The Kids are Alright

There I was, Captain Donna of Storyville, out on the storm chunked sea, on my good ship the What the Fuck. I was pushing my way from Port de Grave, Newfoundland to the Port of Boston with a mega, molto importante cargo – hyper playful pajama clad baby goats. These sweet bouncy babes were the intended entertainment for Queen Celeste’s birthday gala.

We HAD to arrive no later than noon on the 23rd of the month. I simply couldn’t bear to disappoint her Royal Highness.

The WTF cleared the gales and water spouts when, outta nowhere, a pirate ship appeared. Fucking EEEK! This was totally gonna mess with my schedule.

The MAGAt hatted plundering, fuckwadian, rat bastid and mercenary marauders shockingly managed to get past my crew of brutal attack kittens and mounted the poop deck (sometimes the cats can’t quite make it to the litter box. It happens to the best of us, ya know?).

On top of all this, I’d just had crazy serious spine surgery and was NOT in my usual swashbuckling, ninja, pirate fighting form. What to do? What to do?

Armed only with a bottle of Tylenol and a large can of WD-40, the odds were, seemingly, against me. THEN inspiration struck – I popped the lube’s lid, affixed the handy spray nozzle and shot a wide path of oil from me to the plank.

Yes, the plank is always set up and operational because one never knows when one will have to dispose of a rude, useless, self-obsessed and dipshitted Republi/Facist...do one?  Like rats, they’re unfortunately common on land AND seafaring vessels. This is why my crew is ALWAYS made up of lethal, warrior felines.

Into this new greased avenue, I tossed Tylenol tabs to further fuck up the miscreants’ ability to stay upright. These blighters, seriously, no longer stood an evangelist's chance in Hell. They were hilariously shod, not in sturdy, rubber soled boat shoes, but in flip flops. Yes, flip flops. Clearly, these dimbulbed worshippers of the spray tanned god of idiocy hadn’t thought through their nefarious plan AT ALL.

So, in a play worthy of the Three Stooges, Buster Keaton and Jim Carrey all on Black Beauties cut with Owsley, the invaders tripped, tumbled, slid and plummeted into the hungry shark infested waters below.

Obvs these were not the brightest of buccaneers. What can you expect from scab farting trumpkins though?

The WTF heroically sailed into Boston Harbor at high noon – right on time. The cats herded our precious load of PJed kids down to the fleet of waiting limos (c’mon, how else would you transport dancing baby goats? Honestly now…) and off they went to Queen Celeste’s Happy Happy Birthday party.

PHEW – the day (and my rep as fearless, inventive and capable ship captain) had been saved thanks to Tylenol and WD-40!

The Kids are Alright – The Who