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Thar Be a Stowaway Aboard!

Thar Be a Stowaway Aboard!

Meet Stowaway Jane, the Wandering Maid

Blackbeard For Men Stowaway Jane . Avast, me hearties! As many of ye know, fer the last decade the good ship S.S. Blackbeard for Men has sailed the world, informing our bearded brethren about Blackbeard for Men instant, brush-on beard and mustache color. We've had a lot of adventures in the past ten years, and it has been enormously rewarding showing all ye roguishly handsome pirates that ye no longer need to tolerate the skin irritation and hassle of the drugstore beard dyes. All it usually takes is a few strokes with the Blackbeard for Men magic wand to make the gray disappear from a rogue's mustache and beard, and they be hooked. It be an enormously rewarding job, And aye, there be a few other benefits as well.

We be talking about pirate groupies.

Aye, lads, what can we say? Thar be something about the seafaring life, and hooking up with a manly, bearded pirate adventurer, that appeals to a certain kind of lass. Who knew? Well, we did, to be honest. In fact, that be one of the main reasons yer Cap'n invented Blackbeard for Men in the first place. Because I've seen firsthand, gentlemen, the effect a lush, dark beard can have on the fairer sex. Truth be told, there seldom be a night when we're in port when we don't have to beat them away with a proverbial stick. Then we heave them overboard the next morning, and hopefully they swim back to their boyfriends and husbands while we ship out to our next destination.

But Stowaway Jane got the better of me, she did.

And so it was that I was down in the galley helping 17th Mate Cheecho prepare the evening meal fer the crew (Chateaubriand with fresh tarragon -- no hardtack here, lads!) when lo and behold, I opened the pantry and found this stunning young brunette maiden passed out dead drunk. She be covered head to toe in flour and snored like a wildebeest. 17th Mate Cheecho growled in dissatisfaction, and I agreed.

So we threw her overboard. B

ut the cold seawater woke her right up, and glory be, quite the swimmer she was, and when she climbed right back up into the ship, wet clothes clinging alluringly to her stunning figure, she gave me a right crack right across the jaw and swiped the rum bottle right out of my hands, she did. After draining the bottle in one seemingly endless swig, she introduced herself with a curtsy. "Jane the Wandering Maid at yer service," she said. With the wag of the eyebrows, I asked exactly what kind of services she provides. CLUNK! She smashed me over the skull with the rum bottle.

"Now, Cap'n," she said, with a delightfully alluring drunken swagger, "I've done my research. You need my help." She told us a bit about herself. Some might call her homeless, but she simply calls herself a wanderer, Jane travels around, journal in hand, finding beauty in all things and writing lovely poems about this beautiful world and her experiences in it. Blessedly unbeholden to any sense of structure or discipline, she is a leaf in the wind -- going wherever life takes her, and wherever she lands, that's where she's supposed to be.

17th Mate Cheecho's response was a hearty snarl. And I had to agree. Sounded like a codswalloping load of narwhal excrement if I'd ever heard it. Life on board a ship is hard. There be chores. There be seasickness. There be villages to sack. Not the kind of life for a sultry, delicate flower such as this... with such stunning curves and raven tresses and huge brown eyes and the most captivating smile and...

Argh, well, that was three days ago. Since then, I've thrown her overboard three times, with a staggering lack of success in getting her to stay there. Like a bad penny, or a successful stowaway, I suppose, she keeps coming back. She's drank half the rum from the ship's stores, and 17th Mate Cheecho was alarmed to discover she'd even gotten into his dog biscuits late last night in bit of a drunken stupor. I was about to throw her overboard for the last time when she coquettishly crossed her feet, adopted a pouty, sheepish look and handed me a poem she'd written for me. Touched my black pirate heart, that did.

Every fair wench needs a Captain

Mighty and dashing and quick

With abundant charm, one who'll do ye no harm,

And who wields a massive, throbbing...

Well, the last word had run because of the seawater, but suffice it to say, I've reconsidered. The stowaway can stay. Fer now.

Stowaway Jane will be helping us demonstrate Blackbeard for Men at our next port of call. I've put her in charge of rounding up bearded men with a bit of gray or salt and pepper in their mustache and beard, to try out Blackbeard for Men beard color. Something tells me that if we can keep her out of the rum that she may have no problem pulling the men in.

I hope I don't regret this.

Cap'n Jim

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