Ahoy, me hearties! This buccaneer be modelin‘ a vest of corduroy plundered from a shop at the foot of Sacré-Coeur de Montmartre in Paris. It’s crafted by a landlubber who happened to be listening to the shanties of the Pirates of the Caribbean on repeat as she stitched.
The resultin‘ style, an interpretation of Burdastyle’s Franzi pattern, was so tainted by the sea shanties that the craven landlubber abandoned it to the bottom of her wardrobe. But four years later this pirate pillaged her clothing hoard. Now I be celebratin‘ me spoils in the tavern.
Methinks ye be wondering where this sea dog has been the last two fortnights. Well, let me tell ye me tale of adventure.
At the outset of the good month of September everything was shipshape. I hornswaggled me doubloons from landlubbers at the moving picture theatre, studied the lore of alchemists and biologists, and stitched me a pair o‘ muslins for a frock.
But me salty soul yearned for high sea adventure, so I signed on to the vessel “Biotech II Lab”. Aye, she was yar, and the capt’n had a right jaunty expedition planned. We were to journey across the Sea of Animal Physiology, through the Straits of Biophysics, and up Plant System River in three weeks, all in search of that A-grade treasure.
Our crew had barely weighed anchor when we spied a storm brewing. We battened down the hatches, determined to battle through the gale. For a fortnight we toiled on, sacrificing shut-eye and all recreational pursuits to keep our vessel from making a journey to Davy Jones‘ Locker.
Lady Luck, that fickle lass, abondoned our brig on the Plant System River. Our ship was scuttled and we be marooned deep in the jungle. Just when methinks we be tiger bait, shiver my timbers if we don’t spy a native potentate. Through savvy parleying we bartered a deal. The Plant Systems Potentate would lead us out of the jungle on the condition that we deliver him the many secrets of botanists and brew him multifarious potions.
Ye won’t be believin‘ the tomes we raided to get our ransom, but just a week later than the capt’n had first planned, these scallywags made it to freedom.
I see ye landlubbers quivering in your boots after hearin‘ my tale, but this buccaneer isn’t ready to hang up her trusty cutlass. I be setting sail before daybreak on the brig “Biotech Semester III” . Raise your rum mates, a toast to the seas being calmer this time around.