Ho ho howdy folkses! Welcome to the third day of The Twelve Days of Shitmas celebration for 2021. Our previous article featured a kid-friendly character who had once loomed large in the history American education, languishing in a tame, pallid animated special toward the end of his cultural life cycle. Today we bring you a wholesome reimagining of one of the best-known and most morally complex characters from 19th century fiction. Arrrr ye ready for some pyrates, me mateys? Of course ye arrrr! Unsheathe your cutlass and I'll show ye me booty. You may't even touch it if yer hands be clean.

Putting the Shit back in Shitmas since 2019.

We're posting a brand-new review of a Christmas special every other day beginning December 3rd, culminating in what we consider the worst of the bunch on Christmas morning...and don't forget about the special Secret Santa feature we've added this year, via a sneaky link embedded in one of the screenshots in each article. Not the kind of sneaky link where you tell your wife you've got to stay late at the office for a staff meeting, but the meeting is just your staff and that hot stenographer from accounts receivable, and she'll be receiving your accounts without any pants on. This is a sneaky link to a weird or creepy depiction of Santa Claus we may or may not have found in a vintage mug shot binder we bought on Ebay for twenty bucks. Now enjoy the arrrrticle, ye scurvy Christmas dogs!

Have you ever been talking like a pirate on "Talk like a Pirate Day" and wondered why we think pirates talk the way we think pirates talk? Well, funnily enough it's all because of one particular actor who just happens to be the star of today's Christmas special, reprising the most famous and enduring role of his long career.

He's a swashfuckling fucckaneer.

When Walt Disney was casting for his studio's first full live action film, also the first full color screen adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson's 1883 adventure novel Treasure Island, he tapped British journeyman actor Robert Newton for the role of the crafty, duplicitous, peg-legged pirate Long John Silver. He proved a fortuitous choice. The 1950 film was a critical and commercial success for the studio, and Newton's multilayered, tour de force performance helped make him one of the most popular British actors of the 1950's.

Newton developed his pirate patios by exaggerating the thick West Country accents from his native Cornwall, where he'd grown up and gone to school, and by riffing and expanding on the colorful seafaring lingo Stevenson developed in the novel. With his wild, winking facial contortions, long r's and pithy catch phrases, he became the gold standard for all things pirate in popular culture.

The Adventures of Long John Silver (1954) traces its lineage directly to the 1950 Disney film. When its director, Byron Haskin, was developing an independently produced sequel to Treasure Island he asked Newton to reprise his role, and that film, Long John Silver (1954) was shot at Pagewood Studios in Australia. Newton and a few other members of the film's cast stuck around for a subsequent 26-part color television series featuring the same characters and sets, of which today's special was the third episode.

Broadcast television would not be available in Australia for another two years, so the program was specifically targeted for sale to the United States and Great Britain, where it was eventually broadcast in 1955 and 1958 respectively. Color television had only been introduced in 1954, and even then very few stations were equipped for it. A full decade later only about 2% of American households had color sets, so the series would not be broadcast in color for the first time until the late 1970's.

The Long John Silver of the novel and 1950 film is a fascinating and complicated character, whose big, amiable, larger-than-life personality hides his greed, duplicity and deeply human contradictions. Despite his roguery Silver develops a genuinely caring and tender bond with the young protagonist Jim Hawkins, who even after suffering a series of bitter betrayals can't help but still love and idolize him.

The 1954 film portrays Silver as a largely reformed scallywag, repairing his relationship with Hawkins and mellowing into a gruff, protective, yet still mercurial benefactor. By the time of The Adventures of Long John Silver the two unlikely friends have settled into a largely happy existence as part of a non-traditional but tightly-knit family, living under the largesse of a mother-hen innkeeper named Purity Pinker. Throw in a kind, portly Austrian priest and a colorful gang of crusty but tender-hearted sailors and you've got yourself a heartwarming, affable little program that provided me with one of the most enjoyable items on this year's Shitmas list.

Our tale begins somewhere in Panama, in a strangely London-esque port city with buildings, costumes and British accents straight out of a Victorian melodrama. We see two lines of orphans, one of girls, one of boys, marching towards some shops in a busy market square. A harsh lady's voice shouts at them from somewhere off-screen to stop and form two groups. The owner of that voice, a dour bird of prey with a cocked eyebrow and perpetual sneer, steps up and warns them sharply that "there shall be no talking" as she shops. "Yes, miss Willoughby," the children chant in trepidatious unison as she gives them a suspicious stare and heads into the bakery for provisions.

