October 31, 1672: Ahoy, matey! Tomorrow marks the beginning of the crew’s latest undertaking: No Nut November. After many wild days and nights at sea, the crew and I thought a month of self-control and celibacy would bring some much-needed discipline to the ship.
November 1, 1672: Blimey! I’m afraid No Nut November is off to a bad start. I woke up at 12:01am and could not fall back to sleep, so I went for a late night stroll. There, I caught George the Shit Scrubber mid-deed on the poop deck. “Arrrrgh!” he screamed as we made eye contact. This morning, it came to my attention that George had walked the plank, not wanting to live with such embarrassment.
November 4, 1672: Gangplank! The crew is turning against one another. Blue Ball Bill, the lookout, found out that One-Eye Jim was responsible for George’s death. Apparently, Jim is especially talented at drawing pictures of feet, George’s greatest weakness. Upon learning this, Bill challenged Jim to a duel. Sadly, the men sent each other to Davey Jones’ Locker.
November 13, 1672: Oh, Neptune! The crew has sunk further into despair. A group of my finest crew members gave Horny Jack a map to find hidden booty. Jack followed the map perfectly, and when he found where X marked the spot, he was not greeted by shiny gold and jewels. He only found hairy pirate ass! After two weeks without a nut, the sight proved too provocative for the young sailor. Jack walked the plank in embarrassment, and was not seen again.
November 23, 1672: My crew has fallen. One by one, each brave pirate has walked the plank, unable to live with their actions. Only me, my parrot Bartholomew, and Raunchy Reginald remain.
November 30, 1672: ‘Tis a sad day. I found Raunchy Reginald’s diary, and what I found was terrifying. Raunchy Reginald has been teaching Bartholomew how to talk dirty to me in hopes of making me fail No Nut November. Infuriated, I confronted Raunchy Reginald. The altercation turned violent, and I was forced to take his life to keep my own.
November 31, 1672: Today I write embarrassed and disappointed. I, too, failed No Nut November. I was resting in my chambers when, all of a sudden, Bartholomew turned to me and said, “Ahoy, buccaneer! You shit with all that booty?” Bartholomew’s smooth words and suave tone reminded me of a saucy lass, and I busted immediately. A life with no discipline or crew is not worth living, so this is the final log. Farewell.
—A. Mayagoitia
