"Tuna Can Sally"

I took a short snooze through one of my magic carpet rides again the other day. While stumbling to the little boy’s room in my local establishment I’d heard a young gal talking and it struck an old cord in my rusty ol’ noggin.

As a young green behind the ears shipmate on my first tour in the fleet, I was so excited about my prospective initiation into the hallowed rites of being a sailor I was ripe to follow the ol’ salts around and get a gander of the landscape when liberty call was made. 

“So what do you guys do on liberty? Is there any action around here?”

Calm your jets young man and we’ll take you to the nearest watering hole. That’s how we start the night off. So we head to the base club serving the Pacific Fleet, it was called the Scuttlebutt back then and beer was five bucks a pitcher. Like sailors do, we sat around discussing female bust development and who’s hot & who’s not while swilling beers and smoking Marlboro cigarettes. Those were the days before the gloom & doomers invented 'secondhand smoke.' That’s when I noticed this gal on the other end of the bar. She wasn’t the prettiest thing in the world but she wasn’t ugly either. She was one of those kind of gals who’s got one hell of a turd-chopper but looked like somebody hit her in the face with a shovel…

“Say! Who’s that gal on the other end of the bar?”

“Oh, that? You don’t want nothing to do with that. She’s been engaged more times than a telephone switchboard.  That’s ‘Tuna Can Sally.”

“Why do they call her ‘Tuna Can Sally?”

“Because she’s loose as hell but she ain’t very deep!”

(HaHaHa) as everyone cracks a laugh …

“Yeah, but she can suck the color out of a marble.”

“They call her radio station because anyone can pick her up, especially at night.”

… The whole crew of scallywags belonged in an asylum. But I got my first glance at ol’ Tuna Can Sally. 

Months would go by and shipmates and I would end up in places you would never take your Mother. We were tossing down suds in flea-infested gin joints close to base where everyone talked funny and smiled at you through teeth with a lot of deferred dental work while exchanging stories based on drunken power fantasies. When a sailor is offered shots he always drinks doubles and sees the same way. And almost every time we went to the Scuttlebutt, Petty Officer’s Lounge or anywhere near the base, there you’d find ‘Tuna Can Sally.’  

Finally on one occasion we were at McDini’s Baha in National City and she came up to one of my shipmates …

“Hey Sailor, you feeling lucky tonight?”

… He retorts …

“If I throw a stick, will you leave?”

“What’s wrong sailor, you don’t want to go to my place for a good time?

“I'd rather jump barefoot off a six foot step ladder into a five gallon bucket full of porcupines than go home with you.”

But I was drunk and horny and I didn’t care on this God forsaken night. As soon as she noticed me she was like a starving masseuse stroking my ego like she wanted to sit in my lap! There weren't many women in the joint that night, so those who were there were 'Horizontally Accessible.'

Next thing I know …

“Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Fuckity fuckity fucking fuck mother of fuck. Why the fuck did you sleep with her? Now everyone knows and your gonna get shit for it!”

I would’ve been better off spending the rest of my beer coupons and using my booze compass to stumble my ass back to the ship blackout drunk that night! And like good shipmates, they razzed me for a few days, as to be expected. Finally one of my shipmates said …

“Don't sweat the petty things but if you do then don't pet the sweaty things.”

“HuH?”

“Shipmate, women have pussies and with pussies they can get as much cock as they want. Half the ship has banged ol’ “Tuna Can Sally” and no one gives a fuck. Do you know who really gives a fuck? Hookers!! Hookers give a fuck, but it’ll cost you!!!”

  

I guess it was nothing to be ashamed about. Other than the fact “Tuna Can Sally” had been with half the Pacific Fleet.  Now I’d become Eskimo Brothers with a multitude of thousands of Shipmates!