Victorian orphans and Christmas are like Victorian poets and can't have one without the other.

These kids, of course, just want to be kids, to be able to chat and enjoy the sights on this rare trip outside the cell-like confines of their orphan's home, but they're afraid their stern matron will be watching them through the bakery windows even as she orders her bread. They all look at their shoes glumly as one of the older girls laments "She's always worse at Christmas."

Our protagonist Jim Hawkins, a dusky-haired orphan himself, slightly younger here than in the original novel, blithely prances around a corner with some packages in his hands, and seeing the group of other youngsters standing together he steps up to cheerfully wish them a merry Christmas. When they don't immediately respond he asks what the matter is, and they confess that they're orphans and not allowed to speak to him. When Jim tells them he's an orphan, too they flat out don't believe him because he's too well-dressed, too well-fed and way too damn happy.

"'Ere! Are you taking the piss, fancy boy?"

One of the girls asks if he lives at an orphanage but Jim explains that he lives at "The Cask and Anchor" with Miss Purity Pinker. They tell him they live at Miss Willoughby's orphanage, and just as Jim introduces himself by name the wicked old harpy herself appears, outraged that her charges have ignored her instructions to remain silent.

Jim tries to take the blame, saying he introduced himself and encouraged them to speak to him, but she ignores him and orders the other orphans back into two columns. As she marches away with them, our honest young Jim calls after her with a sweet "Merry Christmas, ma'am." He means it, too, but she glares at him viciously like he just laid down a wicked burn with a particularly nasty "your mama" joke.

"'Least I got a mama, you broke-ass, foundling he-bitch!"

Now we cut to the Cask and Anchor inn, where Miss Purity, the very Reverend "Chonk" Monaster and Long John Silver himself are busy decorating the tavern for the holidays. As they hang garlands and put pretty bows on the limbs of an enormous tree, Silver asks if they don't have a nice shiny starrrr they might place at the top, prompting the Rev to quote the bit in the scripture where the Star of Bethlehem led the three kings to Jesus' stable.

I think you can figurrrr out who's who herrrre.

Purity tells Silver they'll have young Jim scamper up the ladder and place the star atop the tree when he returns from his errands, and no sooner have the words left her lips than he walks in the front door, head hanging low, proverbial tail between his legs, looking glum, taciturn and low. They ask him what's wrong and he answers cryptically "I can't enjoy Christmas...I'm an orphan." Silver replies that he may not have his parents but he's got more family right in that tavern than most other folks have anywhere. Jim tells them yes, he's very happy and grateful for all of that, but when he saw how the other orphans were treated by Miss Willoughby all of the Christmas spirit just leaked right out of him like the inevitable Wednesday morning aftermath of an all-you-can-eat taco Tuesday.

Silver asks derisively "who be this old bag Willoughby?" and the Reverend brings us all up to speed with a nice little expository speech wherein we learn that Willoughby owns the orphan house, that it's unfortunately the only place available, and that although her coldness and lack of love are hurtful, she also clothes, feeds and educates the children in her care, providing a vital service to the community.

Jim simply can't wrap his head around how they weren't allowed to talk with him, though, how they didn't even seem to know how to smile, but Reverend Chonk confirms that laughter and gaiety are like poison to Miss Willoughby, concluding "That's probably why she hates Christmas."

The Reverend looks like Tor Johnson.

Purity is outraged, stating that anyone who hates Christmas has no business caring for children, but Tor Johnson says that since Willoughby never actually beats the children there's nothing the authorities can do. She may be a cold, hard-hearted virago, but there's no one else around to do even half of what little she does for them, and they certainly can't shut her down just because she won't allow the children to celebrate Christmas.

Purity is absolutely verklempt at the idea of denying children a party and presents and all the happy trappings of the holiday season and wonders aloud if there isn't anything they might do for them.

Actress Connie Gilchrist is appealing and believable in the role of Purity, but she also speaks with a thick Brooklyn accent, so you have to wonder what the hell she's doing running a tavern in some seedy city in Central America. It's not that she doesn't have the cojones to get the job done, you'd just expect she'd be slinging hash to busy New Yorkers in a diner someplace, not playing den-mother to a bunch of salty sailors in a Panama port.

