Avast ye mateys!
Thursday was "Talk Like a Pirate Day," so pull up a stool, ye landlubbers as I tell ye o' the great go-kart plunder of 2011.
I can remember it like the smell o' a shipmate after three weeks at sea.
A chill was in the salty October air when a Scandinavian pirate whose name has been lost t' time eyed some bounty near the Port o' West Okoboji. The ornery cuss were bein' near some pubs 'n thrill attractions.
A yo-ho-ho 'n some bottles of rum later, the lubber got himself spotted by Dickinson County Constables on Trail 71 — right along the shore.
The scurvy dog had breeched some barriers 'n boarded a vessel no bigger than a barrel o' whiskey. He followed the north star with plans to anchor in the territory o' 10,000 seas.
He sailed northward ho usin' side trails and restin' lots — plus grassy areas behind ye homesteads, too.
Aye, ye pirate didn't have the sea legs t' be guidin' a vessel of any size. And he didn't have the sails to get away — the poor lubber could only go 16.5 knots (19 mph) in his tiny craft.
He hit an anchored vessel and even a village homestead as he fled the constables. It turns out, mateys, he didn't know how t' drop anchor on his tiny rolling ship!
He tried t' run, but the constables tossed him in the brig for navigating after too much rum, sailing an unregistered vessel, failure to have a valid sailing license and not lighting a lamp as t' be seen on dark travels.
Arnolds Park Constables charged the pirate with third-degree plundering, possession of plundering tools and causin' a ruckus during official constable business.
Let this be a warnin' ye mateys. Spiced rum may call.
But keep yourself anchored if ye aims t' be three sheets to the wind.