The always-prolific folks at trans-global-universal corporation State Og have updated their site once again, profiling the newest and most wonderful creations they have come up with since, well, their last batch of newest and most wonderful creations!
We here at State Og know how hard it is to find good help these days, especially for sea bound trading companies and their vessels. Don't fret though, you scurvy dogs! The State Og Pirate Platoon is here to help. For a low monthly fee, State Og will send out it's Pirate Platoon to your ships to make sure the crew is in excellent condition for seafaring. The State Og Pirate Platoon will perform three simple tasks for your crew, otherwise known as the Ship-Shape Steps:
First: The ship in question will be overtaken by the State Og Pirate Platoon via manned cannons and intimidating Jolly Roger flags. The pirates will board the ship, and Blackeye Boneswallow, the pirate ship captain complete with parrot and State Og Infrared Eye Patch, will force three (3) of the lesser-ranked crew members to walk the plank into the hungry sharks (for an extra fee, sharks with razor sharp metallic fins) below.
Second: Boneswallow and his pirates will ransack your ship and strip it of its valuables and rations to test your crew's survival prowess. Any life jackets, preservers, and boats will be set on fire and sent out into the ocean. As an added bonus, the pirates will offend any women crew members with lewd comments and gestures that include the popular, "Arr, you don't need oranges to get yer vitamin C if you know what I mean!"
Third: The ship will be hauled out to the middle of the body of water and left to rot. The pirate platoon will offer their final words of condemnation and hopelessness to reduce the crew's morale even further as they set sail for your next ship. If your crew is of any worth, it will make it back home in due time through dramatic heroism or a successful rescue attempt.
I'd buy that for a dollar! Or in State Og's case, thousands of dollars probably! Head on over to the O-G Corral!
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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