Cock.

First of all, and FOR THE LAST TIME: dressing as a ninja in WHORE ISLAND is a major no-no at any given time, as the seven idiots who did on this Halloween found out at the cost of their lives.

Halloween on WHORE ISLAND was eventful this year. As usual, most pirates dressed as pirates — this might not sound like something remarkable, but most pirates rarely wear clothes at all in WHORE ISLAND, so when they actually bother you know it’s a special day (or a cold one).

The whores, as always, were more creative with their outfits. There were many, of course, whose costume still consisted of a whore: several went as Megan Fox, Lindsay Lohan and Will Smith. But a staggering number of whores played with the possibilities, some even dressing up in elaborate Cthulhu costumes.

A lot of people thought Lady Red’s costume — a vagina having a period — wasn’t that clever a joke, but nobody said anything so she woudn’t be offended and close the Insolent Cock for the night (which would force everyone to go to Honest Ted’s Shithole Pub, where Ted himself was dressed as Naked Ted).

Some celebrities were seen on the island as well. It took a while for everyone to notice the guy dressed as Jack Sparrow was in fact Johnny Depp. He signed autographs and was complimented for his accurate portrayal of a Proper Pirate. Orlando Bloom, on the other hand, was badly beaten up, even though he went as Legolas. Or perhaps because he went as Legolas, since going as Will Turner would probably have resulted in a search to locate all his body parts.

The death toll was, not counting the ninjas (but counting the seven idiots who went as ninjas), 48 people, four less than in 2008. It should be noted the pumpkin outside the Shithole Pub belonged to a guy who went dressed as a pumpkin. His head is still in the pumpkin.

A Happy Halloween from WHORE ISLAND.

Clearly born out of a longing for variety, a plan was made to invade Ninja Island in between the usual four daily ninja invasions in WHORE ISLAND. The plan was scribbled quickly by Captain James Crab and consisted of “Go in, kill everyone, leave”. The plan was almost entirely successful.

The mission began at 2 pm and was off to a rocky start due to the commander of the fleet, Captain Frederick B. Coates, being staggeringly drunk and leading the fleet to the opposite direction. They failed to persuade the captain to turn around, especially after he vomited enough alcohol to set two ships on fire and passed out (or died, nobody is yet sure because no-one wants to touch him). So the rest of the fleet abandoned Coates’ ship and his confused crew and corrected the course.

They arrived at Ninja Island at 3:30 pm. One of the ships was under the command of novice captain Darick Donahue, who apparently was unaware of the correct procedure and, while all the other ships anchored, he kept sailing forward at full speed, against the warnings (and desperate screaming) of his crew. His ship hit the sand so strongly a lot of the crew was thrown overboard. Donahue himself managed to hold on, but had his unpromising career in pirating cut short by a mast falling on his head. He and part of his crew were the only casualties, at least until we hear back from Captain Coates.

The remaining captains and their crews invaded the island on small boats and caught the ninjas unprepared. To their credit, though, the ninjas did pull themselves together very quickly, not that it helped them. Their shurikens were, as always, innefective, since they get caught on the pirates’ beards and body hair. Some pirates do complain it is a pain to remove them afterwards.

Giving up on the shurikens, the ninjas drew their katanas, but a lot of pirates who are not as old-fashioned drew AK-47s, and that was that. The mission was a partial success because the surviving ninjas went into hiding — one thing they’re undeniably good at — and because of the death of Captain Donahue, although considering his pirating skills, his demise can be seen as a bonus.

WHORE ISLAND predicts one or two days of relative peace thanks to the mission.

(Apologies if this article has repeated words or a general lack of polish, I am in severe pain since the festivities of Talk Like A Pirate Day. I cannot sit down at the moment for entirely accidental reasons that DO NOT involve the insertion of one or more objects into my rectum. Accidentally.)

It seems WHORE ISLAND has a new inhabitant who chose TLAP Day to introduce himself. It was actually a good decision, because in any normal day (adjust your definition of “normal” to WHORE ISLAND, please), he would have called too much attention to himself. But considering WHORE ISLAND is back to its day-by-day activities, that’s exactly what’s happening now.

He calls himself Craig, and has already been given the quite staggeringly obvious nickname of “Bloody”. However, unlike most people who are nicknamed “Bloody”, he isn’t violent or short-tempered. In fact, he’s quite serene and almost disturbingly easy-going.

But he simply won’t stop bleeding from multiple wounds that don’t seem to scar.

While applying an anaesthetic (medically known as “hammer to the forehead”) on a victim (to which he referred as “patient”), the most capable doctor in WHORE ISLAND, Peter Carrack, has commented on this fascinating condition:

“I have no fucking idea.”

So we interviewed a retired Cuban doctor, Lono Gonzales, living near The Insolent Cock.

“It’s an extremely rare condition known in popular terms as ‘Balanced Hemophilia’. Craig is utterly incapable of forming scabs or otherwise healing any wound, but his body produces red cells with impressive speed, to the point where cutting his throat would not be enough to kill him.”

