Logo, Bitches! This text appears because you kicked puppies a lot in a previous life

2011 - the 168th Annual PLUNDERATHON!


It will start at noon at Skidmore Fountain, just like it has every year on July 30 for 168 years without fail.

Note to people who wear baseball hats at a 45 degree angle, think "Jersey Shore" is a lifestyle guideline they should aspire to, or are the type of people who still think "geek" is a bad thing to be: for you, Plunderathon is July 32, in Hillsboro.


(click these to skip ahead)
History of the Logo
Kids friendly (FUCK NO)?
(Real) history

Every July 30for 168 years without fail, We Pirates have raided the town of Port-Land in revenge for the acts of Lawyerly lawyerness by a lawyer on that sad day all those rum-soaked years ago when a slimy, rotten, evil lawyer SCREWED We Pirates out of our rightful share of the city.

Thus each year, We Pirates rampage around demanding rum, firing cannons, wenching, shivering timbers and generally lowering the property value of the fair town of Port-Land. Over the last 168 years, some places have seriously wronged the Pirate Horde, and have been permanently placed on the list of victims who recieve special torment. After these places are burned to the ground, we come back the next year and victimize whoever has built a new business on that spot. Fortunately for us Pirates, most people tend to build bars and strip clubs on the site of our old victims, so even if we are raiding a bar that opened last year, there is a lot of history behind it. History, dead bodies and quite often several Pirates who snuck behind the place to wench and bugger their hearts out before returning to the plunder.

The Plunderathon Logo (it's just easier to type that than "the Infernal Order of Pirates, Buccaneers, Scallywags, Privateers and Grocery Store Clerks (est. 1843) Logo").

The Logo is a skull with grog mugs for eyes, handles up, rum bottles for nostrils, tops tilted together in a toast, with crossed femurs of a lawyer under the jaw. In a halo stretching from the lower left femur tip to the lower right femur tip is the name of our Order. Centered under the crossing point of the femurs is the phrase "Est. 184," - the year a lawyer SCREWED We Piratesout of our fair share of the city of Port-Land. The background is usually black. Rogue Pirates often strip off the halo, but retain the "est 1843" as a nod to history, and use a maroon background.

The historical meaning for all of this, according to our current Chief Historian and Owner of a Strange Cat, Dave the Horrible, is this:

"Buggar me if I know. It was like that when I got here. Now please, let me go back to sleep."

So there ya have it.


Now, a word about kids:

(really, every fucking year some complete tool of a "parent" disregards this really simple concept. So the disclaimer just gets longer each year, and we just tack on a new beginning):

NO. DAMN. CHILDREN. I don't care if your kid is "cool" or if you think the Pirates are being well behaved at the moment, or that this is a good learning experience for them or whatever fucking retarded excuse your brain is using to justify bringing a seven year old to these events.

This event (and all other Drunken Rampages) be "family-friendly" in the same manner that a live cage match between a hog-tied naked landlubber and a hungry mountain lion be. We Pirates don't really care if ye parenty types have yer little shipmonkeys removed by the militia and placed in therapy for a few decades, but the court system be takin' a bleak view o' parental landlubbers who be too mind-bogglingly stupid to realize that they should not bring kids to events that are run by a group called "Drunken Rampage," feature sex-toy-launching apparatuses and routinely wind up in porn shops at some point.

We Pirates be not "cute" nor "fun" in the Disney sense o' the word, more like the "ow! Topless Piratess with a bullwhip just drew blood! What the? Put that dow . . . OW! HELP! POLICE! These Pirates are . . . where are you going to put that. . . OH MY GOD THAT HURTS! ! ! Why are you feeding rum to the . . . is that a human hand? What are those three Pirates doing in that alleyway without pants? Where on earth did you get a live emu? " kind o' way.

Don't ask us to play along for photos with yer kids, or act cute fer little Timmy's special birthday thing, or "think of the children." We don't wanna. We are drunk, horny and armed. Piss off.

True fact: 503-731-3100 is the Multnomah County 24/7 child abuse reporting line. WE HAVE IT ON SPEED DIAL. Bring your kids, and we call that number, on the spot. We are not joking. Really not joking, we do have it on speed-dial.

TIPS: Ok, this should be old-hat by now, but some of ye still need to be told.

