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The Secret of Monkey Island
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Part 1: Prologue
ONE PERSON A LONG TIME AGO TOLD ME TO WRITE DOWN everything I experienced into a memoirs of sorts. That person is probably deader than a doornail by scurvy, but I have taken his advice and decided to sit down and write out my one and only crazy adventure.
Everyone has a dream to become a respectable person, amassing great wealth and having all the ‘wenches’ he so well pleases. That is all fine for the average man of this time, but my heart was always set on being a pirate. People left and right told me that I was quite crazy and that I shouldn’t even bother to venture the seven seas. “All you’ll get is robbed,” they would tell me, “and then where would your dreams be then?” But the desires for treasure and the lust for all things gold could not be quenched in this lifetime and I was destined to put my name amongst the swashbucklers of the days. My idol, which I will proudly admit, was Edward Van Helgen, a.k.a. snugglecakes. It was a pirate’s world out there and I meant to go for it.
At the time I was only nineteen years of age, what you could call a respectable English citizen. I had bright blond hair, down to my shoulders, put into a ponytail, and my eyes were bright blue. My white shirt was made of the finest silk and underneath I wore a common blue, white striped under shirt. I purposefully left the top three buttons undone so people could see the pirate wannabe in me. Of course, I had the finest knickers money could by and my shoes were both polished and shined.
So I wasn’t really looking the part as of then, but how was I supposed to know? Sometimes it’s hard to keep up with the newest styles. My mentality then was the same as my pirate counterparts that I eventually wanted to become, where clothing is good if you have it!
Why did I leave? I wanted to get out, plain and simple. How could I just sit around being ‘refined’ when there was a world to conquer and devastate. Not mention wenches. My heart was set on wenches.
When I finally took my leave of this horribly stuffy place, I grabbed another change of my impeccably stylish suite that was in a smaller bag and I boarded a small vessel that would take me where I wanted to go. Based on what I had read before in the Pirate’s Digest, I decided that I would go to Melee IslandTM. It was a nest of the scurviest scoundrels to sail the seven seas and I read further to find out that would be my best bet to take if I wanted to pursue this ‘uncouth’ career.
I did what all men of my nature would do. I boarded a private boat and set sail for that great place where the grog and the wenches flowed like the sewer pumps on Phatt Island, which had its own article on the back of the magazine. Not too soon after sailing away, I realized that the charter ship I had boarded was a shame and that the captain jumped ship long before setting sail, with all of my money in tow. There was another passenger on board who was also victimized, but I doubt that this would bother a blind/deaf/dumb/mute/gimp. I named him Timmy, by the way.
This left me to deal with the elements of the sea and to find my way to an island that I only read in a secular ‘pop’ magazine. Someone told me to listen for the sounds of swearing and the smell of grog and I would be close, but all I smelled was my friend Timmy beside me, who somehow had a problem with hygiene.
So there I was, at sea with a strange friend and no compass to guide me. I faced off against windstorms, hail storms, desert storms, and even tempests until I saw land ahead. My spirits lifted and I could almost smell the grog and the smoke that would accompany that place. Strange thing was, that wasn’t even Melee Island out there, and I didn’t realize that until I got closer and this feeling of dread came over me quite suddenly. It was time to steer a different direction.
The trip continued to be unbelievable when I saw nothing around for miles and miles. Weeks passed and I saw nothing of significance for that time. At one point I began to wonder what would happen to me, and if I would ever get to Melee Island. It couldn’t be too far now. I thought that things couldn’t get any worse.
And then one day I woke up and looked around from where I sat onboard the charter ship. The sky had grown quite dark and ahead of me, north I believed, was a dark form of land. On top of the highest hill there was some light and from what I could tell, that light was still miles away. I had finally arrived on Melee IslandTM.
I anchored the charter ship at the open beach, which hadn’t seen life in years, and made my way through the underbrush. I had wanted adventure, but nothing of this caliber. The thought that sailing the ocean again would be a requirement for pirating seemed to nibble at my conscious mind.
