Really Big Snakes Or Pirate Anatomy

One time I went on a date with this girl and she had a pirate ship coming out of her chest. She caught me looking at her chest and she said, "I have this pirate ship coming out of my chest because I'm part of a family of pirates. Being a pirate is in my blood."

So I asked, "Do you have nipples under there?" since she seemed like a pretty forward and upfront person.

And she said, "No. I don't. Pirates don't have nipples."

And I said, "Pirates don't have nipples?!"

And she said, "No. Pirates never have nipples."

Right before I could ask her what pirate babies drink, a taco truck exploded out of my left nostril--no wait, I told that wrong.

It goes,

One time I went on a date with this girl and she had a pirate ship coming out of her chest. She caught me looking at her chest and said, "I have this pirate ship coming out of my chest because I'm part of a family of pirates. Being a pirate is in my blood."

So I asked her, "Do you have nipples under there?" since she seemed like a pretty forward, upfront, independent pirate female.

And she said coldly, "No. I don't. Pirates don't have nipples." Like she was offended at the very notion of something unrelated to pirates being affixed to her chest.

And I said, "Pirates don't have nipples?!" Me being rather incredulous at this point. The fact that she had grown/ had grafted on at a young age a pirate ship on her chest was somehow more believable than the utter absence of nipples. Everybody has nipples! Old people, young people. Men. Women. Boys and girls. Everbody.

And she repeated with the same indignant coldness, "No. Pirates never have nipples." As if the very foundation of piratehood rested on some sort of nipple-exclusion law of nautical science.

Then, at the most inopportune moment, right before I could ask her what pirate babies drink, a taco truck exploded out of my left nostril and--no wait, I told it wrong again.

It goes,

One time I went on a date with this girl and she had a complete pirate ship coming out of her chest. It was one of those big sailboats with cannons and black flags and little pirates running around on it. It was all the romantic notions of life on the high-seas shrunk down to size and somehow firmly attached to this girl's chest, protruding almost straight out but at a slight upward tilt so that it was not fully perpendicular to her torso. And for a moment or maybe thirty minutes or so I gazed deeply into her chest and felt the wind in my hair and the rocking of the waves and salty scent of the ocean and I saw fish jumping magnificently out of the water and all around me was an unbroken horizon of calm, majestic blue. And finally she got impatient and decided to just get the whole issue out in the open and said, "I have this pirate ship coming out of my chest because I'm part of a family of pirates. Being a pirate is in my blood."

So I thought for a while about what she said and I wanted to give a deep and insightful and respectful response because she was very beautiful and this was obviously a major test for anyone wishing to court her and the very future of our relationship was entirely dependent on my ability to be accepting and empathetic towards this huge part of her culture and personal identity but the only thing I could think of as I continued to stare at the tiny masts holding tiny white sails, having not once made eye-contact yet, was, "Do you have nipples under there?" Which, at the time, seemed like a good, straightforward, original, and interesting query to someone who probably gets asked a lot of the same old stupid questions. I tried to provide a brand-new stupid question.

And she put her hands down by her sides and leaned forward a little bit and stamped her foot on the ground and said in a harsh, staccato rhythm, "No. I don't. Pirates don't have nipples."

And I should have let it go. I should have apologized and tried to change the subject but now the very thought of having a chest without nipples seemed so alien and foreign on something so familiar. It was as if, without the nipples, someone had subtly changed the lighting on my mental conception of the human chest and now that the shadows had shifted I realized that this thing I thought I understood so well was now completely new in an utterly alarming and arresting way. My brain froze and could only manage to spit back, in a desperate, reflexive means of communication, the last thing I had heard which was, "Pirates don't have nipples?!"

She was not pleased. I was not only insulting her, but her entire way of life. She would now have to take a stand on the behalf of all nipple-less pirates everywhere. Every word sounded like a hammer driving home a nail into the plank I was about to walk, "No. Pirates never have nipples."

And luckily, before I could complicate the issue any further by asking what pirate babies drink, a taco truck exploded out of my left nostril.

The End