Landlubbers be a might dim....

Avast, ye scurvy dogs! On this most piratical day of the year, I have for you a chillin' tale true as the nose on your face...

It seems that one lubber was... havin' himself a wee bit of a problem with his wenches. Seems his cannons always fired before he had full broadside, if you catch my meanin'. Desperate to get a bit of swagger back in his step, our lubber goes off into the darkest jungle, and speaks to the local voodoo man.

The witch doctor told him that the way to cure his ills was simple - the next wench he bedded should be a hedgehog.

And so, that's what the lubber does. I kid you not. The results were... well, what do you expect when you keelhaul your cannon? Let's just say the lad's capstan won't be haulin' up any anchors for a while, and leave it at that. Good little walkin' barnacle that it was, the hedgehog came out with nothin' more than a bit of embarrasment.

Let that be a lesson to ye - if ye must see a witch doctor, at least be sure they've got a charter from the King.