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**"Loverboy" Vinnie Lane** · (07-22-2020)

Aboard the Wench's Woe, the third most feared ship in the Carribbean, the crew is silent. Their nervous glances dart between one another and the pacing, agitated captain. Muttering to himself, Captain Acab's pace quickens as his footsteps grow louder and louder, stomping about the deck as if he's trying to step right through the wooden floorboards.

Finally, he stops.

The men's shoulders tense and the air is sucked from their chests.

"Yarrr, they call -that- a donkey show!? 'Twas no bigger than a fox and the lass smelled like an 80 year old cunt stuffed with pig shit and warm grouper. Ruined me whole fucking day, aye it did. Months without stepping on land and this be the respite we weary, law-abiding seafarers get? I'd rather watch an octopus put all eight up me mum's 'puss than watch two minutes of that softcockery while I gag on ale that tasted like me own piss."

"Law abiding my ass" squawks Acab's parrot Helena as her giant wings flutter upon landing on his shoulder.

"Bird, keep that beak shut or I'll have ye for dinner."

"Won't hear anymore of yer' crying at least." Helena squawks back.

"Why can that parrot talk so good?" One pirate says, turning to the man next to him.

"It be for narrative purposes." The other pirate whispers back.

"Yarr." The first pirate nods in acknowledgement.

Annoyed at the chatter amongst his crew, Acab stomps his foot to regain order. As all eyes make their way back toward him he turns back toward shore with a snarl.

"Listen here you sons of whores. I promised ye all a bit o' fun and -that- was no fun. So, we're going to make a little change to the plans. We don't sail tonight, nay, tonight I want ye all to burn this place to the ground. Take their rum, eat their grub, and put those tiny pricks in any hole ye can. But I want ye to find me the finest man or woman ye come across and bring them back to me quarters. Captain could use a different kind of booty tonight."

"Did ye say...man?" One pirate says with a mocking laugh.

"Yarr, I'm pansexual and I won't be tolerating yer homophobia." The Captain raises his cutlass to the man and tosses his head to the side, prompting the surrounding pirates to hoist him up and throw him overboard.

"That's right boys, we won't be tolerating any bigotry! Now I--"

The captain is interrupted by a loud thudding sound. His face immediately shows a look of shock.

"Arr...ye didn't throw him onto the dock, did ye?"

One pirate looks overboard for a moment and turns back.

"Aye, captain."

"Oooh. Is he okay?"

The pirate looks back overboard, taking much less time to survey the scene below before turning back.

"Nay, captain."

"Lads ye gotta be more careful." He replies with a heavy sigh.

"Sorry captain." They sullenly reply, in unison.

Acab drops his head into his hand and shakes it, and turns away from the crew while signaling them to leave with his free hand. The men cheer as they shove their swords and flintlocks into their belts and begin exiting the ship.

Within minutes the group of rowdy pirates descend upon the small port town; they smash windows, set fire to farmer's crops, loot buildings, and brazenly assault the citizens. The air is filled with the screams of the town's women, the laughter of the marauding crew, and the crackling of embers from the raging fires. After hours of chaos, the crew return to the ship; their arms full of whatever goods they could plunder before the rest was burned to ashes. Acab nods in approval as he looks over his drunken and newly rejuvenated crew. As he scans the crew his eye is caught by a dashing blonde man with a sheepish grin who gives him an effeminate wave hello.

"Ahoy!"

The next morning.

The ship rocks gently back and forth, having left port hours ago and now out into the open sea. Acab and the blonde man lay naked in bed, the blonde man sound asleep while Acab clutches a half-empty bottle of rum as he stares at the various treasures affixed to the walls. He takes a drink when his eyes stop on the head of a golden trident affixed to the wall near the door, and they stay there as he reviews every minor detail of the object. The blonde man stirs awake and rubs Acab's chest as he notices the very same trident.

"I take it that's your favorite?"

"Nay." Acab grunts as he slowly makes his way from the bed towards the trident, taking another large gulp out of the bottle of rum. "I hate it."

