It was a normal day at sea. All the sailors aboard the HMS Progress, a Royal Navy ship, were going about their duties. Sailor Jerry, a new recruit, had just arrived on the top decks with his mop and bucket, ready to go about his daily tasks. Just then, he heard a gruff and unfamiliar voice.
"You! Boy!"
Sailor Jerry turned and looked. The man who called his attention seemed very out of place aboard a Royal Navy ship. He cansually leaned against the ship's bulwark, as if he had nothing to do. He wore tattered old clothes and held a flask of rum in his hand. Far from the ideal image of a sailor, this man appeared malnourished and dirty.
"Who are you?" Jerry began. "Where's your uniform?"
"Don't got one," the man replied. He took a swig from his flask.
"What do you mean you don't have one? This is a Royal Navy ship. Every sailor gets a uniform when they join the Navy."
"I'm not a Navy sailor," the man replied. The color drained from Sailor Jerry's face as he realized what this meant. The HMS Progress had been boarded. This man was a pirate!
An hour had passed. The Captain of the ship, Lord Roger Whitmore, sat at his desk. He was surrounded by signs and posters with vaguely inspirational slogans. He thought they were wonderful. His men hated them. Two veteran sailors entered, dragging Jerry by his arms. They threw him on the floor in front of the Captain's desk.
One of the veterans spoke up. "Sailor Jerry attempted to warn us about pirates boarding the ship, sir."
The captain raised an eyebrow. "You're reporting pirates?"
Jerry sprung to his feet and raised a salute. "Aye aye, Captain! This sailor feels it his his duty to inform you that the enemy has boarded our ship."
The captain scowled at the young sailor. "The enemy, you say?" He rose to his feet and began to pace back and forth."
"Aye, Captain!" Jerry trembled slightly as he held his salute.
"And why do you have a problem with pirates?" the Captain asked.
Jerry was dumbfounded. "Uh... I'm not sure I understand, Captain."
Captain Whitmore leaned down on his desk. "Pirates are men of the seas just the same as us, sailor." He tapped one of his inspirational posters. "We all sail the same seas. We breathe the same salty air. We are all sons of Neptune, and we all face the risk of sinking to Davy Jones' locker. Do you understand?"
"But Captain-"
"No 'buts!'" Captain Whitmore roared, interrupting Jerry. "Do you think that, just because they're smelly and dirty, pirates are lesser than us Navy men?"
Jerry simply stared silently. He was in complete disbelief.
"That sort of attitude is what makes pirate feel as if they have no choice but to resort to criminal activity such as looting and pillaging. They're not as well off as us Navy sailors, but so what? Instead of punishing them, we should be helping them. That is true justice, young sailor."
"I... I think I understand, Captain."
"Good. Now, throw him in the brig. We don't tolerate piratephobia on my ship."
Two days later, Sailor Gregory - a bilge pump operator - was headed for the galley. It was lunch time and he had been working hard, so he was really looking forward to his afternoon rations. As he approached the galley, however, he was stopped at the door by a veteran sailor.
"Sorry, galley's full."
Gregory was in disbelief. "What do you mean the galley's full? It's the second lunch wave. That's when I'm scheduled to have lunch. I'm in there every day at this time."
"Not today, sailor."
Gregory managed to get a look inside the galley. "Who are all those men? They look filthy, and they're not wearing their uniforms."
"They don't have uniforms, sailor," the veteran answered. "They're pirates."
"Why is our galley full of pirates?!" Sailor Gregory was filled with rage. "Someone call the captain, we're being invaded!"
The veteran sailor was alarmed at this statement. "Our Captain's orders are to feed and quarter these pirates. Are you a piratephobe, sailor?"
"A what?" Gregory was in total disbelief. "Are you fucking with me?!"
The veteran sailor punched Gregory in the jaw, knocking him unconscious, then had him sent to the brig.
Three more days had passed. Captain Whitmore was taking a stroll across the ship's decks, with two of his trusted veteran sailors at his side. The HMS Progress was looking wonderful. The decks were not as clean as they once were and there was definitely a graffiti problem, but it added a certain charm to the ship. In addition, it seemed like every day, there were more pirates on board. Soon, they might even be the majority. "Isn't coexistence wonderful?" he mused aloud. The veteran sailors nodded in agreement.
"Captain! Captain!" A young recruit was rushing toward him in a panic. "Somebody painted over the name of the ship. It says 'Dedfukker' now!"
Captain Whitmore was incensed by this news. "Unacceptable. Which one of you did this?!"
"It was a pirate!"
The Captain's gaze turned cold. "I've had just about enough of you privileged Navy sailors and your piratephobia lately. Now you're scapegoating?" As he spoke, the ship's crew could hear a squeaky pulley. They all fell silent as they turned their attention to the mainmast. Slowly but surely, the Royal Navy battle flag was being lowered. Then, just as slowly, a new flag crept up in its place. Not just any flag. A Jolly Roger. A rather famous Jolly Roger, at that.
"It's the Tater Pirates!" a panicked sailor cried out. Just then, there he was - the dread pirate Captain Tater, accompanied by his most trusted crewmates. The obese, rough looking captain strode onto the deck, looking awfully sure of himself. He held a blunderbuss pistol in his left hand and a club in his right. Grinning evilly, he fired the pistol into the air. Every Navy man aboard flinched at the firearm's report.
Whitmore turned to approach the other captain. "Now now sailor, I strive to be quite tolerant on this ship, but we have rules that-"
Before Captain Whitmore could finish his sentence, he was interrupted by a sharp blow to the face from Captain Tater's club. "Get fucked." Tater held the club high, showing off the crimson slick of fresh blood on its head.
"Alright, you lousy Royal Navy pricks. This is my ship now. If you don't wanna die, get the fuck out!"
An alarm sounded. Panicked Navy sailors began evacuating as quickly as possible. Those who could make it to a lifeboat did, but many more simply chose to jump overboard and take their chances swimming. After a solid half hour of panic, the ship was quiet again. The former HMS Progress was now Dedfukker, flagship of the Tater Pirates' fleet.
"How'd you do it, Captain?" asked Tater's First Mate.
"I told them our ship was a wreck so they were obligated to let us onto theirs."
"Are they fucking stupid?"
"Yup."