Hello there, I see you glancing to and fro as salt air tussles your finely crafted mullet. Perhaps you’re curious about the absolutely biblical level of destruction engulfing your existence. Perhaps you’re asking yourself, has Carnival upped its game? This is far nicer than that 5-day/4-night Cozumel cruise I took out of Galveston last spring break. Have you considered, maybe you’re not on a Carnival cruise, perhaps you’ve inadvertently committed a felony on the high seas? You aren’t sure? Here are a few signs to check for:
- The level of violence. The amount of blood, shocking viciousness, primeval combat, and unbridled rage present is far less significant on the average Somali pirate ship when compared to a cruise departing from Port Canaveral and offered by the nation’s premier budget-vacation choice.
If, when you board, there is not a brutal fistfight amongst two competing hordes of shirtless men taking place next to a drunk woman with a Southern accent swinging a plastic whiskey bottle while yelling, “Raise hell, praise Dale!” you are surely amongst Somali pirates and not Jacksonville Jaguars fans.
- Your fellow passengers are wearing pants. This is a dead giveaway. Your average pirate raised in extreme poverty in Sub-Saharan Africa has a sense of decorum that just cannot be taught to most passengers of Carnival Cruises.
Genitalia pressing in on all sides=a cruise ship full of people that consider Applebee’s fine dining. Pants=pirates.
- The screaming children with rotten teeth are not fifty pounds overweight, holding a sugary caffeinated drink, and watching Dora the Explorer on full volume without headphones while their oblivious parents argue about Stetson Bennett’s chances in the NFL and how public schools are trying to destroy the nuclear family with the couple next to them.
Are the people not so huge that they could have passed as a circus attraction 100 years ago? Are they capable of speaking at a normal volume? Are the children not sticky? Congrats, you’re now a buccaneer and not sitting next to a woman with a $734 monthly payment on a 23-year-old Dodge Dart.
- The shrieks of terror emanating from below deck are occasional, and not a constant stream rising from the depths expressing the most horrible metaphysical Lovecraftian pain that could possibly be experienced while in the mortal realm.
Did the screaming subside? Do you have a few minutes where your thoughts are not drowned out by the banshee-like wail of a thousand tortured souls? Guess what, you’re amongst swashbuckling lords of the high seas and not frequent guests of the Duval County Jail.
- Finally, there are no art auctions on pirate ships, so make sure to look out for art. In closing: art=Carnival, no art=Piracy. Bon, voyage!
