I'm supposed to be writing my English essay, but I was inexplicably drawn here and decided to tell you all about my evening last night. 

McStinky is having a pirate party on Friday.  It's her birthday and although I didn't really think I could afford to go, I'm going anyway.  So after school yesterday, I decided to go to Value Village.  There I found the perfect white billowy blouse, a pair of spanky wine colored velvet pants and a black pirate vest.  I took my outfit home and tried it on.  After a few alterations and ingenious accessorizing, I beheld myself in the mirror.  My soft pants were tucked in and the buckles in my swashbuckling boots shon in the dim lighting.  My hair tucked under a bright red long kerchief couldn't have been cooler, the streaks of red just showing.  I had a blue sash cinching my waist over the black vest.  And over the sleeves of my blouse, I wore black gloves with high leather cuffs that stuck out.  I thought about wearing an eyepatch, but that would have been cliche, don't you think? 
The only thing I was missing was a rapier.  So I used a stick instead. 

I thought to myself, "I wonder if I could really pull off this pirate bit."  So I went to the store to see.  "Yar!" I declaired to the clerk when I walked in.  "I'll take me a bit o that thar chewin tabacca if yer don't mind."  The clerk looked at me funny.  I percieved that to be the submissive fear that I would expect from someone coming face to face with a pirate.  He reached above his head and brought down the tobacco.  I opened the tin and placed a wad of it in my cheek while he rung in the purchase.  I pulled my stick...er, rapier on him after he told me how much it was going to cost me. 

"Yer not a scholarly gent, arrre ya?"  I asked as I assumed my fighting pose, rapier held high in front of me.  "What the F*&K?" the clerk asked.  I was quite incensed for being sworn at, so I abruptly flicked my wrist, snapping my weapon down on the counter with a loud crack.  The cleark jumped and oggled me.  "I've no money in me purse!" I yelled at him.  "How about yer fill it fer me like a good lad?"  As I neared with my bag, he abruptly pulled out a can and aimed the nozzle at me.  I laughed to think that he was going to defeat me with hairspray, but my laughing quickly turned to tears as I fought my way through the pepper spray and out the door. 

I returned home, walking slowly through the sparsly lit alley ways.  My head hung low as I whiped the tears that continued to spring from the fountains of my eyes.  I passed a young man in the alley and through my half-closed lids, I could see him staring at me.  I pulled my rapier and lunged at him, yelling YAR!!! in the biggest scariest voice I could muster.  He caught my weapon and broke it over his knee before chuckling and walking away.  I gathered the pieces of my stick.  Yes, now it really was nothing more than a stick, and continued home.  The tears that flowed now were real.  Who was I kidding?  I'm no pirate.  I have no pirate blood.  I have no pirate training.  I was a failure.  A flop!  I'll never be a real pirate.  I couldn't even pirate software properly.

Disheartened, I undressed and climbed into bed.  Reluctant to give up, I thought that maybe I just need practice.  tomorrow I'll try again.  Maybe tomorrow I'll fix my stick, er..rapier and try the old folks home instead. 

Yes.  Tomorrow.