by Carnivorousplant
"Throw more water on the sails, Mr. Bush!" called Hornblower, "It will increase our speed by half a knot!"
"But Sir," replied the First Leftenant, "We are holed in forty-seven places below the water line, the Main Top Focal Gallant Skidding Sail has carried away, and the crew is looking ugly."
"Damn your impertinence, Mr. Bush!" roared Hornblower, "I didn't join His Britannic Majesty's Navy to listen to your petty excuses! Besides, after we've been at sea for a while, the crew won't look quite so ugly."
Conan the Giant Ex-Barbarian Become Corsair was also in a foul mood. Having turned pirate because Howard needed the bread, and it's easier to rename characters and edit a bit than churn out another Red Nails, The Chimmerian found it to be a lucrative but singularly unexciting profession. Seeing the Giant Barbarian (Buccaneer) from afar, ships crews merely put all their worldly possessions into a life boat and cast it off. No matter how many Heads He Clove or Limbs He Lobbed Off, the crew invariably stopped to plunder lifeboats full of gold, gems and jelly doughnuts while Conan's would-be prey escaped over the horizon.
Picking his teeth with his double-edged broadsword (Cutlass), he got the fan belt between his teeth. Conan sat as deep in such thought as he was capable. What he wanted was first, a babe, and secondly some action. Both would undoubtedly be found on a sailing vessel. If he could figure out how the cannons worked, he'd just blow the next damn lifeboat out of the fucking water. Besides, he was running out of crew.
"The First Leftenant's Compliments, Sir, " squeaked Midshipman Pimples, "and there is a sail to larboard. She's flying the Jolly Roger, Sir!"
"My compliments to Mr. Bush," responded Hornblower twirling a cigar, "and my compliments to his sister, also. On second thought, forget Bush and the compliments and just get his sister down here. Issue a double ration of jelly doughnuts to the crew. I shall be on deck presently."
Gronk peered carefully around Conan's doorway. Seeing that the broadsword/cutlass was leaning safely against the wall, the cerebrally challenged coxswain approached the Giant Chimmerian/Pirate. "A sail to larboard, Sir."
Conan shook himself out of his brief revery. "Huhn? What the Hell does that mean? I wasn't asleep, just resting my eyes."
"To the...ah, left." replied Gronk, consulting the indelible writing on his grimy lace shirt cuffs.
"Do it by any chance have 'Brinks', 'Wells Fargo' or 'YWCA' painted on the side?' inquired the Blue-Eyed Pirate.
"H.M.S. Lydia." replied Gronk.
"Maybe that means some good dope," Conan remarked, "You know, 'lid'?"
"Ah, Sir," the dim-witted first mate interjected, "I believe it is the name of the ship. She is a frigate of forty guns."
"Watch you damn language in my cabin," exclaimed Conan, "When I getta babe in here there ain't gonna be no damn cussin'! What does H.M.S. stand for, 'Here's My Ship'?"
"Its an English vessel, Sir."
"Oh yeah, 'Hits My Ship'. Well, do something with the Halyards to catch it."
"Ah, Sir, you lopped off the arms of the Halyard brothers when they were looting that lifeboat last week."
"Just get us along side!" roared the Giant Pirate, "and figure out how those damn cannons work. Aim for the lifeboats."
Bush lowered his telescope. "She's turning to meet us, Sir!" he ejaculated.
"I told you the crew would get better looking," responded Hornblower. "Have the guns run out, the hatches battened down, the slings slung, the ships cat fed, and beat to quarters."
As the crew walked about the capstan, the fiddler struck up the Hendrix tune, "The Watchtower".
"Mister Bush!" inquired Hornblower, "Why are those men raising anchor while we're underway?!?!"
"Poetic license, Sir." responded the first officer. "We have to kill some time for the reader while the ships maneuver."
"We have time for a rubber of Whist then, Mr. Bush!" reflected Hornblower, "My compliments to the other officers, and please join me in my cabin. And if Midshipman Pimples pulls any more cards out of his sock, I'll keel haul the son of a bitch."
Bush was in a quandary. Having failed to convince his Captain to play five card stud, he was going to lose money. He firmly believed that whist was a game for Frenchmen and faggots. He checked the Ace of Spades stowed away in his sock.
"No lifeboats!" exclaimed the Giant Chimmerian Pirate gleefully. "I hope the babe is a redhead."
"Fire as you bear!" ordered Gronk.
"I don't see any damn bears!" mumbled Conan, leaning on the rail of the Fat Chance. "The Krom are you talking about?"
"When we are laid alongside, the cannons will fire." His coxswain explained.
"Why does all this nautical stuff sound like sex?"
"What else do you think about 5,000 miles away from the nearest woman?"
The Lydia tacked and the Fat Chance nailed.
"Come about!" ordered Hornblower. "On the uproll!" The guns roared and the ship's cat marked his trouser leg.
"Ha!" exclaimed the Chimmerian, "I've got him now! Don't tack, staple!"
"Adhesive Tape!" bellowed Hornblower to the helmsman.
"Super Glue!"
"Postits!"
"Tell the guy driving this tub," Conan muttered, "That if we don't get next to the other boat, I'll rip his liver out."
A broadside from the Fat Chance raked the Lydia.
"Son of a bitch!" remarked Hornblower.
"Yes Sir!" responded half the crew.
"He fired on the fucking down roll! What a sneaky, cretinous swine..."
The Lydia and the Fat Chance slammed together with a resounding crash.
"Kay," Conan explained rattling two marbles in his hand, "This bucket of sand represents my jelly doughnuts. Now, seven and four... I write one and carry one..." The Chimmerian Pirate was very busy trying to hold onto the pencil and count his fingers.
"Excuse me, Sir," interjected Gronk, "but we just came together with a resounding crash."
"Screw the jelly doughnuts!" cried the Giant Blue Eyed Chimmerian Pirate, "Babes! Swordplay! Veins in my teeth!" and leapt to the deck of the Lydia. "It’s Miller Time!"
Hornblower drew the double barreled percussion cap pistols his wife had given him in an ornate box before the voyage and fired into the face of the Giant Barbarian Pirate. Unfortunately, Ms. Hornblower had neglected to include any ammo.
"Shit." Hornblower remarked thoughtfully, threw the pistols aside and drew his cutlass. He was very proud of the V-8 and power brakes. Air conditioning would be nice, though. "At 'em Lydias!"
Since there was no one in the crew named Lydia, nobody moved.
Conan swung his mighty blade, lopped off heads and limbs, clove skulls in twain and generally made a disturbing nuisance of himself.
"Mister Bush!" ordered Hornblower, "Take a cannonade and blow that big son of a bitch away!"
"Don't you mean a 'carronade' Sir?"
"Kill the duck fucker, you idiot!" Hornblower was jumping up and down.
"Fuck it!" exclaimed Midshipman Pimples, and squirted his last tube of Clearasil into Conan's face. In pain known only to the damned and the pubescent, the Giant Chimmerian fell over board.
Another broadside from the Lydia, and the Fat Chance began to sink.
"So fare all enemies of His Royal Majesty!" cried Bush, "Three cheers for Captain Hornblower, lads!"
"Prize money." muttered Seaman Brown. "He always sinks the fuckers and we don't get no prize money."
"To Krom with this pirate stuff!" bubbled Conan. "I'm gonna work for Burroughs. Babes and blades!" The Giant Chimmerian placed his sword between his teeth and began the swim to a nearby island populated with improbably intelligent giant apes and pulchritudinous, lubricous, red haired female castaways.