One year when we were young and foolish (we're no longer young), Cap'n Dave and I agreed to sail the Musketeer (his 28-foot E-Scow) at least once each calendar month, for as long as we could keep up the streak. We did pretty good for a while, but then October almost slipped past us. Almost.
On Halloween, Cap'n Dave called me and reminded me we hadn't been sailing in October, and if we didn't get out that day, we'd miss October and break our streak. It wasn't a particularly good day for sailing, but it wasn't particularly bad either. No rain or lightning, but not much wind either. We agreed that each of us would try to round up some more crew, and we'd meet at our usual dock (Caesar's Creek State Park in Ohio) later that day.
I couldn't find anybody else that thought sailing that day seemed like a reasonable thing to do. But I was sure Dave could round up at least one other person. So I filled the cooler with a case and a half of beer and headed for Caesar's Creek.
Dave had no more luck finding a crew than I did, so the two of us put the Musketeer together and launched it. No small feat for two people; it had a 30-ft mast that had to be removed for trailering and re-erected for sailing. But we got the sucker assembled and launched. There wasn't a lot of wind, which was probably a good thing considering the circumstances. We drifted around and did a pretty good job killing the beer supply. And Dave dug out his sailbag and started pulling more sail out of it. Somehow he managed to hoist both a standard jib and a jenny, and started babbling about the "double slot" aerodynamic effect. It really didn't seem to make much difference.
There weren't many other folks crazy enough to be on the lake that day. In fact, there was only one other boat: a Hobie cat. Dave had a real prejudice against Hobies; something about one of them cutting him off in a race once. Finally, the folks on this Hobie made the mistake of drifting into our general vicinity, and one of them made an attempt at friendly small talk; something to the effect of "You guys are really putting down the beers today, aren't you?" Dave's response was to stride (stagger?) towards the front of the boat and shout "Avast Ye Mother Fuckers! You wanna race that piece of shit?", and then fall on his ass. The folks on the Hobie silently communicated their decision to decline his honorable challenge by sailing out of our vicinity.
We finally decided we'd had enough, and put the boat back on the trailer. We looked up at that 30-foot mast, and wisely decided maybe we'd better let the boat sit while we got something to eat and sobered up a little before trying to lower that thing. So we drove down the road to the nearest fast-food place we found, which appropriately enough was Long John Silver's. Now I'll bet you didn't know LJS sold draft beer; at least I'd never been in one that did. Well, this one did, and they had BIG cups. And since they sold it, it seemed like we just had to buy it. So much for sobering up. I left there wearing one of the cute little paper pirate hats they had for kids; the ones that said "I sailed with Long John Silver". (Note: this was WAY before Clarence Thomas and Anita Hill added a whole new meaning to that).
Well, somehow we managed to get that boat dismantled and secured for highway travel; at least Dave made it home safely. And when our mutual friends heard the story, "Avast Ye Mother Fuckers" became a popular greeting, sometimes shortened to just "Avast" when we were in civilized company. And later, when folks were arranging groups like city-league softball teams or charter trips to baseball games, and needed a name for the group, "AYMF Club" became a popular name.
Every once in a while, some unsuspecting soul would ask what it stood for. Of course, in the softball league, the most common question was "OK, we've guessed what MF stands for; what's the AY?" (Softball players get around pretty well.) One popular answer was "Oh, it's a nautical term", which usually left people looking confused but scared to ask any more questions. And some people started making up other names to fit the letters, although most of them didn't make much sense. I heard "After Your Meat Freezes", and "All Young Mothers and Fathers". I think the most creative one I heard was "American Youth for a Moral Future", because it sounded like it might even be real, and it was about as far removed as one could get from the real situation.
So there you have it .. for whatever it's worth. Maybe it's not really that interesting; the TV crew that was assaulted in Sherlock's by an AYMFer waving a sword and shouting "Avast" decided to pack up and leave without asking for an explanation.