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someone could saw it off without removing his hands.
    He tightened his braided leather vest. He was so glad it kind of still fit. He needed the support for his new man-boobs. He decided to shave his chest and pubic area. Of course not being able to see his scrotum made this a dangerous venture, but Dave liked living on the edge.
    He searched the deck for a razor. Unfortunately the only razor he could find was dull and rusty . . . .Oh well, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.
    He raised the razor to the Heavens for that fat bastard, Poseidon’s blessing. Closing his eyes, he brought the razor down to his . . .
    “What in the hell are you doing?” Laverne asked, scaring the crap out of Dave.
    “Ahhh, Laverne,” he squeaked and tried to suck in his enormous gut. “I was preparing to shave my scrotum. Would you care to join me?”
    “Um, no. But since you can’t exactly see your scrotie, aren’t you a tad bit concerned?” she asked logically.
    “You detect a problem?” Dave was confused.
    “Well, yeah. If you mistakenly lop off your love-shafts, four more will grow back.” Laverne rolled her eyes. It constantly amazed her that someone as good looking as Pirate Dave could be so fucking stupid.
    “Chances are I’d only remove one,” Dave explained.
    “Then you’d have three.”
    “How’s that?” he asked.
    “If you accidentally cut both of them off four more will grow back. But if you only cut one off, two will grow back leaving you with three.”
    Dave was silent for two minutes and thirty-one seconds. “Sweet Saint Peter in crotchless panties! You’re right! Laverne you have saved me from growing a gaggle of flesh trombones!” Pirate Dave shouted joyously. “For that, you will be rewarded! What would you like?”
    Laverne smiled, “Oh, I can think of a couple of things . . . ”

Chapter Fourteen
     
    Dave was fucking depressed. He needed some guy time . . . Perhaps some breeches shopping or simply getting shit-faced and making some prank phone calls to Poseidon. He thought through his crew and decided on Hairy Sam. Yep, he and Hairy Sam would cut loose.
    “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Hairy Sam squealed. He wrung his hands in terror and glee.
    “It’s going to be great!” Pirate Dave shouted. “I just know we can punk him. He’s such a stupid twatwaffle!”
    “Are you positive he won’t know it’s us?” Sam asked, pulling out clumps of chest hair in his nervousness.
    “Of course not!” Dave bellowed with confidence. “I’m on a cell phone!”
    Hairy Sam blanched. “But what about Caller I . . . ”
    “Shhhh!” Dave interrupted. “It’s ringing!”
    Dave had been friends with Hairy Sam forever. Literally. Sam’s stench made Pirate Dave smell like a flower. Sam was covered in hair from head to toe, hence the name. He’d tried shaving and waxing and electrolysis, but to no avail. He’d even tried burning it off. That had certainly been a bad fucking idea. The hair grew back within minutes, thicker and coarser than before.
    The pungent gentlemen enjoyed the game called Fucking with the Future. It was a highlight in both of their immortal lives. Between ravaging large-breasted virgins who pretended they were appalled by sex, stealing treasures, and eating box after box of Shaft Macaroni and Cheese, they enjoyed traveling to the future and messing with undereducated Americans’ heads. Especially ones who were married to other family members.
    Pirate Dave and Hairy Sam found it amusing to time-travel to the Pacific Northwest or the deep South anywhere between the 1960s and the early 2000s to perpetuate the Bigfoot myth. It wasn’t exactly a myth, for Hairy Sam’s feet were huge. His shoes were a size twenty-four, matching his doinker to the inch.
    Often times Hairy Sam tried to get laid, but usually ended up masturbating in the corner of freaked-out women’s bedrooms. Pirate Dave thought this was hilarious. Sam hadn’t gotten any in over two hundred