Choose Rum

Choose rum. Choose piracy. Choose a sword. Choose a crew. Choose a big, swashbuckling ship, choose a compass, black sails, flags, and cannons. Choose good health, high blood alcohol, and burial at sea. Choose buried treasure. Choose a cabin. Choose your enemies. Choose a bandana and matching beard. Choose battling the East India Company and wondering how they found you on a Sunday morning. Choose standing on that fo'c's'le watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing dice games, stuffing sea turtles into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last on a desert island, nothing more than an embarrassment to the first mate who mutinied to replace you. Choose your future. Choose piracy.