Most of you new readers don’t know Rusty the Pirate.  He travels with me and although he is not really the nicest of men, he is nonetheless my friend.  He is not the type of person you would bring home for thanksgiving, but if you need a wingman to stab somebody in the kidney when you are fighting over a lady in a whorehouse, Rusty is your man.

Because Rusty and I spend so much time together, I sometimes write about things I do that Rusty really did.  Just keep it mind that if you read something that an upstanding Christian conservative fellow with impeccable moral values would never do, it was Rusty and not me.  No, we are not the same person.  He is not my make believe friend.  Well, unless he is ever subpoenad to testify in court, in which case none of you have ever heard of him.  Rusty is his own unique individual.  We just always travel together and have similar names.  That’s all.

Following is the story of Rusty and his yellow balls.  To understand the epic poem, you need to picture the port facility in Galveston.  We dock at a facility that is designed to load and process sulphur.  Although we move it in molten form and it is stored in molten form, at some point it is mined in solid form.  At this facility there is a yard that has piles and piles of bright yellow sulphur in solid form.  It was the sight of all this “gold” that got Rusty so excited.  When he thinks he is getting booty I have learned that I have no control over him.

I hope you enjoy the following.

Russell Yale

Rusty the Pirate and his Yellow Balls

 

Rusty the Pirate docked in Galveston on his molten sulphur ship.

After two days of sailing across the gulf he sure was feeling whipped.

A couple of ladies and some cold beer were on the menu for the night.

After he washed his face and braided his beard he looked more than alright.

 

When he walked down the gangway what to his wondrous eyes did appear?

It was piles of gold stacked ten feet high! He let out of deep throated cheer!

He fetched his hunny pot to fill it with booty and he sang a pirate song.

Rusty the pirate was gonna be rich and party all bad word night long.

 

He dove right into the pile of gold and to his horror smelled rotten eggs.

Rusty was so sick with disappointment that he needed beer by the keg.

He washed his hands and washed his face and hurried off to shore.

To improve his mood he needed some grog, ten shots and maybe more.

 

After catching a nice buzz and chilling out it was time to find a gal.

The one thing that would cheer him up was a beautiful lady pal.

Rusty walked on his peg leg into a whore house and the ladies all lined up.

He picked a blond and took her to a room, grabbed a bottled and two cups.

 

Rusty smacked that whore right on the ass, got naked and began to feel mellow.

The hooker took one look at him and screamed, “Oh my God. Yer balls be yellow!”

The peg legged pirate looked down between his legs and cursed his stupid mistake.

He had washed his hands and his face but forgot his balls for goodness sake!

 

The whore screamed again and ran away afraid of disease and Rusty stomped off in disgust.

He thought “The Mexican whore house is across the street and they won’t mind, I trust.”

Rusty stormed right in as naked as could be but the whores said, “No way senor.”

“We don’t sucko no balls that be yellow,” and they showed poor Rusty the door.

 

To the Asian massage parlor Rusty did go for a table shower to wash his balls.

He laid back and spread his legs while mama-san scrubbed so hard he squalled.

When she finished up she shook her head and said, “You balls still yellow, they look so funny!”

She laughed a bit and gave a massage but no happy ending for any amount of money.

 

Poor Rusty was angry and embarrassed and sad so he bought a bottle of rum.

He staggered back to the ship drunk as could be, just a horny and depressed bum.

In his room he undressed to get in bed and was shocked but it was true.

His yellow balls were yellow no more – the damn things now were blue.