1) Bring $5 bills. Nobody wants to wait fer yer credit card to clear (and by "nobody" I mean "none of the wildly inebriated, sword-carrying people who have been acting like brutal killers all day and may be having trouble differentiating between fantasy and reality by now, who are STANDING BEHIND YOU IN LINE WAITING FOR A DRINK."). If you whip out a credit card, you get sent to the end of the line until everyone else has a drink. Find an ATM if you have to.
2) Tip the bar staff. If you need an explanation why, fuck off and do something else. No, really, not trying to be the funny writer person right now, I am totally serious. Tip or fuck off.
3) Wear comfy shoes . The route is a 12-hour 3-4 mile trek with dancing at various points. Those high heels look sexy, but are a bad idea. And no, we are not known for waiting around for people who need to walk slow due to blisters.
4 ) Pretend there are four tips. Otherwise the pirates will beat up the web guy, and that would make him cry.

The Schedule: Meet at Skidmore Fountain at noon. Dressed like a Pirate (if you are not in at least a half-ass costume, you don't get in some of the places we are going). Follow the blurry pirate-shaped thing in front of you and you will be fine. We once printed the maps and handed them out. It sucked. We don't wanna do that anymore. There is no point in asking us where the next stop is; if we tell you anything it will be a lie. Just stick with the group. We typically go bar - game - bar - game.

If you get lost, follow @drunkenrampage on Twitter (like, now, before the event) and each time we move on there should be a twitter post telling you where we are.

Also, there is no relationship between Plunderathon and the various meet-in, meet-up, meet-people, facebook and other such groups. Never has been. In fact, if you got here through Facebook you should unsubscribe from the Facebook group that sent you here as soon as possible, because we are probably forming some sort of plan to screw with you.

Lastly, we started this event way before those recent Disney movies came out, and have no plans to stop when Johnny Depp has moved on to other film genres. Pirates have been cool for centuries, we didn't need Hollywood to tell us that. We are also unrelated to the various Pirate acting troupes in town, though some of them help us put on the event (and thus, we like them) and some of them don't (and thus, fuck 'em).

People often ask us "So, drunken people I have never met, what's the deal?" Well, here are the answers to various emails we have gotten over the years, composed by our staff while naked (it's in their contract):

  • When did Plunderathon *really* start?

1843. Bitch.

  • What's the deal with plunderathon.org and drunkenrampage.com? Did you guys buy each other out or something? Marry? Get drunk and wake up superglued together, resulting in a madcap escapade involving car chases, drug dealers and really witty one-liners?

No, nothing like that (though the idea that anyone would want to "buy" an event that makes no money is worth a giggle. Believing we get paid seems to be the most common misconception we hear). Plunderathon was pretty much the first costumed drunken thingy we our great-great-great-great-great grandparents did, so we they passed the hat and raised enough cash for a website town crier with syphalis and a loud voice .
Then we decided a year was too long to wait for another costumed booze thingy, and made another. . . and another . . . and finally got sick of running so many websites. So we lumped them all to this one you see here. Drunken Rampage is the group that plans and puts together Plunderathon, under the direction of our Pirate captors.

  • _REALLY_ when did Plunderathon start?

Eighteen. Forty. Three. Bitch.

  • What goes on at Plunderathon?

Google it. There are photos from prior years all over the web. We used to link them all here but ran out of space a long time ago.

  • Can I volunteer? Help out?

YES! Sort of. By now, 2011 is all planned out so the best way to help is toss a buck into the donation bin or tell other people to do that (it's on top of the black cart, sort of a pipe/porthole-looking thingy), buy a drink for one of the volunteers, or give us a hand pushing the ship from one stop to the next. If you want to help with next year's Plunderathon, we start planning in the spring, and working on props and prizes about a month and a half before Plunderathon. Email us around April.

  • I own/invest in/am a regular at/am trying to nail the waitress of/ a bar. How do I get the pirates to show up?

See our Fah-Quoo page for more details, but the basics are: bribery and kidnapping. No, really. If you want to know how it's done, go have a drink at Dan & Louie's Oyster Bar and tip the bartender (Holly) really, really well. She has the best technique to date for kidnapping a horde of Pirates. And if her boss is reading this: she kidnapped us once, back in 2004, as we were walking by. We have come back every year since, thus netting you thousands of dollars in drink and food sales. Remember that the next time you are discussing giving her a raise.