"Then why keep it?"

"Because if it be what I think it be, then the only notion more terrifying than it being here with me is it being out there with someone else."

Piquing his interest, the man sits up from bed and throws his legs over the side of the bed directly in front of Helena.

"Somebody feed that python" She squawks.

"And what is it exactly?"

"Aye, they say it's the trident of Poseidon himself. Stole it from a smuggler a year back and ne'er a night has passed since that I don't wake with a fire in me skull and a chill in me spine. This bastard fork belonged to something evil and that evil wont stop speaking to me. It wants to wash it all away; aye, wants to wash it all away."

"That doesn't sound like a problem for a man such as yourself."

"Nay, the sea is me home. But, it wants complete domain with not a soul left to challenge it. Me heart ain't made of gold but it ain't made o' shit either. So she stays here with me, and so long as I draw breath not a soul will take her from me."

"You're wrong you know? About a couple things."

"Such as?"

The man stands from the bed and walks over to the trident, admiring it with his fingertips.

"It's not Poseidon's, it's Neptune's."

"And how would ye know a thing like that?"

"It's my job to know. Oh, and the other thing you got wrong?"

"Aye what's that?"

The man quickly grabs the trident head from the wall, spins around, and plunges it into the belly of Acab. A trickle of blood immediately escapes his mouth as he tries to pull the object from inside, but the man yanks it to the side with all his might--breaking a prong off inside Acab's wound. Acab stumbles backwards and falls into the bed as his wound begins to pour blood out all around him.

"I will be taking this, by order of King George II. You didn't think your years of debauchery and piracy wouldn't go unnoticed did you? You pirates, all grit and no brain. We laid a trap for you and you were all too willing to sail right into it. Some captain you are. Not at all worthy of the title."

Acab painfully chuckles, spitting blood on the floor. "Aye ye got me. Tell me, what's yet name ye piece of hog shit? I want to tell the devil below who to save ye a seat next to me."

"Constable Marcus Wihlberg. And please do, you're going to be there much sooner than I."

"Oh don't be so sure. Still a crew up there that'll turn ye inside out for killing me."

"Oh the ones up stairs? The ones drunk off poisoned rum? If they're not dead yet they soon will be. Maybe they'll be the ones saving you a seat."

Visibly enraged at the notion that his entire crew has been killed, Acab musters what little strength he has left and lunges at Wihlberg. After a struggle, Acab manages to rip the broken trident from Wihlberg's hand and pierces his abdomen with it. Surging with adrenaline, Acab manages to drag Wihlberg from his chambers and up onto the deck where the crew are strewn about. Still alive, but near-death, the crew all look on in horror as they see their bloodied captain emerging from his room.

"Men! It's not every day ye get to kill the man that kills ye, brag about this when we get to Hell."

Acab throws Wihlberg to the crew. Feeble but empowered, they begin beating the man down with closed fists and kicks.

"Throw him to the fucking sharks."

"Aye!" They yell in unison as they lift him up and throw his barely-moving body overboard.

"Dogs. I must say, dying with you will be a pleas--" The captain is interrupted by a loud thud.

"Fuck me, another dock!?"

One of the pirates looks overboard and turns back to the captain.

"Nay, really big rock."

"Is he alive?"

The pirate looks back overboard and turns back to the captain again.

"Nay, really sharp rock." The man laughs as he collapses against the rail.

"Fucking lawmen. I'd give me very soul to kill that man again, from now until the end of time." He exclaims as he slowly makes his way up to the ship's wheel. With tears in his eyes he watches hopelessly as one-by-one the life fades from his entire crew, leaving him alone a top the ship's deck and now blood covered wheel. The familiar flapping of wings brings the slightest smile to the face of Acab as Helena lands near him. She notices the blood dripping from his wound and whistles in disbelief.

"You know you're dead right?" She squawks.

