terry's adventure

Captain Terry was a drunk sailor. But not just any drunk sailor.. He was a dumb, vulgar joke of a loser who stole from other ships, all the while making fun of people at their own expense (even his own “friends”). His shipmates often joked that he was the only man who could make a pirate blush.

He was a walking typhoon in an ocean of shit; a legend surpassed by none.

One early evening, Terry observed a peculiar-looking bottle floating in the water as he stumbled down the dock. He couldn't resist the impulse to retrieve it - because he was a sailor. He pulled the bottle from the water and gave it a thorough inspection, while scratching his head in amusement. He was shocked to discover a message inside.

The message said "The key to your salvation lies in the next harbor. Warning: danger is nearby."

“What the fuck” he muttered to himself, unsure of whether his excitement or confusion felt stronger.

He looked around, giddy with a criminal grin, and made sure no one else was there.

“I may be a fuckin’ drunk, but I ain’t a stupid cunt” he said, taking a swig off of his less then generous remainder of rum.

“It’s fuckin’ bullshit. Can’t be true” he told himself, battling his thoughts within. He sat down on the dock, finishing the last of his rum, contemplating whether he should go. As he drained the last drop out of the bottle, a seagull squawked nearby. It was a sign. A divine calling - a mating call, that said “go” – guiding him on the correct path to take.

Terry was awestruck at the magnificent little fuck that flew by. He had always had a sense of adventure, and particularly enjoyed solving mysteries like this one. He just wanted to be sure it was true – as people fucked with him from time to time tricking him into thinking a quest was legitimate – only to find dead ends. It made him furious beyond comprehension.

Knowing this wasn’t a trick this time, he promptly set sail, curious to see what lay in store for him at the next harbor.

The next harbor wasn’t far away. Not very far at all. It took one and a half hours to arrive.

At first his excitement overtook him; a silly, playful disobedience like a dog that thinks it can get away with pissing on the floor. But over time, his emotions tapered off toward the edge of paranoia.

When Terry arrived, he saw that the harbor was oddly quiet. No ships could be seen anchored at the docks, and no light seen through the windows of the buildings. He was cautious as he started making his way to the harbor master's office. He could feel panic starting to grip him.

"Who goes there?" a gruff voice barked behind him. Terry turned around while maintaining his grasp on the sword's hilt. He replied confidently "I'm Terry."

A scraggly beard, not unlike a lions mane, and missing teeth were visible when the man emerged from the shadows.

“Terry, ah. I’ve been waiting for you."

Terry was shocked. How was he able to predict his arrival?

The man led Terry down a cobblestone road, toward a modest structure on the outskirts of town. Terry's eyes widened in wonder as they entered.

A room full of caged Macaw parrots greeted him, blinking silently. Eventually the mysterious man fed the largest red and blue Macaw parrot a piece of rum cake; to which it devoured with delight. The parrot slowly scoped out the room, then brought it’s attention back to the visitors.

“Give me the password cunt!” the bird exclaimed.

Terry, shocked and angered by the disrespect, pointed his finger at the bird and growled “Call me a cunt again and you’ll be eating bird shit for the next fucking decade!”

The parrot started flapping it’s wings at Terry in defiance. The mysterious man gently placed a hand on Terry’s shoulder, saying “Easy friend. He’s the ticket to what you desire."

Terry looked at the man, dumbfounded. The man then turned to the parrot, and muttered “Bottle birdie drunky drunky rum cake."

The parrot blinked twice, staring at them intently. After what seemed to be an eternity, it finally responded.

“Raaawwwwkk, correct fuckheads! in ya go! Down cellar! Cellar! Raaaaawwwkk!”

The space on the wall between the bird cages opened, revealing a hidden stairwell below the building. Torches were lit along the downward passage.

“I don’t know if I’m fuckin’ drunk enough for this shit buddy” Terry giggled in disbelief. Despite his second thoughts, he followed the man down the ancient staircase.

At the bottom of the stairwell was the door to the cellar.

“The legend says only the chosen one who received the message can open this door” the man said. “It must be you Terry – you’re the only one who can do this."

Terry shook his head. “Do I look like I have a fucking key, asshole??”

The man shrugged. “There must be something that you know. Some kind of clue how to open this door." 

A breeze suddenly blew around them, ending shortly after it started.

“This place is haunted, right?” Terry asked him, trying to maintain a brave composure.

