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pirate2I’m not sure if “scantily clad” is an apt description for hyper-masculinized pirates, on account of the fact that it sounds much too dainty, but that is where I found myself the other day, trapped in traffic behind five, scantily clad pirates.

I had an elderly woman with me who promptly exclaimed, “Oh brother,” but I see she did not take her eyes off of them, either. They were painted across the back-end of a truck hauling amusement park rides, I suspect, and doing his very best to top speeds of about….30 mph.

First off, I do indeed have a thing for pirates, but not that great of a weakness for visual porn, so that wasn’t it at all. I was actually absolutely fascinated by their anatomy, which probably sounds rather perverse, but I mean, their totally all wrong anatomy. These guys had muscle groupings you would just never see on humans. I’m pretty sure whoever painted them has never seen so much as a photo of the human body.

If I ran into those pirates on the street, I would have called 911. Entire muscle groupings were not quite were they belong and I’m pretty sure one arm was bent in the wrong direction. The one climbing the rigging with a knife in his hand appeared to have a stretched out, broken neck, which might explain why his tongue was hanging out.

I really was starting to feel bad for these pirates, when my buddy in the car asks, “what are they wearing?”

“Loincloths?” I said.

“Well, I know that,” she said, rather annoyed with me. “Made out of what, burlap?”

At least burlap, actually it appeared to be more like something crocheted out of hemp rope and horsehair. The point being, no one in their right mind would ever allow something like that near their nether regions.

“Pull closer,” she says, putting on her reading glasses, and I do, so now I am totally in this trucker’s blind spot, stalking his poorly painted pirates. He must have caught sight of me, because he begins to wiggle the truck back and forth, so now we are weaving down the lane still barely reaching 30 mph, and I am totally tailgating this poor trucker.

Guess who drives by at that precise moment? My husband of course. So when I get home he asks, “What were you guys even doing?”

“Harassing a trucker and critiquing some poorly painted, half naked, pirates?” It sounds like a total question coming out of my mouth, which is somewhat amusing because I can’t imgine what else I could have possibly been doing.  I have to love my hubby, he doesn’t even ask “why.”  He just smiles as if this is the most normal thing in the world.