As the quaking of the Wobbly Peg, a ship notorious throughout the Pirate Republic for its bawdy escapades, rippled through the undulating sea, Captain Chesthair McGinty sprawled languidly atop his massive, tangled bed of silken sheets and embroidered quilts. They were a generous spoil from the last merchant vessel he'd 'liberated' - along with the bed's current occupants: his harem of young sailor twinks, the finest selection of sprightly lads with buttocks as firm and round as freshly cannon-polished grape shots. Under the dim glow of a dozen flickering candles, their glistening physiques--sculpted by countless days of hoisting sails and scaling ropes--played shadow theater on the eclectic tapestry of McGinty's cabin walls. They lay tangled with the Captain, whose burliest of beards twitched with glee as he reveled in the affection of his treasured crew, his own pirate's booty, so to speak. With a thigh as sturdy as a mast and shoulders broader than the span of the main deck, McGinty was certainly a sight. There was a striking contrast between the sailors' youthful countenances and his own rugged rum-soaked visage. And, in this particular moonlit encounter, he was especially close to the youngest of the lot, Jamie, whose posterior was the subject of many a sonnet drunkenly composed but never quite recalled come morning. As the Captain engaged in a salacious tango with Jamie's lips, his free hand reached for a platter of stolen delicacies, delivering cheesy morsels to the lips of the other lads tangled in the sheets. They giggled and nipped at the cheese like a shoal of particularly frisky mermaids, whispering sea shanties and the latest gossip collected in the ports. "I say," chimed Finn, the twink with eyes as blue as the deep, "Old Barnacle-Toed Barry was spotted dancin' with Mad Molly at the Jiggin' Kraken. But I reckon she was more interested in stealin' his purse than his heart." Their laughter filled the cabin, a cacophony of high-pitched mirth that would make a stoic seagull chuckle. The twinks, however, were blissfully unaware of Captain McGinty's distraction--they were more engaged in their feast, lightly tossing grapes into each other's mouths with such athletic precision one might mistake them for a cohort of nimble cupids. Unencumbered by the weight of modesty or clothing, the Captain thrust forth with his tales and affection, booming stories of conquests over the British navy and of treasures buried so deep they'd give a kraken arthritis. His attentions were perhaps a tad more focused on his current shipboard embrace with Jamie, who had the kind of hair that could shame a siren and an equally entrancing Hermesian swiftness. Just then, the door flew open with a bang that sent a shiver down the spine of the ship itself. Quartermaster Shivers stood in the doorway, hissing, "Cap'n! We're to be assaulted by the dread Captain No-Beard! She's uncannily smooth, and her cutlass is twice as sharp!" With a sigh, McGinty disentangled from the tangled limbs of his treasured crew, bellowing, "To arms, me hearties!" And like the rising tide, each twink-pirate somersaulted from silken repose to battle readiness, swathing themselves in their stolen sashes and colorfully exotic breeches. As they clamored topside, the ridiculous scene of semi-nude pirates preparing for battle dissolved into the comedy of the high seas, the Pirate Republic echoing with the tales of Captain Chesthair McGinty and his preciously plundered band of bodacious buccaneers.