She's the kind of character you don't see much of anymore, with an iron constitution and a flinty, tough-as-nails attitude, but also a strong maternal streak and a heart of gold. She'll feed you when you're hungry even if you can't pay your bill, and she'll bend over backwards to help you if you're in a scrape, but brother if you piss her off you'd better skip town on the next schooner or she'll hunt you down and rip your balls off with her bare fucking hands.

You just don't fuck with Purity Pinker.

She reminds me of another, more famous TV inn keeper, the fiery Miss Kitty Russell, proprietor of the Long Branch Saloon on Gunsmoke (1955-75), who was played by another New Yorker, Amanda Blake, for nineteen seasons.

You don't fuck with Miss Kitty, either.

In real life Blake was a different kind of Miss Kitty--she had a pet lion named Kemo, and was amongst the first people ever to successfully breed cheetahs in captivity. She also co-founded The Arizona Animal Welfare League, today the oldest and largest no-kill animal shelter in the state.

Just as Blake's Miss Kitty and James Arness' Sherriff Matt Dillon had an on-again/off-again, will they/won't they romantic tension throughout the Gunsmoke series' run, Purity Pinker and Long John Silver seem to sorta-kinda-maybe have a little something going on. It's subtle but it's definitely a deliberate thing, and I'm planning to hunt down the rest of The Adventures of Long John Silver to see if anything ever comes of it.

Well, I seem to have gone off on one of my tangents again. Getting back to our special...Jim says he'll gladly give his own presents to the other orphans, which everyone agrees is a sweet thing to offer, but Purity says that won't be necessary. She'll buy them all presents and throw a party at the inn for them, too, if only she and Tor can convince bitter old Miss Willoughby to allow it.

At the orphanage the old battle-axe is just putting the children to bed, and we see the regimented manner in which she treats them as they sit up silent and rigid, awaiting her order to lie down.

It's like Parris Island in there.

In what is doubtless a nightly ritual she says "Goodnight children," to which they respond with the well-practiced reply "Goodnight Miss Willoughby," then lie down flat and pull up their meager bedclothes. She reminds them "Nighttime is for sleeping, not for talking," then closes the door and crosses the hall where we hear her repeat her drill seargeant-like call and response with the boys. Naturally as soon as the girls hear her footsteps retreat down the stairs they sit up and begin whispering to one another, wistfully looking towards their single window for a glimpse of Father Christmas.

Alone in her office Willoughby paces neurotically and wrings her hands. She's full of inner turmoil don'tcha know. She glares suspiciously over her shoulder as she takes a key from her bodice, unlocks the storage panel on an old mahogany writing desk and takes out a wooden box. She cradles it in her hands like a delicate piece of antique pottery and gently sets it on a table in the center of the room.

Back at the tavern Silver and Jim are sitting glumly at a table, waiting for Purity and Tor Johnson, who've gone to the orphanage to have a talk with the bitter matron. Silver assures Jim that she won't refuse the pretty presents for the children, but muses under his breath that if she does their party "will fall flatter than a reptile's stomach."

One of the tavern workers steps over to ask if the kitchen maids should go ahead and prepare food for the party and Silver replies "Of carrrrse!," but the way he rubs his chin and stares vacantly down at the table betrays his doubts that there will be anyone there to eat it. Finally he decides that despite Tor's instructions to stay put, he, Jim and Patch, one of his loyal sailors, should go over to the orphanage and surreptitiously spy out the lay of the land, just in case they need to take some sort of drastic action to make those poor orphans' Christmas dreams a reality.

"If the old hag gives us trouble I'll stick me peg leg up 'er, both fore and aft!"

Over at the orphanage things are going about as badly as you'd expect. Willoughby doesn't believe children should expect to be given anything for nothing and refuses to use the holiday as an excuse for what she quaintly calls "pagan revelry." She also sneeringly announces that if she did, she certainly wouldn't need advice from anyone else to make that decision, particularly from a tavern keeper.

"Oh, you wanna dance, bi-atch? Let's dance!"

Despite Tor's attempts to keep the peace Purity goes off on the nasty old crow, telling her amongst other things that she's as ill-suited to the care of children as she is snuggling up to a man, a statement that seems to hit a big-ass fucking nerve that damn near makes Willoughby's head burst open and shoot out a column of flame.

It even looks like there's a puff of smoke coming out of her.

