Stavanger Bay wish we could turn back time

"Me mum would be a scurvy wench if'n she didn' bend o'er for sea dogs," Blurry reasoned, proving he had almost no respect for his mother or really any other female crew mate. "Aye, an' a dead one too, deader'n chum." The women were there for the taking, after all. Even Blurryface's mum was naught but a piece of meat in the jaws of wild dogs. The male pirates could do as they pleased with her, just as they would do what they pleased with Wednesday, if any of them were brave enough to touch her with a ten foot mast.

"Me lass," coaxed Blurryface, gesturing to the beach, "might ye be in search o' Cap'n Blackbeard? Thar be booty for any that be joinin' 'is salty crew." There would be booty for the pirates too if Blurryface could drag in any of the female populace, though his wicked and rattish countenance, his yellow teeth and his all-too-chatty manner rarely did much for winning over ladies. Wednesday might yet be a man, though, so the pirate switched gears and asked with one eyebrow cocked and the other eye squinted, "ye prefers to be wench or bucko? Ye ain't got a wee lil mast hidin' in thar, do ye?"