"If only I could take ye with me." He says with a smirk as he tumbles backwards from the wheel, his momentum taking him over the railing and crashing to the sea below. He sinks like a stone, the surrounding water quickly turning into a crimson red as he sinks toward the sea floor. Accepting his fate, he closes his eyes and exhales what little breath remains in his lungs. The sea swallows his lifeless body, dragging it into the dark depths below. As the screen goes dark, a faint glow begins to emanate from the deep.

Miami, Florida. 1987

"Holy shit man! You're not gonna believe what just came up in the net..."

(To be continued)

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh

Who gets to debut against a bunch of pussies?

Cap-ta-in Acab

Whose records and titles mean nothin' to me?

Cap-ta-in Acab

Who gets to claim that I made 'em all my bitch?

Cap-ta-in Acab

Who gets to introduce their assholes to his fist?

Cap-ta-in Acab
Cap-ta-in Acab

Captainnnnn Acabbbb

Aye, I can't wait to hear all the posturin' and misleading when the rest of these cunts try to convince themselves that they somehow are going to win this match. Let's clear it all up right now: The chances of any of my opponents winning this match are about as slim as a butt plug NOT getting lost in the abyss of Dick Powers' cavernous asshole. We get it lad, ye fuck. And that's all. Have ye ever tried growing any sort of a personality trait? It's like your old man fucked a Ben Stein audiobook and your surrogate was an Alabama frat girl who isn't *quite* sure it's not her brother Ed's kid. If you get any blander I'm gonna have to feed ye to me dog whenever he gets a little tummyache.

And I can't for the life of me figure out why ye are even in this match in the first place? I mean, ye may not be notable by any means but ye are a known commodity. It's not like yer a former champ like...oh heyyyyy Robbie. What in the fuck, lad? Ye were a champion and now ye're relegated to a match with unknowns and nobodies? Just how -bad- of a champ were ye? In the tiny amount of research I did before showing me face around here I noticed that people like to say Chris Chaos and Peter Gilmour are the worst champions in the history of the XWF...but, and correct me if I'm wrong, those two are fighting for gold while you're stuck in the opening match fighting against unknown pirates, sex addicts and an Irishman with the least believable accent ever.

Actually ye know, Azrael, I want you to rewind that last part and apply it to yerself as well because yer equally as laughable as this pig fucker. And for this next part I'm not even going to specify which of ye I'm talking about because it applies to both ye sad sacks of shite: What's yer fuckin' excuse? Ye know, nevermind, I already know it: 'I'm part time and don't have the interest in being in more important matches.'

Right? Right.

Bullshit.

Ye aren't worth a virgin's gash in a seminary, any respectable former champion would let their name speak for itself and refuse to be placed in a situation such as this. Hell, for that matter any respectable organization wouldn't even allow it to happen in the first place. There's a plain answer to the question: Ye aren't valued by the XWF, ye aren't valued by yer fellow wrestlers, and ye aren't valued by yerselves. Ye think Gilmour and Chaos, no matter how limited their schedule, would take this lying down? Nay, they wouldn't. That's why, despite being utter pieces of shite, they'll always be remembered more fondly than ye ever will be.

Brian Storm, Oswald Autem, Docktor Trust, Michael McBride, Mackenzie Wright, Liam Roberts, Scott Charlotte. What is there to say about ye all? Simply this:

Ye're nothing but fodder for this one. Bodies for the gallows. The fact that I've spent this much breath on any of you is undeserved and frankly I won't allow it to happen again.

Andrew Logan, ye are the only one in this match that makes sense. Ye're new, ye're big. In a match full of has-beens, never-will-be's, and whatever the fuck an Oswald Autem is, yer the only one I can see respecting. That said, yer still in me way and that's a place ye don't want to be.

I don't know who makes these matches or why they like me so much, but once this match is done with I owe 'em a nice bottle of rum and a fruit basket. Watching this listless jetsam try to puff their chests out and pretend they still have a chance is going to make me sicker than scurvy. The only fun I'll be having is trying to figure out which of ye are peabrained enough to think ye can win, and which of ye have already decided yer just gonna mail it in, take your loss and pretend like all of this was just a bad dream.

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