As Purity and Tor leave, we see that Silver and his shipmate Patch are peeking through the window. The matron's initial shock and anger seems to dissolve into sadness now as she looks towards the wooden box she'd set aside on the desk when the visitors arrived. She takes it back to the table and sits down to open it, pulling out bundles of letters tied with ribbons and what appears to be a portrait of a man. She sets the latter piece longingly aside and opens one of the letters, revisiting some long-lost romantic oasis in the arid desert of her otherwise lonely life.

Back outside Jim tells Silver that he's spied out the window to the boys' room above them, and Silver decides that he and Patch should try to get their attention, tell them to quietly rouse the girls and sneak them all out so they can go to the party.

Meanwhile the orphan boys are debating the existence of Father Christmas, with one boy arguing that he's absolutely fucking real, just because, and another arguing cogently that he's clearly absolutely not fucking real because none of them have ever seen him or had any of their wishes answered.

Harpo Marx 1, Danny Partridge 0.

Just then Jim pops his head in through the window and tells them the plan. A few moments later Patch tells Silver the kids are all on board with the party.

Silver says he'd better stick around and stand guard to make sure old sour nuts doesn't discover the children are gone. In case he can't get away back to the tavern in time he orders Patch to "make sure to give them kids a Christmas parrrrty they'll never forget!"

As the orphans are sneaking past the office window and out of the yard, one of them trips on a chain attached to a bucket. Miss Willoughby steps over to the window and opens it to investigate, but Silver crouches out of sight and meows like a cat to put her off the scent. She seems reassured, but decides to head upstairs to check on the children anyway.

As she leaves the room Silver opens the window and climbs in. He reads one of the letters and spots the picture sitting off to the side of the box, which we now see is of a handsome ship's captain, dressed not unlike Long John Silver himself. It's plain that he not only recognizes the fellow but that seeing his face has also given him an idea as to how to deal with Miss Willoughby.

Speaking of which, Willoughby steps in to check on the girls and discovers that they've scarpered, leaving behind empty beds rigged up with the old "pillows under the blanket" ploy. In short order she finds that the boys have gone, too and runs back downstairs in a panic. When she enters her office, however, she finds Silver is waiting for her. He says no gentleman would ever pull a gun on a lady, but pulls it on her anyway, quipping that by the way she treats the children she's definitely no lady. He indicates with the barrel of it that she'd better both calm and sit the fuck down.

She puts two and two together and surmises that he must be associated with the tavern lady who was there earlier and that the children are currently enjoying the party she'd forbidden them to attend.

She states defiantly that such a common rogue as himself is probably capable of any atrocity. Ever the quick wit, Silver retorts "Whatever that may mean, miss, I probably am!"

"Tank ye, ladies and gentlemen, I be here all week!".

He finally gets her into her seat at the table, sits opposite her and informs her pleasantly that they'll be enjoying a nice long wait together. When she opens her mouth again to protest he brandishes the pistol and says "Your Christmas gift this season be golden silence!"

Back at the tavern Purity is getting nervous about Silver and Jim's absence, but soon the door opens, and Patch and Jim bring in their guests. Purity is over the moon when she sees the children and embraces them in twos and threes. The children, for their part aren't used to being treated with this sort of kindness and respect and seem a little shell-shocked, especially when they see the gigantic table full of food that's been prepared for them.

It's probably more than that old goat Willoughby gives them in a month.

Purity asks Jim how they persuaded Miss Willoughby to allow the children to attend, but Patch steps in to deflect the question, saying uhhh, well, we'll tell ya later. She's so caught up in the moment she lets it go, and happily opens the feast and the festivities.

Back at the orphanage Miss Willoughby is feeling increasingly discomfited by Silver's conspicuous silence. He ignores her, treats her as beneath contempt and not worthy of his attention, and it's beginning to have the desired effect of making her uncomfortable enough to start talking on her own about the perpetual state of spitefulness and discontent in which she constantly wallows.

She begins rapid cycling through the five stages of grief now, giving the first, Denial, a fairly short shrift because she's been living in that one for decades, but she robustly phases into Anger, threatening Silver with "you'll find yourself at the end of a rope for kidnapping me like this!" When that doesn't rouse him she veers into Bargaining, pleadingly justifying her miserable treatment of the children in her charge by claiming she was also miserable as a child, so why shouldn't they be? Her father, she confides, treated her even more harshly than she treats them, so no harm, no foul.

Next up it's everybody's favorite grief stage, Depression, expressing itself with Miss Willoughby asking Silver why he doesn't just go ahead and shoot her since her life isn't worth a tuppence anyway.

