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Breast Practices (or, That Baby Be Mine!)

I have an announcement to make in regard to that baby what everybody be yammerin’ about. You know the one. It’s the wee little bairn what belonged to the recently departed lass with the huge tracts o’ land (aka Cap’n Drew’s Girl-flavored Chewtoys™). I’m talking of none other than the baby what every man this side o’ Davy Jones’ locker be claimin’ as his own!! Well I’m here to say that the baby be mine, and I means to claim her, or him, or whatever…. just deal me in.

Pirate Lesson #1: If everybody is claiming something, step up, join the crowd and start yellin’ that it be yours. It can’t hurt, and you just might get it… whatever it be.

But you’d best be sure to make sure that it’s not a noose or a nest of hornets or an all-expense paid Ski-Doo Vacation to Jamaica with Richard Simmons that you’re angling to horn in on (unless you’re a pirate who’s into that sort of thing). Still, once you’re sure that it’s something you’re alright laying claim to, do so, quickly and adamantly… especially if there be royalty involved in the competition, like that Zsa Zsa woman’s husband, Prince what’s-his-name. Albertinnakan? He says that the child be his.

As if.

Everybody knows that frisky Zsa Zsa would never let him up from out her bed. But, what I’m keying in on is that he be a Prince, and anytime royalty is in play, you’ll be wanting some of what they’re after, you dig Scalawag? Unless it be one of those Frenchy quick-drop full-beard trimmers, I tries to steer clear of those and so should you. To be on the safe side you best make sure the royalty isn’t French.

Pirate Lesson #2: Cleavage attracts money like an open Feng Shui toilet seat.

I don’t even know what that means, but it’s true…. and all you angry titless wenches check your ire at the gangplank, you know that Captain Drew doesn’t care how big they are, come over here and sit in my lap and listen to your Captain explain the magic of cleavage (a French word, did you know that?). All cleavage is magical, regardless of depth or breadth, so rest assured you’re not being ignored… never ignored!

It’s just that especially big bosoms stop even the most polished of us dead in our tracks and make us forget about international warfare, national deficits, pampered astronauts and answering internet love letters to Captain Drew (more on that some other time).

For now I have a point to make, I think… it gets confusing typing while polishing your cutlass but here goes:

Lashing lessons 1 and 2 tightly together like a well-packed corset I have arrived at what I am hereby calling Captain Drew’s Theorem of Breast Practices, wherein the party of the first (in this case Captain Drew) asserts to the party of the second (in this case the people what be holding the baubles) that his sorrow at the recent loss of celebrated cleavage (a party unto itself) and dear concern for the recent orphan (note that half my crew be orphans) place me firmly in the lead for whatever great and grand riches await the man whose essence prove be the real pap o’ the wee lil’ bairn.

It would certainly seal my reputation as a villain to pursue this course, as it has already done for the pirates of the airwaves and dickless wonders who’ve been circling this poor shipwreck of a woman the moment she began to founder.

You know, on second thought, I’ll be calling off my claim to the treasure.

I never could stand the aroma of excited vultures.

Now get back to sending me those love letters you scurvy internet dogs.

[tags]anna nicole smith, anna nicole, baby, prince, death, media, vultures, breasts, tits, pirates, pirate, piratepalooza, best practices[/tags]


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