Thursday, December 13, 2018

"Braggadocio"




As the story goes, a Chief Boatswains Mate reported aboard. He soon let everyone know that his previous assignment had been aboard the President's yacht. The other Chiefs soon got tired of hearing him brag about how he used to bait the president's hook and assist him in fishing. Finally they devised a way to shut him up. When he started on one of his boastings someone said,

"You know, he certainly isn't a Third Class Baiter!"

A second chief chimed in and said,

"No, and he sure as hell isn't a Second Class Baiter!"

Someone else piped up and said,

"He's even better than a First Class Baiter!"

Then in unison, they all shouted,

"By God, he's a Master Baiter!"

Saturday, December 8, 2018

"Lights Out"




A destroyer pulled into Borneo for liberty. Cut down to a skeleton watch, most of the ship was empty for the night. A few piers down, a ship was loading local cargo for export. Among the crates was an orangutan, who broke out of his cage. The ape traveled the waterfront in the dark, and finally reached the destroyer. He climbed the mooring lines, boarded, and climbed up the smokestack. Inside the stack, the confused animal made it down to the engine room, and started wandering around. He came to an electrical panel, opened for maintenance, ignored the safety ropes, and managed to make contact with an extremely high voltage contact. Bright blue spark and the ship is suddenly dark throughout.

A few minutes later, two hull techs are searching with their flashlights for the problem. They come on the dark burnt hairy body. They shine the flashlight on his long, long arms. They look at each other. They look at his short stubby legs. They look at each other. They look at his face for a long time.

Finally, the third class tells the seaman…

"Okay, his legs are too short for a machinist mate, his arms are too long for a boiler tech, and he's too hairy for an electrician. Call the wardroom, see if any of the junior officers are missing."


Friday, December 7, 2018

“Party Naked” and Wear Loud Shorts"


Looking back on life, I can honestly say I’ve lived with a childlike faith in adventure that I could never shake. There was a time before my Bluejacket Crackerjack days in the Ol’ Canoe Club that helped mold me into the Sailor I was and the man I am today!!!

I loved it… I never knew how much until I’d been away from home and kissed my teenage years goodbye while leaping into the briar patch of life. One thing most of my friends in those days would concur with, I was never really securely bolted to the planet. I was full of energy, devoid of social grace, with a distinct aversion to proper manners and brussel sprouts. My poor parents wore themselves out trying to saddle break a kid who knew his path in life wouldn’t take him to a whole lot of places where proper etiquette really mattered. Yes, it was the 1980’s and if one thing stands out in my memory of those years in Central Florida ... “Party Naked” and always wear loud shorts" … all year round comes to mind!!!

Now there was a particular night I’d been asked to go Dutch on a double date with Allie Sue and our friend “Phiz Lipfisss!” Now her name wasn’t really Phiz Lipfisss. Her name is Liz and she got that nickname from a drunk’n friend on a drunk’n night … and that’s another story all its own!!!

Now Phiz was a meticulously built, blue-eyed blonde, pretty as hell beautiful full-blown woman … things haven’t changed as she’s still beautiful as ever! She was going on a hot date with some fella out of Winter Haven, our cross town rival, and for some reason I don’t seem to remember, needed a chaperone for this hot date. So in came Allie Sue to save the day, and she asked me to come along as the fourth wheel… after all, a third wheel usually just gets in the way!!!

The night got started as we were driving down the stretch of Havendale Blvd between Auburndale and Winter Haven.  Phiz’s date drove a wiggle-waggle yellow Buick Sedan with a super attenuated diafractic hydrogilator to make it cruise like a boat in the water! That’s when I noticed a couple of Polk County’s finest Mounties sitting on the side of the road and decided to “show my ass” out the window… Purely butt nekkit too! When it was quite apparent those deputies got a good look at my cute ass, our driver did an over and under flim-flam with a reverse hyperjack in alpha drive to try and lose those coppers as it was obvious they were going to be in hot pursuit at any moment! Yes I know, I was somewhat devoid of any socially acceptable behavior and my Grandparents would had been ashamed, but I digress!!!

Once we got to where the ol’ Havendale Drive-In was, we took a right turn into the ol’ neighborhood behind the Dairy Queen. By God, I swear we made about four 90 degree turns only to end up in some gauddamned driveway where we went from 55 miles an hour to a dead stop and tried to go into reverse all in a little over fifty feet. Just as we pulled out of the driveway, loud sirens and flashing lights lit up right behind us… we’d been busted. One of the officers got out and did the ol’…

“Driver’s License and Registration please…”

… And there I was watching as the officer beamed his flashlight straight on me as I instantly gave him that “It wasn’t me” look!  A few words were exchanged and the officer came to my window and said…

“You’re lucky this young man is a good kid or I’d haul your lily white ass to jail … now I suggest you keep your pants on and calm yourself down for the rest of this evening!”

Of course, like a good young chap, all I had to say was…

“Yes Sir!”