"Shoot a lady?" he asks sardonically. "I'm no lady," she confides, "you said so yourself."

Long John Silver, Licensed Mental Health Counsellor.

Silver now puts his cunning scheme into action. He gently picks up the picture of the sea captain and offers "But there was a gentleman once who thought you was a lady." At first, she thinks he's laughing at her, but he forcefully denies it, asking what sort of a villain would laugh about a lost love. Apparently her father, for one, who had no qualms about it. He "laughed until the day he died, she says." "Well, he were the real villain, then," the wise old pirate opines.

Here we finally get the sad tale of what really happened to make her such a miserable old shrew, how her early hopes for happiness were dashed, how she retreated into a protective shell of misery and aggressive assholery, passing down the cycles of pain and abuse to subsequent generations in a hopeless attempt to soothe her shattered sense of self.

Actress Neva Carr-Glynn does a fine job peeling away the layers of bravado and hurt that have kept Miss Willoughby from finding any true comfort, healing or happiness, convincingly portraying a woman whose life has veered so far from her dreams and expectations as to abandon all hope of ever righting her ship and finding herself again.

It seems her sea captain pledged his love and promised her his hand in marriage, but first, of course he had to set sail and make his fortune so he could provide her the kind of life she deserved. Then he sailed away and never returned. She'd always assumed she'd been jilted and played for a fool, a narrative her cruel and vindictive father reveled in affirming. It's a tale as old as the sea, a tale immortalized in folklore and folk songs, novels and paintings and films, old letters and family histories for as long as men have ridden the waves in search of something they're missing inside of themselves. It's a sad, tawdry, authentically human tale of love, loss, rage and bitter disappointment, the end of which is just now about to be written, or perhaps rewritten for Miss Willoughby.

Still, it's no excuse for being a dick, lady.

Silver asks why she hates Christmas so much, and she confides that Christmas was when her sea Captain promised to come for her, that "Christmas bells were to have been our wedding bells," but now they remind her of everything she lost, and everything she never even got to possess.

Silver picks up the picture and raises an eyebrow at it. "Be your name Hanoria?" he asks. Yes, she gasps, with a self-surprised and unaccustomed tone of hopefulness. "Richard Carstairs..." Silver replies excitedly, pointing at the picture with an emphatic sweep of his hand, " last, I've found her!"

It seems many years before Silver and Carstairs were shipmates, and he still remembers how he spoke of the lovely Hanoria, his betrothed in Panama who was pining away, breathlessly awaiting his return. "Ye say he jilted you, but he loved you with passion 'til the end!"

"Tis yer displaced feelings of inadequacy, lass, what's causin' all yer parrrrsonal harrrrm."

Silver spins a sea yarn of Carstairs' heroic fate, how they were attacked by pirates on their way back home so he could claim his bride, how he fought like a demon, but they were too many strong, and how with his last breath he sighed "Hanoria!" then fell on Silver's shoulder dead.

Silver convinced the pirates to allow his friend a proper burial at sea but was then taken prisoner, spending many a long year with them. By the time he returned to Panama he had only the name "Hanoria," and with no picture, no description, no further personal information he had no way of tracking her down until fate intervened on this frigid Christmas night.

With that Hanoria Willoughby's grief comes full circle, and she sighs with the relief of so many bitter years' weight lifted from her shoulders. "He did love me!" She cries.

"Aye, lass. He loved you 'til the end."

"That'll be one hundred and fifty pieces of eight. Shall I pencil you in for another session? Same time next Wednesday?"

Back at the Crown and Anchor the orphans are having the literal best night of their entire freaking lives, for once eating their fill, smiling and laughing without fear or reserve, and basking in the warm light of Yuletide love.

Once they've been fed to bursting, Purity claps her hands to announce that they're going to have a big surprise and calls them over to the tree. She asks them to close their eyes tight and make a great big wish, and there's an endearing bit of business where she has to keep mock-scrutinizing one particularly excited little boy to make sure he still has his eyes closed. She looks over towards the fireplace then back to the kids, then tells them to open their eyes and turn around. They run over to the fireplace to find...

Tor "Santa Claus" Johnson!

Tor is about to start handing out presents when Harpo Marx asks him if he managed to arrange that small matter of what he wished for. Poor Tor doesn't think on his feet so good, so he kind of shuffles uncomfortably around a bit, but Harpo helpfully reminds him that his wish was for Miss Willoughby to finally start being kind to them.

