A Swig o' Grog fer Ye, Matey?

"To me, these are much more comfortable than jeans and a T-shirt," he said, fingering the blowsy lime-colored pantaloons and the open-chested cotton tunic. "Even if I'm just hanging out at home alone, it's going to be the silly green pants."

By the end of the evening, after waitress Erica Love had filled the alley for a fire-spinning display, most of the dinner customers had gone and the action settled into the backroom bar. That was where Henning could be found sliding a 19 1/2 -inch chrome blade down her esophagus.

"Huzzah! Huzzah!" called a man with a black bandanna on his head when she pulled it out with a flourish. A tanker was slammed onto a table.

So far, the tavern has only had to call 911 once to report a fainting customer.

For Couey, the end of the shift doesn't mean a return to his nonpirate self. The roguish grin and the vaguely cockney tones are as strong as they were five hours earlier.

Thin as a marlinespike and with a lissome, almost mincing manner (the elaborate bow he bestowed on departing customers reached almost to the floor), Couey was the image of Johnny Depp's flamboyant Captain Jack Sparrow. In fact, he was perfecting his pirate mannerisms long before the Disney movies hit the screen, but he admires Sparrow's dashing style.

"The essence of his pirate is to be always seeking the horizon," Couey said, scanning the room with his eye. "That's for me, to be as carefree as possible and go after my dreams, no matter what the cost."

Staff writer David A. Fahrenthold contributed to this report.