We go to Salem, Massachusetts for our annual Halloween trip. As we get out of the car, I roll the pant legs of my jeans up. My dad looks me up and down and says, "You look like a fucking pirate."

The first store we walk into, wouldn't you know, was selling pirate stuff. "I will buy you pirate stuff if you promise to wear it for the rest of the day - I mean, you're halfway there with the pants and the red hair thing." So, I do it. I mean, what the hell right? The town is swarming with witches, fairies, ghouls, zombies, and video game characters - dressing as a pirate is pretty mild.

I don my pirate stuff in true Captain Morgan fashion to take a picture.

My father starts laughing his ass off before loudly announcing to all of Essex St.:

"I just realized that you're like the fucking smallest pirate in the history of marine crime."

I then took my sword and slashed the cigarette out of my sister's mouth.



So here's to me: The Smallest Pirate in the History of Marine Crime.