Drunk George

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.

Most pirates could hold their liquor.

George couldn’t. He was a lightweight and an awful drunk.

One flagon of grog, and he was stumbling.

Two, and he was under the table.

George threw up a lot.

When he threw up, he imagined that he was feeding a nest of baby birds, and he was their mother.

An alcoholic, pathetic mother bird. Not as much feeding her chicks as vomiting all over them.

“Get him down from the balcony!” roared the captain, covered in vomit. “Before he does it again!”