A brief talk about my history on the web, and before it.

I've been around for a while, actually. Longer than most remember, or know of.

The Private Island Kingdom, my first "site", actually was an old dial-up BBS, where I just poked fun at life, running a place where me and some friends with computers, which were not as common then, could have some fun role-playing out life on a small island, where I was Dyfedd Rex et Solo, Deo gratis por miraclae pica. King David, the only, thank God for that small miracle. I made wild proclamations, accused folks of having their pirates raid my sacred sarsaparilla cellar for my root beer float fixings, and they defended the actions of themselves and their crews against such, all done tongue in cheek, in good nature, and for fun.

Nowadays, I'm much more cynical, less patient, and don't share the place. In other words, you can read my proclamations, but only I get to make such.

Sometimes, I miss the old days. When I ruled an imaginary island.
today is such a day.

So, in memory of that time.....
Yeah, time for a little fun.

From: His Royal Nastiness, Dyfedd Rex et solo (Deo Graits por miracla!)
To: All Visitors to the Island.
Re: Flirting with the Amazonian Imaginary Girlfriend Cohort.

It has come to mine attention that thou tourists art flirting outrageously with mine royal guards, distracting them from their duties of keeping us safe and entertained by their skimpy chain mail bikinis. 
Remember, these art mine employees, and not thine! Distracting them from their duties is a serious breach of the trust extended to thee in allowing docking of thy pirate ships down at the wharfs of LawShark Cove, and grounds for unleashing mine worst weapons upon thee!

Also, it doth further come to mine attention that some scurvy dog pirate hath entered the Cellar of the Sacred Sarsaparilla again, absconding with mine secret float recipes, a growler of mine favorite nectar of the gods, and half a gallon of mint chip ice cream, sans the green dyes. If mine hands find that sea-dog's neck, he shalt surely pay a high price. Thereby, for this theft, and the blasphemy of dating two of mine royal guardians, we hereby and forthwith lay a price on the toupee of Jolly Roger, of six chocolate doubloons. 

Writ this day by mine own hand, as thou who fly under the black flag hath absconded with the one wench in my retinue willing to do calligraphy for me,
Dyfedd Rex, King of the Private Island Kingdom.

I feel better already.