  • Why won't you tell me where to meet up with you later in the day? Or publish the route in advance?

Because if you are not willing to drink and do Pirate stuff with us at noon, why would we want to drunkenly make out with you at 10pm? Stick around for the whole thing; it's a social gathering. Socialize.
Also, the fact is we are getting too large. We can't fit 200 Pirates into any downtown strip club. Most places to eat are too small for our crowd. And back when we did publish the schedule, we found our numbers doubling every year.
Yes, we know people have to work, or drive in from the boonies. It sucks and we feel for you. Really. You can always try bribery; it works rather well. . . (side note: we set up a twitter thing for those who really have to show up late because of work, getting lost, posting bail or whatever. Follow @drunkenrampage on Twitter (do this BEFORE the event starts) and you will get updates on our location each time we move on. Easy to find us that way.)

  • Do you still sell Plunderathon patches and pins ?

That was a fundraiser a few years ago . . . it worked out OK but not great. I am pretty sure we lost money on it actually. In any case, we still have some but they are collector's items now. Make us an offer, or flirt with people you see wearing them and try to swipe it from the pile of clothing on the floor the next morning. If you REALLY want one. . . make us an offer or seduce someone who is wearing them. Really is no third option we can think of.

  • Are you sick of writing these FAQs yet?

Yes, yes I am. And the other dR folk have all passed out two questions ago.


---- 2009 -----

(note: whatever organ in the human throat is responsible for being able to "Yarrr" is bruised. Piratespeak therefore won't last the entire length of the email. I am a wuss).

Yarrr! The 166th Annual Plunderathon is over, and the dust is settling somewhat. The Militia was once again beaten back, the area Ninja clans were too cowardly to show up and at least three Lawyers were buggered so thoroughly they thought they were back in law school trying to get a better grade from their legal theory 101 professor (we are sure that's how most of them passed law school: buggery and tears).

So, the important stuff:

Taboo Adult Video donated . . . wow, just . . . really a fuck-ton of awesome swag. They were our only sponsor for prizes this year because the guy that usually goes around begging people to give up prize donations had discovered cheap, mail-order black market pharmaceuticals. We haven't gotten any useful work out of him since January but the entertainment value of a stoned Pirate hanging around makes it worthwile. But Taboo . . . they REALLY stepped up. Sex dolls, yoga balls with penises, a disturbingly huge dildo (that got used, in public, for it's intended purpose, by the end of the night, according to a few hundred unreliable eyewitnesses) and hundreds of leather chastity belts (I think they were a tad overstocked).

You folk did awesome at filling the donation thingy (for those who did not see, the top of the ship had a porthole with "donations" marked on it). Those of us who pay for the event are grateful. Since we don't usually get as many chances to Plunder as the participants, sharin' yer booty with us helps us keep at it. Plus, a few of the staff were constantly being offered free drinks by other Pirates, which is always awesome. Thank you.

Also, lots of Pirates stepped up to volunteer this year, which is great. For those who want to help next year, we start planning in spring, and that's when we need the most help. E-mail plankwalker@plunderathon.org to volunteer (wait 'til spring. Really.)

Items we found after the smoke cleared included:
1 necklace with rings on it
1 weasel hide with head and feet attached (I think it was a weasel, could be something else. And no, that's not part of the commedy of this web page, there really was a weasel)
1 digital camera
2 flasks
3 bags of medical supplies (??? Really, looked like they were trying to stock an ambulance or someting)
A skirt
A small green embroidered bag-thing
7 bottles containing various kinds of booze (web guy, edit that out before this gets mailed and replace the text with" empty bottles that held mineral water or something")
A black shawl
A "Goofy" hat (the Disney character) that was converted into a Flying Spaghetti Monster hat
A sword (real)
A leather belt
The case for an 18 inch double-ended dildo
And many, many parts of parrots.

If you care about how many Pirates there were, yer priorities are just a tad wrong. But it was around 165 at the only point where we tried to count (around 2 in the afternoon), probably didn't get much more than 180-200 at the highest point, which is GOOD. Enough to have fun, not so many that we can't fit inside the better clubs, or do the silly games. Getting the numbers down to this level allows us to do more next year, so think twice before you invite the douchebags at your place of employment. We didn't keep track of the late arrivals or early departures, so you can guess the "total Pirates overall" numbers just as well as we can. Our best guess was 300 oveall, with around 1,500 - 2,000 spectators over the 12 hours.