In fact, Bloody Craig does have a cut throat. And a cut wrist. And his femoral artery is sliced.

“Every wound he’s suffered since birth has never scarred,” says Gonzales. “The man is a walking medical phenomenon, not to mention a walking blood fountain.”

That is certainly a good description, as anyone finding themselves in close proximity to Bloody Craig (say, up to fifteen feet) will be showered with blood. Equipped with an umbrella, our team interviewed Craig. Unfortunately, the umbrella didn’t help much, since the blood spurting from Craig’s femoral artery was drenching everyone’s legs.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he says, casually scratching the bullethole on his shoulder. “It’s just that everywhere else, people try to help me. They think I’ve just been in an accident, or at least that I fell on a giant cauldron of red paint. It’s incredibly tiring to explain to them that I’m all right. So I had to find some place populated by people who couldn’t care less about other people. I finally found this paradise,” he smiled, and the shifting of muscles in his face resulted in a squirt of blood that hit the interviewer on the face. The interviewer happened to be me, of course.

Despite not wanting to hurt anyone, Bloody Craig has already caused a death in WHORE ISLAND. A man who walked past him thought the blood on his own shirt had squirted from Craig, but in fact the man had somehow failed to notice he had been stabbed (he was quite drunk). As a result, he didn’t seek medical attention and died. Not that medical attention in an island where Peter Carrack is the highest medical authority would have helped him, but still.

Honest Ted, owner of The Shithole Pub, has been paying Bloody Craig for every bucket of blood, as an ingredient for drinks. Ted says he’ll name a drink after Craig, and he commented: “Finally, I can make an actual Bloody fucking Mary.”

http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/2009/09/sunday-sweets-shiver-me-sweets.html

The Cake blog, CakeWrecks, did a lovely post about Talk Like A Pirate Day, and general Pirate themed cakes. They are awesome, yarrr!

Seriously. Just go look at the delicious cakes.

Tis September 19th, and celebrations for International Talk Like A Pirate Day 2009 on the Island of Whores are well in out of hand. Pirates, Whores, dockworkers, opiate suppliers and all manner of other denizens are partying in the streets. The barrels of rum are rolling constantly down the gangplanks as fast as the supply cutters can offload them. Fireworks were bursting in the sky non-stop, until they ran out. Then someone started setting ninjas alight and hurling them off second floor balconies, which honestly drew more appreciative coos and applause than the actual pyrotechnics had anyhow.

But amongst all the carousing and merrymaking, there is a cautious edge, with all but the most recently-arrived denizens casting the occasional furtive glance at the lone drinker sitting proudly at a table outside Honest Ted’s Shithole Pub. He sits there, drinking alone, because every bastard on the Island knows what happens when someone gets too close, and every now and then a particularly inebriated lost soul stumbles into range and reminds them all, to their amusement.

Its Fists McGee, and it just wouldn’t be Pirate Day without him.

Not everyone is happy that he’s back however (one person is more unhappy than most, but we’ll get to that). The Island’s publicans were slightly more upbeat during this year’s preparations, relaxed in the knowledge that McGee hadn’t been seen on the Island in several months after defecting to Russia back in March. Finally, they thought, a year in which damaged furniture and building repairs to their premises wouldn’t outstrip their day’s beer takings! And lo, for the first couple hours at least, the day’s festivities did indeed get off to a remarkably restrained start. Only two people died and one small sailing vessel burned to the waterline. However, as darkness began to fall and the partying in the streets really started to hit its stride, a booming howl reverberated around the main town square. Everyone stopped dead in their tracks and looked to the roof of the Insolent Cock from whence the cry had come. A burly figure stood outlined against the sky up there, bellowing with triumphant laughter before promptly falling off the roof and crashing through a cartload of untapped rum barrels (the traditional way to announce oneself at Pirate Day celebrations). He then stood up, sluiced himself off, and made straight for the barcounter of the Shithole Pub where he immediately laid a vicious right cross to the jaw of the poor tapmonkey behind the bar (roughly translated: “Make mine a pint!”). When the lad didn’t get up again, McGee shrugged and then served himself before wandering back outside to toss a tableload of drinkers off his favourite table, throwing them bodily a full 8 metres, two in each hand at once. He took his seat, quaffed his pint, and beamed happily at the crowd who had gathered to watch the show.

Everyone was in awe. Some, mostly those new to the island since after his departure, were seeing the Pitfight Champion of legend for the first time. They didn’t realise that what had grabbed everyone’s attention most was not so much the man himself, but what he was wearing.

He was dressed in the accustomed Whore Island national costume, of course – coarsely woven dark bellbottom trousers (manly ones that said nothing of free love or the disputed power of flora), and a horizontally striped cotton shirt beneath a wide-necked overshirt with the sleeves rolled up over his biceps. Chances are these were the exact same clothes he had been wearing when he left the Island. But a new addition to his appearance was displayed quite prominently around his neck, and he seemed to be proudly posturing in a way to draw as much attention to it as possible. It was a bronze torc of a style that most of the Pirates around him had never seen, and what with being Pirates and all they were all to a man fairly knowledgeable in the field of precious jewellery. But then one of the more observant whores in the audience, who knew her subject well, finally realised what it was they were seeing. “‘ang on a minnit…” she announced. “That’s a bronzed cock!