But still, even after all those years in the Ol’ Canoe Club, it never made me grow up!  I think the secret to happiness is not trying to change the person you love to be. Little did I know then while running around butt nekkit half the time, sharing adventures with my best girl pals, I would one day be writing stories about it. Looking back, it was crazy, senseless bullshit… great for conversation. It never meant anything at the time, as we were just a bunch of friends living our lives and making memories…

Where else but in the company of old friends could I chronicle my pain-in-the-ass adventures in hundreds of bullshit-packed installments and not be tarred and feathered and ridden out of town?

Love you gals... Did then, do now!!!




“The Fateful Day”



On December 7, 1941 it was a sunny Sunday morning. Fremont “Cap” Sawade, assigned to an Army anti-aircraft regiment, was in Honolulu on liberty, having breakfast. Loud explosions sent him racing to his base in a cab. He could see the Japanese planes flying low, dropping bombs and strafing battleships with machine gun fire.


“I was just plain mad,” he said.

Back at Camp Malakole, Sawade ducked for cover when the Zeros strafed it, too. How unexpected was the attack? Sawade said his unit didn’t even have ammunition for their big guns. Two days later, with the wreckage of the Pacific Fleet still smoking, he sat at a desk at Hickam Field and started writing a poem. He’d never written one before. He hasn’t written one since. But over the next week, this one flowed out of him.  He called it … “The Fateful Day.”


‘Twas the day before that fateful day,

December Sixth I think they say.

When leave trucks passed Pearl Harbor clear
The service men perched in the rear.

No thought gave they, of things to come.

For them, that day, all work was done.
In waters quiet of Pearl Harbor Bay,
The ships serene, at anchor lay.
Nor did we give the slightest thought

Of treacherous deeds by the yellow lot.
Those men whose very acts of treason,
Are done with neither rhyme nor reason.
For if we knew what was in store

We ne’re would leave that day before.
For fun and drink to forget the war
Of Britain, Europe, and Singapore.
For all of us there was no fear

This time of peace and Christmas cheer.
Forget the axiom, might is right,
Guardians of Peace, were we that night.
We passed the sailors in cabs galore,

Those men in white who came ashore.
But some will ne’re be seen again,
In care-free fun, those sailor men.
The Sabbath Day dawned bright and clear,
A brand of fire ore the lofty spear,

Of Diamond Head, Hawaii’s own.
A picture itself that can’t be shown,
Unless observed with naked eye,
That makes one look, and stop, and sigh.

What more could lowly humans ask
To start upon their daily task.
The men asleep in barracks late,
Knew no war, that morn at eight.
The planes on fields, their motors cold,
Like sheep asleep among the fold.

The ships at anchor with turbines stilled,
Their crews below in hammocks filled.
And faint, as tho it were a dream,
A sound steels on upon this scene.

A drone of many red tipped things,
The Rising Sun upon their wings.
Those who saw would not believe,

And those that heard could not conceive.
A single shocking, thundering roar,
Followed by another and many more.
To rob the sleep from weary eyes,
Or close forever those that died.
A hot machine gun’s chattering rattle,

Mowed men down like herds of cattle.
A bomb destroys an air plane hangar,
The planes within will fly no more.
Bombs explode upon a ship,

Blasting men into the deep,
To sink without the slightest thought
Of what brought on this hell they caught.
What seems like years, the horrible remains,

Blasting men and ships and planes.
And just as quick as they had come,
Away they went, their foul deeds done.
To leave the burning wreckage here,

The scorching hulks of dead ships there.
And blasted forms of dying men,
Alive in hell, to die again.
At night the skies were all but clear,

The rosy glow of a white hot bier,
Showed on clouds the havoc wrought,
And greedy flames the men still fought.
But from the ruins arose this cry,
That night from those who did not die,

“Beware Japan we’ll take eleven,
For every death of December Seven.”
And from that day there has arisen,
A cry for vengeance, in storms they’re driven.

This fateful day among the ages,
Shall stand out red in Hist’rys pages.
Those men whom homefolk held so dear,
Will be avenged, have no fear.

And if their lives they gave in vain,
Pray, I too, may not remain.





Sunday, December 2, 2018

"More Paoli"



ENJOY...























"RTC San Diego"




Recruits at Navy Boot Camp in San Diego were expected to comply with a strict set of regulations. One rule called for boots to stand at rigid attention without moving. The Boot Camp is near the San Diego Airport, and planes continually flew overhead. In ranks outside the galley, a Company Commander noticed one Seaman Recruit watching an airborne aircraft…

"Would you like to be on that plane?"

… the CC barked.

"No, sir!

… he replied.

 "And why not?"

"It's incoming, sir!"


Sunday, November 25, 2018

"Riggin Bill Comic Strips"


Riggin Bill was a character popularized as a caricature in a promotional comic book published by Remington Morse Publication during World War II! He embodied your typical stereotype of what was endearingly termed a GOB back in those days.  A GOB was the name given to your typical American Sailor in the 1940s.’  I hope you enjoy some of these select picks of the infamous Riggin Bill!!!