An Ode to Plunderpants

I purchased a new pair of plunderpants,
and thought it was time to report
that I purchased a new pair of plunderpants.
They’re brown, they’re cotton, they’re short.

I’d considered my old pair of plunderpants,
and all the adventures we’ve shared.
So saggy and baggy and tattered and stained
with stitches where the butt’s been repaired.

My old pair of plunderpants is still my best pair of plunderpants.
They’re piratey. They’re mangled. They’re hemp.
But for fancy occasions, they’re the wrong pair of plunderpants
cuz they’re more than a smidge too unkempt.

On most days I dress like a drunk washed-up swab
happy to wipe sword with sleeve once I run ya through.
But soon I’ll be gussed up in sharp Bilgemunky-fashion
and a fresh change of plunderpants seemed long overdue.

Prepping for some piratey action in Long Beach has got me planning. And thinking. About plunderpants, and how they just don’t get enough love. Hats get loads of love. Coats too. And with good reason—a glorious tricorn or frock can single-handedly define a pirate ensemble. Boots get their due, as do buckles and baldrics, tankards and tattoos (which aren’t exactly clothing but sort of are, kinda like having a favorite pair of stripy socks you refuse to ever take off).

But not the plunderpants. So little love for that single piece of clothing that serves as the foundation upon which all other items will be tucked, draped, pinned or hung. So here’s a toast to that most basic—yet essential—piece of pirate garb: the noble, sometimes striped sometimes not sometimes splattered sometimes cleanish ever present always important plunderpant.

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