If I Were a Sea Shanty I Would Improve Your Demeanour, Madam.

I’ve always found I operate better whilst tankards are collided upon tavern table tops.

It helps with my stutter.

Not that you’d be able to tell I have a stutter merely by listening to me.

I have a stutter one needs to view from a comfortable setting to be able to fully appreciate.

My feet stutter.

And they stutter well. Very well.

Most presume, as they watch from their comfortable setting, that I am Irish Dancing.

I am not.

All I am in that precise moment in time is curious as to how you came to find yourself a comfortable setting such as you did.

My own comfortable setting?

I find myself adequate and pleased whilst atop a woman.

Naturally you’ve done a little leaping up there in your noggin and I must restrain you in your thoughts only so far as to make clear I am referring to the female more as a chaise longue as opposed to a sexual being.

Otherwise it would be weird.

It helps with my stutter.

Women are comfortable. There you go; have a fact. Women are comfortable.

Should I divulge this to you? Is it right?

I think so, seeing as how I seem to be anyway (jeez; my typing is faster than my morals).

If I were a sea shanty I would likely leave out the bit about water.

Sea shanties and water go hand in hand, which is girly, and I am not a girl.

I am a sea shanty.

I feel a worthy sea shanty should blister out some good tales of pulling rope and being overboard.

Overboard suits me.

Plus hoisting things helps with my stutter.

“Oh, he came from far along by the end of the rope,
drinking a mouthful of tea.
With great distance from ship, as he dangled and dipped,
his poor luck right in front of me.”

Nothing wrong with being self-deprecating about one’s manhood.

Although, I would appreciate the clamour so soon I would receive should I be the only sea shanty with working (and relaxing) genitalia.

I am a sea shanty with some penises.

That might cheer you up, Madam.

If not then I’ll find somewhere else to sit.

What a shanty.

Sam

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