There was a stone path that led through the underbrush ahead. It looked well traveled so I decided to just follow it and see where it would take me. You have to realize that at this time I was quite headstrong, and I had a tendency to do things before thinking about them. Such was the case as I began to run the stone pathway deep into the forests of this island. The stone pathway became a solid stone stairway that led to an archway at the very top of a rather large hill. What attracted me was the smell of something cooking beneath a fire. I hadn’t eaten since the charter ship set sail and the captain made of with everything.
Quickly I ran to the top of the stone stairway. The archway never got any closer after around fifty steps and that had worried me at first. I was starting to lose my energy. After about the hundredth step, I finally reached the stone landing that went through the great stone arch I had seen from the bottom. If I could have gasped for breath any louder, I more than likely would have brought the dead back from hell, or experienced an extreme implosion from the friction in my lungs.
The top of the hill, which I began to believe was a mountain, was not that spacious and slightly to my right was a raging bon-fire. It was a crude set up with charred stones surrounding the flame in an awkward oval that probably should have been a circle. A hunched old man in rags stood at the edge of the mountain and seemed to stare at the endless ocean before him. He looked like he hadn’t shaved himself in years. Probably senile or something!
I walked over to him slowly, as all youth should do when in the presence of the ancient. However, since my consideration only went so far, I forgot that shouting was not a good thing.
“EXCUSE ME SIR,” I screamed, “I’M GUYBRUSH THREEPWOOD AND I WANT TO BE A PIRATE!”
“OH MY GOD, IT’S THEM DANGED AUSSIES! CHARGE AT FULL SPEED!” was the ample reply. I actually jumped at that.
After moments, the old man recovered and turned his back to me.
What was up with this guy? I made a mental note about this fellow and went up to him, tapping his shoulder.
“Over here eh? Sorry about that ThriftWEED!” came his reply, although the last part of my last name had been severely choked out and amplified. I stepped back and wasn’t quite sure what to think. The Pirate’s Digest had mentioned blind scallywags in its bonus issue, but this was something else. I realized that he was still talking. “-scaring me out of my danged wits. There’s just no respect from you whippersnappers. I tell ye, there is just no-!”
It was quite easy to ignore the fellow after awhile. My mission was to become the world’s most fearsome swashbuckler and somehow, this encounter was getting me nowhere close to my already bleak objective. Maybe I could just walk away from this fellow. He was obviously blinder than a bat and had no idea where I was to begin with.
“HEY!” I stopped inching away and kept listening to the old man. “Why did ye say yewr here?”
“I want to be a pirate.”
“A pirate eh?” Suddenly the old man started groping in the air and was moving toward me. I carefully avoided him and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around and grabbed my wrist, which was what I was rather trying to avoid. His hand was quite cold and clammy and it was all I could do to squeeze out of his grasp. He started to do an old man’s giggle and gave me the 1st stupid line I would ever hear in my life. “You look more like a flooring inspector.”
That was it. I looked at him quite dumbly and didn’t really know what to say. It wasn’t every day that a blind old man told you that you looked like a ‘flooring inspector’. Since when did blind, old men learn to see?
“You are serious about this aren’t you?” he suddenly asked me. I nodded like the confused lad I was and let him continue. “Well if you are then I’d suggest that you go see the pirate leaders. You’ll find them in the SCUMM BAR.”
I was relieved now I had the information I needed to advance in my guest. But the SCUMM BAR-
“Where did you say it was?” I finished my thought audibly.
I decided that I had bugged the old man enough and I made a beeline for the pathway leading down to the little town below. The travel downward wasn’t as hard as the way up, but it still took forever descending.
I finally reached the beginning of the Melee IslandTM pier and took a moment to look around. Ahead of me there was a large building with a crudely painted sign above the door. Another building along the pier, closer to the land, was a little shop of sorts. It was closed for repairs. A sign was hastily posted up on one of the cracking walls of the small shop and it had a painted picture of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I studied it carefully.
Re-elect Elaine Marley for Governor
“When there is only one canidate, there is ONLY one choice!”