We Pirates started at Skidmore Fountain, which was already over 30 Pirates in strength by noon. There were all kinds of Pirates! Somali Pirates, Pacific Pirates, Classic Pirates, Punk Rock Pirates, and . . . a . . . a baby pirate. . .

No, I don't know what the FUCK the parent was thinking. Really. Some person actually dressed up a baby and brought it along. Look, folks, bring the kid back in 18 years with a good fake ID, ok? 'Til then, leave the rugrats with a sitter! Or a cannibal. Or a pack of rabid gophers with radioactive fangs. I don't care, but NO KIDS AT DRUNKEN RAMPAGES. Anyway, criminally stupid parenting aside, We Pirates did the usual hanging out and enduring the endless "what's with the costumes" questions from the boring folk who lead normal lives until the rest showed up.

Then we raided Ash Street Saloon (as revenge for the great Rum Burning of 1844) and waited around for all the slow-ass late Pirates who thought "noon" meant "sometime before sunset." About an hour after We Pirates went to a spot away from prying eyes to pass out a few bottles of rum (Aaron's Antiseptic was given out, but it was too late to save the life of the Dread Pirate D'Jblowme, one of our oldest and longest-serving Pirates).

Then the Pirates went to Silver Dollar Pizza (which offended the Pirates back in 1932 by allowing a Lawyer to escape without paying for the Pirate's tab at gunpoint, and thus earned retribution), which was too small so we (oh, shucks, darn, twist our arms) overflowed into the nearby classic strip club, Mary's. It was at this point that the Historian was dragged off by some Pirates to sample absinthe, which is why his head hurts too much to write this missive (it is being penned by Assistant Historian (and Scrubber of Dirty Pans, But Not Too Dirty Until They Soak First, Damnit!) Endio T. Montalban.

The peace held a good long time, but perchance the stop for pizza and naked women stoked the flames of Piracy a bit much. Shortly upon arriving at a nice peaceful park, combat broke out among the gathered Pirates, resulting in the greatest tragedy of the day (a roll of weevily hardtack bread landing in my drink. It tasted almost as bad as the drink did before the weevils). After that, ammends were made with an impromptu tattoo session (one Pirate got Goatse tattooed on his chest), more rum being awarded, and music from the band Man Overboard (they followed us around for a good portion of the day free of charge. If you go to www.manoverboardmusic.com/store/shirts.html or www.myspace.com/manoverboardpirates, you can buy their CD as thanks).

After that was Whisky Bar, which is new but is built on the site of One-Armed-Jim's Tavern and Goat-Milkery, where back in 1878 more than 200 Pirates contracted Scurvey from One-ArmedJim's two daughters, who were home from college that weekend. One-Armed-Jim was enraged, and slew dozens of Pirates before sending his daughters (and goats) off to a nunnery, thus earning our wrath every year since. At Whiskey Bar, things got a little blurry since . . . there was . . . Actually, I forget, and the Historian who was sober-ish at the time still refuses to help with this email. Every time I ask, he throws things at me and screams "Give me Alka-Seltzer and a shotgun, for the love of god!" There was this one Pirate lass with curly hair who kept talking to the Historian, but he was way too dumb to try to get her phone number . . . . .

-Assistant Historian (and Scrubber of Dirty Pans, But Not Too Dirty Until They Soak First, Damnit!) Endio T. Montalban, on behalf of Dave the Horrible, dictating

--- Chief Historian (and Owner of a Strange Cat) Dave the Horrible here. I don't know what this delusional Cabin Boy has been writing on this type-machine of his, but I overheard him mentioning the Pirate lass. She should send me a message in a bottle some time. I REALLY wanted to get her name but kept getting sidetracked. Now, I shall return you to the ramblings of this "Junior Historian Who Can Be Promoted Beyond Monkey-Cage-Cleaning Duties, But Only If He Gets Her To Contact Me" (yes, that is a real Pirate rank, and goes back many, many years.) -----

Anyway, sorry for the interruption (nice chokehold, asshole! You could have just said "may I borrow your keyboard," you didn't have to damn-near kill me!), on with the event.

