Miscellaneous/Toby/Kidnapped 040611

Toby’s column...

Kidnapped (in Acrobat Format)

What a warm sunny spring day...yawn! It makes me want to doze off! The breeze blows puffy clouds and ... on the horizon of the coral shore, stumping through the sand,  is the old peg legged pirate, Long John Silver ‘imself. Avast ye furry swab, move that worthless frame for a real sailor to pass. Who Me? Furry yes, but not a swab (whatever that means!) Long John, you’re drunk again and you couldn’t navigate this beach much less the bounding main (whatever that is), says I. Aye Tobster, but never underestimate the power of one who ‘as ‘is sea legs even on the dry land, for ‘e can set ye on a course to Davy Jones Locker, he exclaimed through teeth both sparse in number and amply coated with barnacle-like scum up to the gums. Long John, you don’t know what goes on on shore any more than Davy Jones does, says I. That’s where yer scrapin’ shallow waters, Tob, I keeps me eye on the important stuff by readin’ battery magazines durin’ me watches. And, none of that pansy material in computer electronic Acrobat formats, Nope! I takes my readin’ in a real pirate’s way in  magazines which  I takes from their pockets after the throats of me friends ‘ave been slit clean says he!  (Isn’t that just like a pirate? He doesn’t even pay for his own subscription!) He smiled that merciless bad teeth grin and spat a huge wad of brownish green crud into the sand, near enough to cause a crawly creature to skrunch up into a protective ball.

Adobe Photoshop Image
But John, says I, you are living in the 19th Century. If you got BD in Acrobat form, you could use the Acrobat Find Tool (use the binocular icon) in the toolbar to locate all occurrences of a particular subject of interest to you. You would not have to flip through every page to make sure you didn’t miss an important item.

The corners of Blackhearted John’s mouth curled downward in sour anger. Jim, me boy.  John, this is my dream, I am Toby  remember? Toby, Shmoby whatever the devil yer name is, yer too smart fer yer own fur,   he exclaimed as he began to  draw the shiny steel of his blade from its place on his tattered belt. Smarty landlubbers,  the likes of ye, do best when yer ‘ead is three feet from yer neck. I could tell he was very unhappy with me and planned to end his displeasure with my demise. The glint of the edge of his sword flashed in the sunbeams as he hobbled on one peg  leg and a scurvy foot through the sand toward me.

Almost hypnotized by the gleaming  metal, I realized this was my dream, not his, so I drew my Clint Eastwood 357 Magnum and blew him out to the water... Bang! The report of a distant backfire jolted me back out of slumber. Where was I? Oh yes, safe in my own sunny yard. I had just reduced the number of possible readers by one, but then, what were the chances of his placing advertising with me?
\ / \ / \ / \/ \ / \ /                TOBY