Avast, ye scurvy dogs, if ye would save yer liver from bein' chum for the sharks, I say ye'll be speakin' in the tongue of buccaneers this day.
For this day the wind blows fair for any worthy salt what wraps his tongue 'round the Ars and Ayes of the privateer, as this be International Talk Like A Pirate Day, as set out in the ancient tomes of the olde philosophers.
But if ye can't tell yer bowsprit from yer backside, I say ye can learn to talk like Long John hisself by studyin' here, with these hearty lads.
And ye beautious wenches need not feel this be a day for salts only. By the Powers, wenches may turn their deadlights on the closest lubber and let out with a lusty "ARRR," and watch as the scurvy sons of biscuit eaters scamper aft.
Aye, the comments deck be open to any hand with the lights and liver to join in. And if ye do not, then it'll be scupper that and ye can go dance with Jack Ketch ye bilge-sucking poxy. But if ye lend yer voice to this shanty, then be ye ever a seadog of the highest rank and we'll be raisin' a pint of grog to you, me laddie Jim, for ye be a worthy Planeteer.