Pirates then took a leisurely stroll through the Pearl District, and ending up at Blitz, which was long overdue for a serious pillagin', bein' as they are built on the spot where Captain Pete Lee was arrested by the Militia back in 1966 for the crime of Goat-buggery. We were going to allow Blitz to go unmolested, but when it came to light that Capt. Lee was also buggerin' sheep that day, his jail term was doubled. Thus, we have been captainless for so many years . . .

There was this really, really hot gal who was apparently either a bride-to-be, or a bridesmaid, or some such thing. We managed to shanghai her from Blitz and take her to the park to make her spank a monkey. Her friends seemed rather peeved and un-Pirately, so hopefully she dumped all of them and upgraded to a life of the sea.

Then we went to Crown Room (We can't recall what they did to earn the ire of Pirates, and that asshole Chief Historian spilled rum on the records . . . again. But we assume anything with "Crown" in the title supports some Royal Pirate-Hunting Navy-type group), where again we overflowed (oh, shucks, darn, this was so hard to convince us!) into Magic Garden Strip Club. There was supposed to be a Pirate rock band playing, but the lack of a sound board operator caused . . . problems.

The descriptions are getting shorter not because the bars were less interesting, but because I have a really lousy work ethic (and don't think I can get the phone number of the Pirate lass the Chief Historian wants, which means no promotion, so my motivation to do anything other than teach monkeys to fling poop at him while he sleeps is ebbing). Anyway, next was Dirty, a bar that is somewhat new but owned by a dark cabal of people who have secretly been sneaking Lawyers away from us to shield them from their Rightful Fate. Sort of like the Scarlet Pimpernel, only with a less frilly name and way hotter barstaff. The place was great to us as usual, and had abducted strippers from nearby club Spyce for our entertainment.

They also had pizza. Did you see the pizza? Yeah, me neither, at least not at first. It was at the bar on our side, near the back. And it was awesome. They also gave us ten free ones, and opened the pizza window on the sidewalk for us. Lots of ways to get the food, but between the dim lights and the combination of strippers and Pirate lasses who were also stripping . . . perhaps not as many people noticed as should have.

After Dirty, we Pirates went to the waterfront for a laid-back time. We judged several rounds of our favorite contest, "Catch The Free Stuff We Are Throwing At You," gave out the last of the rum and then eventually meandered out to capture a fugitive Pirate who has kidnapped the Fleet back during the 163rd Plunderathon. She was allegedly hiding out at Dan & Louis Oyster Bar. Sadly, she had eluded us so we drank all their rum and left.

We ended the night at the new location of Silverado, where one "pirate" wanna-be completely pussied out and ran away because he was scared of gay men. He then went home and blogged about the awesome amount of action he got that night (kissing, no tongue) from some Pirate lass who had to be drunk enough to power a nuclear reactor with her breath. The guy was so pathetic that he lost part of his sword and one of his buddies had to buy it back from a homeless guy. Really. That's just what he admitted to so you can only guess just how useless he is in real life.

Yeah, we at dR have been laughing at this wuss all weekend all year for several years now.

Lastly the ship (which, shit, we forgot to name . . . ) was returned to its home port. This, my friends, is truly historic. It is actually the FIRST TIME a ship has survived Plunderathon.

The dR afterparty was scheduled for the Chief Historian's house, mainly because it had a good central location, massive amount of booze, a hot tub, and most importantly: the Chief Historian was not home but we had a copy of his house key.

Thus wraps up another Plunderathon. I think we finally got our revenge, right? I mean, 166 years of payback for one slimey Lawyer is plenty, right? Right?


You guys sure?

Hell, I guess that means we have to do this again. See you next year to finally get the revenge we so richly deserve! 167th Annual Plunderathon, next year, see ya then!

-Assistant Historian (and Scrubber of Dirty Pans, But Not Too Dirty Until They Soak First, Damnit!) Endio T. Montalban, penned under the direction of a hung-over Chief Historian (and Owner of a Strange Cat) Dave the Horrible, by authority of whatever goatfucker is in charge of this crew these days who I am not going to look up because what's the point, someone will just kill him in the next week or two anyway and hey, run-on sentences are fun to write so piss off 'til next year.

The next event is Zero-G NYE


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