I have decided to pursue a different profession, in case this whole journalism thing falls through.

I want to be a pirate.

Now when I say “pirate” I’m talking about the old-school version of the word.

I don’t mean someone who sits off the coast of Somalia and hijacks boats, and I certainly don’t mean someone who sells illegal DVDs. I want to be the kind of pirate who bravely sails the seven seas, fights sea monsters, owns a talking parrot and lives for adventure. I would be perfectly happy if I was dropped on a ship in the middle of the Caribbean in the 18th century.

Now the whole “pillaging and plundering” thing doesn’t really sit too well with me, so I would do things a little bit differently.

First of all, walking the plank would not be a method of execution. Instead it would be a source of recreation. What is a plank, if not a high diving board? However, there will be some ground rules. Divers must check the water for sharks before taking the plunge, and marooning someone is not allowed.

Second, rum will only be allowed on the ship in the form of rum cake or rum cookies.

All crew members must be able to sing the classic, “A Pirate’s Life for Me,” as well as “The Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything” from Veggie Tales.

Finally, the ship’s cannons will only be fired in celebration of national holidays, and in defense when the Kraken attacks.

Out of all the different modes of transportation, sailing is my favorite. Anytime I have the opportunity to get on a boat, big or small, I’ll do it. I love the sea. I love the smell of salt air, the rocking of waves and the wind in my hair.

Unfortunately, Abilene isn’t the most port-friendly location. I’m also lacking a Jolly Roger flag, a talking parrot and a ship.

So it looks like my swashbuckling days will have to wait.