Today was International Talk Like a Pirate Day, as decreed by the internet, but you are aware of that aren’t you. Since you’re hip and you’re with it, and you’re utilizing this thing–The Internet–surfing it, looking at websites, looking at our website, looking at us while we’re ranting. You probably even know our store address. You probably know our products. You probably know the names of our fish. Are we creeped out? Yes. Is creeped out another way to say we’re flattered? No. We celebrated September 19 as any pirate who operated a retail storefront would: begrudgingly. I mean, “with gusto.” Here’s how it happened. Anyone who uttered their favorite and least favorite pirate sayings were added to a list. They were then given lemons and limes and sent on their way. May they enjoy their hypothetical ceviche and very real Vitamin C, not to mention the fame and good fortune that being posted on this website may bring them.

Here are some of the most frequently decreed phrases, and some of our thoughts about them:
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We understand the emotional burden that is shopping. Browsing through clothing and accessories can be overwhelming for your mind and body—an exhausting venture that requires all three grammatical tenses. You like those pantaloons presently, you wonder how often the opportunity to don a fuchsia eyepatch will realistically present itself in the future, and you nostalgically meditate on your old well-worn wench-blouse that was tragically left behind at your favorite laundromat. The stress of shopping may naturally evolve into anger or sadness, denial, and sometimes even blame. We recognize this emotional trajectory. We expect it. We even sympathize with those who experience it. It’s cool. We’re with you. Well, most of you. For those of you who’ve been flippantly browsing our peg leg selection while scoffing and tittering and carrying on, we have no empathy, whatsoever. What. So. Ever. Listen, casual peg leg browsing guy or girl, or whatever: The Pirate Store would really appreciate it if, when you are pretending to put on a peg leg and it doesn’t fit that you’d please refrain from blaming the peg leg. It doesn’t fit you because you probably still have all or most of your leg. You can’t preempt leg loss. No one can. And that’s—oh sheesh—now I’m all worked up.

I would like to formally thank today’s pirate store assistants for dutifully counting the number of ropes, buttons and glass jars in our inventory. I have lost most of the numbers at this point, but I do remember that, according to one precocious third-grader, there are currently eight ropes in the pirate store. This number is inclusive of belts, the ceiling-entangled ropes, the rope that mops, the structural integrity-providing ropes, the ropes that aid in the overall ambiance of the store, and the twine that is just generally around. Eight. A very round and approachable number. Once again, thank you.

Has anybody seen our copy of Now That’s What I Call Sea Shanties No.34? It’s been missing from the store for almost a week now, which is coincidentally the length of time that “A Sunday Kind of Plundering” has been stuck in my head. The reward for returning it will be endless sea jam remixes for all and even some okay (or maybe even good) karma.

Whoa. The lard has resettled itself in a new location, closer to the corner and around two yards away from its former position. This may or may not be the grounds for today’s occurrence: a customer scooped up some lard in her bare hands, and casually massaged it through her hair whilst saying, “oh good, my hair is really dry right now.” That leads me to wonder—what was the state of her hair after the lard addition? Is lard the opposite of dry? Would this have happened a week ago? Was the lard now basking in a flattering light that it was previously denied due to its location? Anybody able to partially answer any of these inquiries, please come to the store immediately.

Let’s talk about lace cuffs. Are they purely a fashion statement? A vacuous sartorial detail, meant to subtly transform an average blouse into something more meaningful? Do they have a utility? Maybe my lifestyle is not one that requires this hypothetical utility, therefore I could never know of their wondrous potential. But where did they come from? Are they an evolutionary vestige of some sort of past utility, like human pinky toes? But that’s about when I start wondering: What is their relationship with the sleeve? Do you really need to wear two at any given time? Is lace cuff asymmetry frowned upon? This is all up for discussion and this posting is really just meant to convey the fact that lace cuffs should be part of the everyday dialogue.

Today brought with it hope in the war against tubs of traditional cooking spreads. The skies parted and a customer emerged, spreading joyous words of lard-based optimism. She informed us of her cooking escapades of yesteryear, lard being the protagonist, its role being unearthing a world of delicious. She spoke of a time before hydrogenation, proselytizing on lard’s comparative health benefits. The lard was uncovered, the plan was conceived; she would return the lard to its rightful place within the kitchen proper. She dug in, spoon secure in hand and was immediately confronted with the stench of aged lard, which is both indescribable and unloveable. Hope was lost, check in again later about an encouraging day for the lard.

The tub of lard has survived yet another day of emotional affliction. It remains stagnant in the face of constant poking and prodding—its short-lived interaction with the inquisitive spectator always resulting in an eventual grimace, an upturned nose, a pity-induced laugh. It listens and waits for the inevitable “ew, that’s gross.” It turns a deaf ear to the sarcasm when one inquires: “oh how much does this lard cost?” Alas, few are planning on pursuing the details of this transaction—it’s all just feigned interest, a joke at best. Thus the lard remains—unmoved through these trials and troubles, heartaches and wounded pride, somehow finding solace in the consistency of it all.

I have noticed a trend in the style of bartered joke that did not become so tangibly real until I heard this: What did the pants say to the pants? (What?) We’re pants. It’s called spontaneity and it’s around. When it comes to the bartered joke, trusting your instincts may just be the way to go. Whipping together a punch line instantaneously opens up a treasure trove of comedic potential. This makes the bartering process much more exciting for everybody. The element of surprise has arrived. Why did the chicken cross the road? There are infinite possibilities.

With this post comes a whole slew of contradicting emotions. The Store Log has officially returned! (You’re excited, the obscurity of 2009 is eclipsed by the pure delight of this breaking news). With every day that passed, the search for our elusive log intensified—it was an unbearable struggle, a journey so incredible that attempting to assign words to the events will only cause my mind to strain and heart to wrench. (You cringe with sympathy pains!). Quantifying this journey will have to suffice: seven hearts were broken, five deal-cementing handshakes were offered, two rolls of duct tape were exhausted, six long-distance calls appeared on our phone bill, and at least three metaphorical bridges were burned. Just when we decided the end had passed us by, that we would continue living under the radar, in the suffocating darkness, our most hopeful dreams came to fruition. The Store Log was found underneath a half-eaten sandwich! (What? You’re confused, grossed out, maybe you’re in disbelief, embarrassed for us a little bit). But would you have looked underneath a sandwich? Be honest. The past is the past and lunch is lunch except when it is a sandwich obstructing our ability to document Pirate Store happenings. Let us, all together, be grateful for the return of our fruitful Store Log and set our sights on the many events that will lead to many emotions that will occur in the future.