Gather around mateys, and let me regale you with the story of me parrot, Hercules, God rest his soul.
I reckon I should start at the beginning, when Hercules and I first met. Ye see, back when ol’ Reverend Rum was a wee lad growing up in the Bayou, he had quite a lot of free time. Me parents both worked long hours, so I was left to me own devices to find entertainment. So I rode bikes. Me bike was named “The Maiden’s Desire”, and it was the fastest bike in the fleet. ‘Twas a red bike with stripes on the side and a Magic the Gathering card in the spokes to make it sound like a motorcycle. Little did I know that that Magic card would later be worth quite a lot of money, hell, I wouldn’t need to be a freebooter if I sold that card today, but I digress, that’s a story for another day.
Anyway, one fateful summer day, me mates and I took a ride a few miles north to the flea market that came to town. Me intentions were to spend me hard earned cash on taffy, but little did I know what true treasure I would find that afternoon.
It was a typical flea market. Fruit stands, book resellers, fireworks, magic trinkets, crystals, sword swallowers, DVDs, exotic pets...wait...exotic pets? And there I saw him, in the cage behind the ball python and a fat-ass hamster: the world’s most beautiful parrot. He was verdant green, like the forest, and red like the ass of a baboon, and the red blended into purple, also like the ass of a baboon, and he had a big silly-looking beak, and we locked eyes; I knew he would be mine. I asked the shopkeep “how much for the parrot?”. “Not for sale”, he said. “Why not?”, I inquired. “Only he gets to decide who will have him”.
“I choose this child”, I heard a deep, manly voice.
“Yes, master…” said the shopkeep, bowing and quivering in fear.
“Who said that?” I looked around.
“It was me, the parrot.” said the parrot. I gasped.
The parrot talked. It was a talking parrot.
“Y-y-you can talk?”
“Yes, I’m a parrot.”
“Oh right” I felt silly.
The shopkeep bowed to me and said: “My master wishes to be your bird.”
Never had I felt so happy as to be chosen by the king of parrots himself. Also, he was half-off, which was a bonus. I was going to show him to all me friends.
“No, you must take me to the sea! I must go to the sea!”
“I want to give you a name.”
“Go ahead, child.”
“A name such as this does not befit the king of parrots! Choose again!”
“Better, but a name such as this does not befit such a manly, testosterone filled bird as myself! Choose again, child, and know that if you disappoint me thrice I will peck out your eye.”
I deliberated, “HERCULES!”
“SQUAWK!!! Wonderful! SQUAWK SQUAWK!” squawked Hercules, “To the sea!”
So I rode me bike to the sea, fighting all sorts of battles along the way with me trusted companion by me side.
And then we made it to the sea, and me bike turned into a pirate ship through parrot magic, and I got to swashbucklin’ and privateering with me parrot. Such adventures we had...
To Hercules, ye will be missed
PS: Because @underground had inquired: A follow up about the bastard merchant who tricked me into taking Pirate’s Booty.
He walked the plank.