Thursday, March 28, 2013

'Lil’ Game of Restroom Roulette'

Have you ever been isolated with a pack of men for days or even weeks with rarely any privacy to call your own? You're cooped up with few of the finest stinky smell’n trash talk’n bunch of worthless degenerates you could ever love remembering when tinker’n with the past. Even on a carrier the size of a small city it was hard to escape the daily banters and swindles of a few conniving brethren squids!

Back in my younger days on the ol’ Chucky “V” (CVN 70), we were known to take things into our own hands when some crooked son-of-a-bitch among us was stealing us blind. This is a tale of one of those particular times...

It is well known that on board ship, the presence of a thief can be the subject of low morale that by no means will be tolerated by the crew. There are few crimes of plunder that provoke hostility to the likes of thievery among degenerate shipmates in the high seas.

We had been in and out of port doing operational workups in preparation for the upcoming Deployment in 1994. I worked in CIWS Mount 21 and usually we would keep a bit of extra food in the battery fridge. If we didn’t like the smell of what was cook’n in the messdecks or just wanted to nibble on an afternoon snack it was a convenient place to store a little extra geedunk, that would be junk food to you landlubbers out there! Everyday something would be missing from the fridge rather it be an apple, a few cookies or a box of damn tweenkies! We had a few suspicions of “who dun it” but no one would admit the hijinx and it was gett’n way outta hand!

Finally we concocted a little arrangement that would put this dog to rest for good. We cumshawed some ex-lax from the corpsmen down in sickbay and baked them into some Duncan Hines brownies for a little game of Restroom Roulette!

You know what’s next, don’t ya? He-he!!!

We baked them lil’ bastards into the microwavable brownies and left them in the fridge knowing damn good and well whoever the sorry son-of-a-bitch was wouldn't have to worry about no constipation for quite some time. We went about our way and for six or seven hours nothing seemed to happen. We patiently waited even after noticing the culprit had taken the bait. Finally, after a few more hours passed, one of the Seasparrow types was in CIWS Mount 22 hang’n out with the fellas when “Flash, Bam, Boom,” his ass was rushing with incredible speed to the head outside the CIWS Mount. We heard the shitter stall slam shut and an excessive amount of flushing for over an hour. We choked on our own amusement as we laughed our devious lil’ butts off!

When it was all said and done the son-of-a-bitch emerged from the head look’n like something that crawled out of the desert all parched and dehydrated…

“I’m feel’n kinda Sick!” He said!


…we laughed our butts off some more!! Though I have to admit, in that type environment you gotta watch your ass, cause payback can be hell!!

In today's ‘PC’ Navy our mischievous deeds would have gotten us sent to mast for punishment and the perpetrator identified would have gotten away with thievery… But not in the Ol’ days! Word got out fast what had happened and that poor bastard never got in our refrigerator again!!!




4 comments:

  1. Sailors stick together. I love this story! But, as mentioned, in today's PC Navy, this would not have been tolerated and quite possibly resulted in Captain's Mast for a few. It's too bad because what was done to the lowlife sailor who was robbing the gedunk was exactly the way it should have been handled. CTO1 Roger "Smokey" Castonguay, USN, Retired.

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  2. EM3 Ben Morris, USN......April 1, 2013 at 11:33 AM

    Fuckin' A!! The fuck got just what he well deserved!!!

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  4. During Mess Cooking on my first ship we had to move into mess berthing. Came back to get something during lunch and this dirtbag has his hands in my coffin locker. So I punched the hold up bar and dropped the lid on his hands. Rumor that I jumped up and sat on it are unfounded. I did hold it down till the MAA came to find out what the screaming was about.

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