Lunch Pirate Arrrrooseveltfranklin: Arrr matees, is it time yet?

Lunch Pirate Brrrrransonmissouri: Aye, look! That be a fella with a bagged lunch! I be hungry fer some cutter!

Lunch Pirate Carrrrrrrylchessman: Avast, ye scurvy lubber, what be ye name?

Bag Lunch Fellow Scrod: My name is Scrod. Please don’t hurt me! Just take my tuna salad sandwich! I don’t want any trouble!

Lunch Pirate Darrrrrrbycrash: Scarrrrrrrrod, eh?? By jiminy, e’s one of us! Arrrrrrr!!!

Lunch Pirate Carrrrrrrylchessman: Arrrrrrrr!!!! Scarrrrrrrod!!! Great Lunch Pirate name!! Climb aboard, me boy! Take up the jolly roger and sail wi’ we!!!

Lunch Pirate Brrrrransonmissouri: Arrrrrrrrrrrr!!!! Wi’ we!!!

Lunch Pirate Arrrrooseveltfranklin: Arrrrrr!!!!! Arrrrrr!!!! Arrrrrrr!!!!!

Lunch Pirate Brrrransonmissouri: Arrrrrrr!!!

Lunch Pirate Scarrrrrrrod: Ar?

Lunch Pirate Arrrrrooseveltfranklin: Seems slim pickin’s in Cubic Hell today, matees. Methingks we’ve overharvested these pitiful lubbers and need to sail to fresher climes, rich wi’ carry-in hot cuisine and three marrrrrrtini lunches!

Lunch Pirate Carrrrrrylchessman: Arrrrr!! To the Executive Harbor!!! Arrrrr!!! Let’s knock the bung out the rum barrel and commence to singin’ and dancin’!! Arrrr!!!

Lunch Pirate Darrrrrrbycrash: Errrrrrr . . . . . . arrrr? Me seems to ha’e left the rum tun back at ye secret lunch pirate hideout, matees. A thousand parrrrrdons.

Lunch Pirate Brrrrrrransonmissouri: Ye great gapin’ idiot! How arrrrrrr we supposed ta’ sing and dance and have a jolly time if thar’s nae rum?!?

Lunch Pirate Scarrrrrrrod: Ar? I believe there may be some scotch up in the Vice Presidential Harbor. We’re not allowed to have it down here in Cubic Hell. It’s for the suits. Ar?

Captain of HMS Finance and Administration (shooting out of the fog and passing with a stone’s throw of the Lunch Pirate Ship): Ahoy there, would you happen to have any Grey Poupon?

Lunch Pirate Arrrrrooseveltfranklin: Arrrr! Aye, we got yon pommy mustard. We’ll bring it on over to ye, if’n ye’ll pull asides us.

Captain of HMS Finance and Administration: Good fellows, there! Pulling alongside, aye! Welcome aboard! Let’s strike up a jolly spot of background music to give good grace and atmosphere to our celebration! Wait . . . what’s this? That’s not mustard! Those appear to be sabers in your hands!

Lunch Pirate Chorus: Arrrrrrrrr!!!!!!

Captain of the HMS Finance and Administration: Ye gods! Ye be lunch pirates! How could I have been such a fool!

Lunch Pirate Darrrrrrbycrash: Arrrrrr!! This music is horrendous, ye great gaping Vice Presidential ponce! It’s somewhere between Rush and Muzak! Arrrrr!!! It’s Kenny G! Ye gads, man! Aren’t there any girls on your ship? Hae ye no baws?

Redneck Dawg: Nuhsuh. Nuh baws heh. Assa bawwess ships. Ah hats it.

Executive Vice President for Sales and New Media Marketing: Ahsa gud rumz! Nah ah stAARRRvin, di’ zey no leave any muzztud? I sought we’s gon get muzztud?

Captain of HMS Finance and Administration: We were hornswoggled, Media. These lot are nothing but a bunch of scurvy lunch pirates.

Lunch Marines: What appears to be the problem here, gents? Shall we sing our theme song to remind you of our awesome Lunch Pirate killing prowess? Huttah!

From the halls of Montezoo-oo-ma
to the shores of Albany,
We will fight the lunchtime pi-hi-rates
on the air and land and sea.
First to fight for bag lunch lo-oo-sers
and the guys out at the trucks,
we are proud to take names la-ha-ter,
now lets get some pirate fucks!

Lunch Pirate Arrrrrooseveltfrankin: Arrrrrrrrrr!!!!! They’ve caught up with! Turn tail! Flee!

Lunch Marines: We’ll chase ye round the world an’ to hell and back, ye scurvy dogs. Unhand those french fries! Drop the falafel and come out with your hands in the air!

Lunch Pirate Brrrrrransonmissouri: We’re scupperred, lads! Every lunch pirate for hisself! Disperse to the boats! Batten down the hatches! Always pee in the lee! Red right returning! Even red nuns have odd black cans!

Lunch Pirate Carrrrrylchessman: Arrrr! How’d you know about me and that nun with the odd black cans? Did she speak!!

Lunch Marines: We know all your inner secrets, ye predictable thieving bastards! Avast!

Lunch Pirate Scarrrrrrrod: Ar? I’m really not sure what I’m supposed to do now. What does “avast” mean anyway?

Pirate Grammarian: “Avast” means “stop what you are doing.” Pretty simple stuff, really. Not like some of the other sailing lingo, which can get totally key-razy. Sailors use words like “fid” and “boom vang” and “clew” and “cuddy” and “gollywobbler” and “gunter rig” and “head knocker” and “lapper” and “luff” and “pushpit” and “screw” and “sheets” and “tang” and “trim.” It’s quite the verbal culture.

Lunch Pirate Arrrrrrooseveltfranklin: Arrrr . . . it’s no wonder we’re always horny when we come ashore after talking like that for months.

Lunch Pirate Carrrrrylchessman: And I thought that was from all the non-stop sodomy.

Pirate Chorus: Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!