Those of us who have had the pleasure of watching Johnny Depp (heavily influenced by Keith Richards) play Captain Jack Sparrow in the “Pirates of the Caribbean” movies (not to mention Errol Flynn in “Captain Blood”) know that pirating is at its roots an art.
But plying one’s art takes practice, and everybody is looking for a shortcut these days. Like many of our societal institutions, pirating has slipped in the 21st century. Pirates operating off the coast of Africa (consisting almost entirely of skiffs full of crack-crazed clowns brandishing rusty AK-47s) have on many recent occasions attacked fully armed naval warships capable of annihilating their entire home towns with one percent of their armament. Others have tried to “negotiate” with U.S. Navy Seals armed with sniper rifles capable of shooting the eyeball out of a bucking bronco at 300 meters – which, at 50 meters from the fantail of a destroyer, is like falling off a log.
One of the lessons in piracy is no doubt being brought home to Somali pirates this week – the lesson coming home in lieu of the pirates themselves. The lesson is simple: avoid the Russians.
Unhindered by a squeamish Congress and judiciary, the Russians “captured and released” ten Somali pirates like so many sport fish (mercifully) and report that the pirates “all died while being repatriated” to their homeland. Pity. Such are the risks of piracy: dehydration, artistic misunderstanding, and sudden and acute lead poisoning. As the Joker told Batman in the original movie, “I make art until somebody dies.” The Russians are artists of death . . . to pirates . . . an exchange that can only be understood between fellow artists, may God bless and keep them.
Strafer is reloading . . .
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