I used to write e-mail quite frequently about very stupid things.  Here is another such e-mail…  Apparently at the time I had recently watched “Super Troopers.”

From: Capn Nobeard
Subject: Rent Super Troopers!

It’s about 2 o’clock in the AM now. “Of what importance is this to me,” you ask in a funny British accent? Well, Humphrey, it’s letter writin’ time.  I’m bored and typing in the dark, but just a few moments ago I was (rent Super Troopers) looking at my fish. They were doing nothing. Oh, except the big orange one, he was eating the others and screaming something about his ultimate revenge against “those damn lobsters.”  This proving to be totally ordinary, I shifted my attention to the business at hand: becoming a bad-ass cowboy.  Now, you might be thinking, “Erin, although I am jealous of your immense sexual prowess and ability to drive with your eyes closed, you couldn’t lasso a buckin’ tree stump to save your grittles.”  Well my skeptical sidekick, I CAN rope and ride with the best of them grittles, and I’ll show you how.
I am a pirate- this fact is widely known. Am I retreating from my pirate heritage? No! I am simply expanding on it. Who would make a better cowboy than a pirate?! Think about it: a pirate sails around all day, looting and pillaging and drinking grog. Cowboys do the same thing except without the sea, the looting, the pillaging, or the grog! Now you mention the obvious point that cowboys are the inherent good guys while pirates are bad guys, but I can’t hear you because I have sea water in my ear.  Imagine: you’re a saloon girl turning tricks in a general store because the saloon burnt down.  A pirate lumbers into your quaint store on one fiercesome working leg and another slightly amusing but still fiercesome wooden one.  He spits to one side, peers at you through his good eye and you can FEEL the other eye burning through the eyepatch and your clothes.  Just as you start to get turned on he says, “Arr. It’s drivin’ me nuts!”
Now I must depart (much pilliaging to do), but I leave you with this: How much booty could a fiercesome pirate loot if a fiercesome pirate could loot booty?

-The Capn, swashbucklingly

P.S.- Rent Super Troopers.

When I die…

~ My ipod is to be destroyed immediately, as is my itunes library.  No one shall listen to it and know my secret shame of liking songs like “More than Words” by Extreme and “Pony” by Ginuwine.

~ Alex is to have all my monies and propertay, which amounts to $42 and no tangible land.  Sorry babe.  I’m rich in love, though!

~ Now that I think of it, just torch my whole hard drive.  There’s nothing to see there.

~ Play “Amazing Grace” and the theme song from (the first!) Pirates of the Carribbean movie at my funeral.  Preferably not at the same time.

~ Put me in a spaceship coffin and launch me to wherever they launched Spock.  He came back, so I figure it’s worth a shot.

~ If a spaceship coffin cannot be provided, a great pyramid should be constructed in Fresno, CA, and I shall be interred there along with many riches (stolen from a museum perhaps?) and 57 cats.

~ The remainder of my $42, after Alex lives comfortably off of it for many years, shall be donated to the charity of his choice, as long as it’s not a stripper named “Tammi.”

(Disclaimer: I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.  People write wills when they’re not dying, you know, that’s the point.)