Don't say it out loud, Harpo. Use your horns.

Once again Tor is befuddled, but as he stammers for some sort of excuse we hear Miss Willoughby confidently affirming "And so she will be!" She comes running over to embrace Harpo and humbly begs the other children to forgive her. Soon they've all joined together in a big group hug like the big happy family they've always imagined they might be in their secret dreams.

I'm not crying. You're crying.

Purity pokes Tor on the shoulder to get him to distribute the gifts, the first of which is for Miss Willoughby herself, the first Christmas present she's received for many long, lonely years.

As the kids open their own gifts we see Silver whispering in Purity's ear, bringing her up-to-date about Miss Willoughby's sudden regeneration. As the party heats up around them he pulls her aside to make a little confession: between him and her and the wall, he confides, although he did know Richard Carstairs, he may have fudged a few details, kind of zhuzhed things up a little to make it all more romantic-like. It'll be alright, he says, so long as Miss Willoughby stays away from Buenaventura, about 1000 miles away in southern Columbia, where the guy is still very much alive and living with his wife and eleven children.

Look at these two lovebirds. Will they or won't they? Do they or don't they? Inquiring minds want to know!

Sombody breaks out a concertina and all holiday heck breaks loose, with laughing, singing, dancing and all sorts of pagan revelry. Silver and Purity watch from the sidelines like a pair of proud family elders, enjoying the warmth and happiness of a sprawling Christmas reunion of a family they've only just discovered they have.

The End.

Obviously The Orphans' Christmas is not a groundbreaking holiday narrative. Orphans are a dime a dozen this time of year, as common as crabs in a brothel in Yuletide tales since at least the Victorian era. Just last year we brought you a "cruel, autocratic matron mistreats the orphans" story on Day Eight, the old "orphans get taken to a restaurant for a hearty Christmas meal" routine on Day Eleven, and even the bland, sterotypical "ophan gets indoctrinated into a creepy evangelical cult by a perky robot" variant on Day Six. Still The Orphans' Christmas is a particularly good take on a classic trope. It's an authentic and heartfelt, well-acted and well-mounted production that's never less than fully engaging. Plus Robert Newton is just such a charismatic force of nature here, wearing the character of Long John Silver as easily and comfortably as a custom-tailored, double-breasted pirate coat, it's impossible not to be completely drawn into the spirit of the special by his salty patois and mischievous antics.

Bottom line: I can't fathom not succumbing the many charrrrms of The Adventures of Long John Silver: The Orphan's Christmas. I can harrrrtily recommend it.

Shitmas Bonus!
The Crimes of Long John Silver!

I thought it might be both elucidating and entertaining to list the statutes of federal criminal code our titular hero might be charged under if he pulled any of his shit in the good ol' U. S. of A.

1) 10 U.S. Code sec. 929 - Art. 129: Unlawful Entering

By opening and climbing through Miss Willoughby's office window Silver opened himself to this charge. No intent to burgle is necessary, simply entering a private residence is enough for a misdemeanor, but he could be charged with a felony because he was armed.

2) 18 U.S.C. sec. 1201 Kidnapping

One count for holding Miss Willoughby against her will, with the gun an aggravating factor, and one count for each child. It doesn't matter that they went willingly. He had no right to take or persuade them to go anywhere without the permission of their legal guardian.

3) 18 US Code sec. 956 - Conspiracy to kill, kidnap, maim, or injure

Again, one felony charge for kidnapping Miss Willoughby and one for each of the children, with much more serious penalties attached than simple kidnapping because he conspired with one or more adult persons (in this case pirate pal Patch) to commit the offences.

4) 18 US Code sec. 241 - Conspiracy against rights

This one might be a little harder to make stick, but by plotting his actions with Patch, Silver committed another felony, conspiring to deprive another citizen, Miss Willoughby, of her enjoyment of civil and personal rights.

5) 18 US Code sec. 15 (men on a dead man's chest) Arrrrticle 8 (pieces of) - Aggravated pirate talk while smelling of stale rum

This is a class A misdemeanor, usually punished by legally declaring the perpetrator a "scurvy dog." Silver might be able to get this charge dropped if he can arrange to have his initial hearing on Sept 19th, which is "National Talk Like a Pirate Day."


Merry Christmas, folkses.

Next Installment: December 9th!

As always, Cheers and thanks for reading!

Written by Bradley Lyndon in December, 2021.

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