McGee smiled broadly. Every whore nodded approvingly. Every man crossed his legs and quietly shuffled back a pace, as one.

“Only one man I ever seen with a meat-sword that big, and he were a right prick,” she continued. The crowd nodded, appreciatively. Not one among them hadn’t been irritated by the brash manner and insistent sales technique of the masked superhero Cialis Man. His constant mail-out campaigns had been the scourge of every letterbox on the Island, which were stuffed full each morning with fliers and special offers to help one and all with their crippling erectile dysfunction. Even the women. Especially the women.

After a moment’s thoughtful silence, the crowd cheered uproariously as one. This surely, was cause to make today the best Pirate Day celebration in history! The party started up again with a renewed vigour, the whoresons & working girls launched into their dances with enthusiasm, paused fistfights picked up again where they had left off, and one particularly excited individual who walked up to Fists McGee and landed a congratulatory clap upon his big shoulder was launched fair out into the bay. This year’s celebrations would be very hard to top indeed.

Epilogue

They never asked to see a body. They should have asked to see the body. The man was a Superhero, afterall. And with Superheroes, nothing is ever that simple…

It should be mentioned that in addition to cannibals, tribalists, monkeys, trolls and tourists, and the occasional Dirty Pirate Hooker, WHORE ISLAND has many other dangers. For example, last night Cabinboy Beanie of the ship Cecil B. Gone, son of a certain man named Ahab, according to legend, was indeed devoured by a Kraken last week. While many people do come to enjoy the local culture, many others also come to view the native wildlife. Unfortunately much of the wildlife of the Isle is, infact, vile, wild, and uncouth, and in addition to being eaten, one might find oneself mooned, spanked upon the rump, or otherwise abused by the animals.

The Kraken is a beast of rare ferocity, beyond that of even normal beasties. In the aftermath of being fed the boy (Who had upon his person a vast quantity of sweets), the Kraken suffered a bout of indigestion, and its angry belches and f arts caused the sinking of at least 3 ships within the area until rescuers brought several buckets of TUMS(tm) to the beastie to placate it.

Again, please keep away from the wildlife, do not feed tourists, even children, or people you do not like to strange animals, especially Kraken.

Funerals for those lost aboard the ships will be held at Plank Dock at midnight tomorrow. The man who fed the boy to the beastie is to be made to walk the plank at the same time. Photographers are welcomed to doccument the event, and there will be complimentary wine and cheese and crackers afterwards, as well as an educational  slide show of “Historic Plank Walks of WHORE ISLAND” and lecture given by Dr.Skelington Crewe.

Guest post by E0157h7

A WHORE ISLAND fixture known fondly as Captain Pissup was found wandering down Mainstreet after being kicked out of every one of the local taverns and/or opium dens today, issuing a decree about the “state of the human condition in this, our perverted age.” Smelling strongly of rum and gesticulating with a smoldering joint of indeterminate substance, he demanded that the local on-call vice stenographer be dispatched. The resulting transcript and grubby piece of paper flung at said stenographer and gathered crowd of local prostitutes follows below.

“Okay, you dirty bastards! Sit down, and Cappy here is going to tell you a story! You, yes you, don’t fucking move. This is enlightenment that I’m offering you! Now hold still and take it, I know you’re good at that! Okay.”

There is a protracted pause as The Captain rummages though his clothing; an empty hip flask, a crumpled piece of foil apparently encrusted with some form of drug residue and a WHORE ISLAND commemorative pearl-handled pistol fall out onto the ground.

“Fuck it, where was I, oh yes. Enlightenment. Y’see, Humanity – that’s with an uppercase “H,” proper noun – can be mapped on two dimensions. An X and a Y axis that… You! Sit back down! Your john will still be waiting for you, if he’s willing to pay for it then he’s willing to fuckin’ wait a few minutes while I change your perception of society! That’s right!”

There is another, shorter pause as he continues to search his person. He produces what appears to be a masonry jar filled with clear liquid and drinks a large gulp of it.

“Anyone want a drink? No? Keeping a clear head. Good people. Back to Humanity. It can be mapped on an X and a Y-axis, like any equation. The X-axis is masochism/sadism and the Y-axis is activity/schadenfreude. Where any given person or group falls on the grid is determined by…”

The Captain fades out momentarily. A member of the crowd tosses an empty bottle at his head. He comes back with a start.

“…Fucking bottles! I’m trying to help you here! Now behave or I’ll find you in your sleep, pop your heads off and eat your souls to gain your strength! Now, where you fall on the grid is determined by how masochistic or sadistic you are and how active you are in feeding in to your sadomasochistic instincts. This applies to all people, because you’re all horrible little crap-golems. It’s really simple, I’ve drawn you all a pretty picture!”

The captain tosses a balled-up piece of paper into the crowd and staggers off. No other explanation is provided.

The Captain has yet to be located or explain further.

Guide to Humanity

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