He nodded, then replied “I have heard it confirmed by others as well. Was said to have been frequented by an old man called ‘Tarly’. All I’ve heard of him is-”

“Hahahahahahahahaha!” Terry bellowed. “Tarly you old, dopey, stingy, mangy fucking tortoise dicked little cunt! I can’t believe you fell off the pier drunk before you got you’re wittle dickie sucked by the bar maid! You fucking dumb shit for brains drunk ‘if I can’t do it no one can’ walk along the pier in a storm drunk and ‘oh shit I’m gonna fall and die’ you fucking retarded cunt arsehole son of a cumstained whore fucking bastard! Hahahahaha!”

The wind howled around them with a demonic vengeance, blasting the cellar door wide open. Tarly’s ghost appeared before them; a short, angry little old man with a settle to score. He plowed into Terry; forcing him to the floor, choking him with all his might. Tarly tightened his grip around Terry’s throat, bug eyed, with his ghost teeth gnashing together. Tarly did not look pleased to encounter his old friend.

“Fuck yoooooouuuuu” Tarly crowed. Terry looked at the mysterious man with desperate expectation. He managed to loosen Tarly’s grip enough to yell “fucking help me you idiot!”

The man slowly took a weird, ceremonial knife from his jacket pocket, and slit Tarly’s throat. Tarly’s ghost started dissipating through thin air. Terry rolled over, trying to catch his breath.

“Have a fun time watching the show, you useless dimwitted fucking twat??”

The man replied “The door is open. Go in, and find the treasure." Terry struggled to get on his feet, then proceeded to stumble into the cellar room.

The cellar looked fairly ordinary; except for the big separate shelf in the middle, surrounded by bottles inserted horizontally. Standing on that shelf was a bottle of faintly glowing rum, with a note underneath it.

Terry gasped in awe, smiling, tears of joy streaming down his face. He could sense – no – he could FEEL the power of the magic liquor calling to him. This was fate. It was destiny. He retrieved the note from underneath the bottle, careful not to knock it over. He managed to sober up a bit considering recent events, yet was still fairly intoxicated.

The note read as follows:

"Congratulations are in order. You found the sacred rum of George Bingy. This holy relic of sailing pride will grant you three wishes; use them wisely friend. Ahoy cunt!"

"Jesus Christ!" Terry thought to himself. After all of his stupid fucking adventures, this time he truly struck gold. No, this was beyond gold. This was REAL treasure.

Terry gently grabbed hold of the bottle with one hand, the glowing rum swirling inside. The bottle was surprisingly warm. He cradled it in his arms, cherishing this sacred moment of sailing victory. He needed some time alone with it.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!!” he screamed at the mysterious man. “I no longer have use for you! FUCK OFF!!”

The man slowly turned away, walking up the hidden staircase without a word.

Terry continued cradling the bottle in his arms, until he was ready.

He impatiently and violently ripped off the corkscrew, then piggishly chugged the entire bottle in one go. It was the greatest, smoothest spiced rum he had ever drank. 

What he wished for wasn’t very surprising; he wished for fortune, fame, and a never-ending supply of alcohol. The next day, his wishes came true. He spent his days being an asshole, as per usual. He drank to excess all day, all night. 

He bullied people. He bullied people to the extreme, and got away with it. Yet other sailors, as well as the pirates, wanted to be his friend. He was famous. He was rich. He never ran out of booze.

One bright sunny day, early in the afternoon, he was sailing his ship drunk. He was alone, needing some time just between himself and the sea. He was far in the ocean, the wind roaring around him. This is the fastest he had ever sailed.

“Holy fuck” he giggled to himself as he took another swig off of his freshly opened bottle. At such high speeds, he struggled to maintain control.

Beneath the ocean waves, something stirred. Terry was too drunk for his sixth sailor sense to sense the danger. A massive whale erupted from below the surface of the wave, moments away from swallowing Terry and the entire ship whole.

“Fuuuuuuuuuccccckkkkkk!” Terry roared. This was the end of Terry’s journey. His days of being a drunken asshole finally over.

The mysterious man was in the cellar, looking through the different bottles of wine and liquor that were left there. He saw the note, looking it over. He inspected the writing on the back of the note as well:

"Forgot to mention asshole! Shortly after your wishes are granted you will suffer a terrible fate. Cheers fuckhead!!"

The man chuckled, amused at his handy work. “Work’s every time". He went to the next hidden room across from the cellar; ready to make another bottle of magical rum for the next greedy bastard that needs to die.

The end.