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This is what it’s like in my head when I drink way too much Red Bull and then go grocery shopping while trying to come up with a topic for a blog post:

Avast, ye scurvy internet dogs!  This be the dread Captain LBG.  The ship be low on vittles, and our mission be to plunder yon grocery store to replace our dwindling supplies.  We’ll fall on the unsuspectin’ townsfolk and carry off their produce, their women, and their doubloons.  Be not faint of heart, ye scallywags, but follow me to glory, treasure, and victuals!

Where be the salted beef?  I have no learnin’ meself, but me first mate says this label reads “Organic, Free Range.”  What be the meanin’ o’ this nonsense?  Must I be killin’ the cow meself?  Ahoy, here be eggs!  Aye, “farm fresh” indeed.  In all my world-wanderings under the Jolly Roger, I’ve yet to see a farm with the looks of this store.  But they’ll fry well enough, or I’ll come back and make the store clerk walk the plank!

What lily-livered, black-hearted trick is this?  “Cran-apple raspberry juice beverage”?  Shiver me timbers, this be only ten percent juice!  Even pirate scum such as meself would not be pulling something so mean as this.  Merciless attack on a naval vessel, naturally; ransoming a beautiful lass, of course; but even a pirate has his limits.  Down to the depths with the bottom-feeding landlubbers who make juice beverages!

Back to the ship, ye good-for-nothing sons of dogs!  It be serving us right for shopping at Davy Jones’ Groceries.  Just one more stop for a bottle of rum and we’re off.  Haul the anchor or I’ll keelhaul the lot of ye!  Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!