You know what they say about bubbleheads… 80 men go down and 40 couples come up! Well, here I’ll regale you with a bit of sub-humor or is it sub humor to enjoy over the weekend. We like to rub it in with the “Brothers of the fin” ever so often…
It was a
nice sunny day underway as three sailors were walking down the portside of the
ship when they saw a bare naked ass hanging out a porthole.
The first
sailor says…
“I wish
that was Jessica Alba’s ass.”
The
second sailor says…
“Hell, I
wish that was Kate Upton’s ass.”
The third
pipes up and says…
“I wish
it was dark!”
Here is a collection I’ve gathered of magazine Pulp Art. Pulp magazines were read and enjoyed by millions and reached their zenith in the 1930s, though the genre began in earnest in 1896 with The Argosy, a monthly magazine that was printed on low-cost pulp paper. Because they were printed on cheap pulp paper, they were much less expensive than the high-quality, serialized novels of the day, hence the name, Pulp Art. I hope you enjoy these artistic nautical beauties of the past…
A sailor was wandering around a carnival and he happened to see a fortuneteller’s tent. Thinking it would be good for a laugh, he went inside and sat down.
“Ah…”
said the fortuneteller as she gazed into her crystal ball.
“I see
you are the father of two children.”
“That’s
what you think.”
… said
the sailor scornfully …
“I’m the
father of THREE children.”
The woman
grinned and said…
“That’s
what YOU think!”
This one is an excerpt from a book I’ve been reading by Smokey Dafino called “Salt on the Nuts.” I hope you enjoy and buy his book. He’s got some funny stories…
It was
way after midnight. My first official day in the Navy. The bus that had met us
at the airport (the sailor at the airport who met our group had been downright
rude – calling us fucksticks, limpdicks, needledicks, pricks, and other phallic references)
had pulled on to the base and dropped us off at some cement bunker full of
metal folding chairs. We sat silently facing a wooden box with a big slit on
top.
An
officer strutted in …
“Alright, you assholes! I’ve got the fucking duty tonight and I want to get some
sack time. I’ve had a long fucking day and I’m not in the mood to fuck around
with you pansy little pricks, so let’s get this gauddamned shit show on the
road. If any of you cocksuckers have in your possession any liquor, drugs,
narcotics not prescribed, guns, knives, pictures of your girlfriend’s pussy,
pictures of your mother’s pussy, pictures of your boyfriend’s cock, fuck books,
or in other words, anything you don’t want us to find, you now have the chance
to discard these items. If you have any said items or anything else the Navy
decides you can’t have you will march your sorry fucking ass to the front of the
room and drop it in the hole in the top of the box. This is your one and only
motherfucking chance to come clean. If any one of you bastards are caught with
these items after the next five minutes are over, your ass will be swinging in
the breeze. You will be sent to the brig where Marines with huge dicks will
bend you over and fuck you in the ass. Is that understood? Gauddamn it, I said
is that understood?”
“Yes,
sir!” We all screamed out.
About
half the room scurried to the front to drop some sort of contraband into the
box. I didn’t have anything to worry about since I had been robbed by that
beautiful prostitute less than a day earlier. The guy sitting next to me had
pulled out a half dozen Trojan rubbers, a pint of Jack Daniel’s, a Playboy, and
a Penthouse out of his gym bag. As he was dropping his swag into the box, the
officer caught him nervously looking at him.
“What are
you eyeballing you fucking geek?” He shrieked in rage…
“Nothing,
Sir!”
“Nothing
my rosy red asshole! Drop and give me twenty pushups you ignorant fucking
maggot!”
The
recruit finished his poorly performed pushups and charged back down the aisle,
propelled by a swift kick in the ass by the officer…
“Move
Motherfucker!”
“Jesus
Christ!”
… he
whispered as he sat down and rubbed his ass …
“That guy is wearing a cross on his collar. He’s a gauddamned Chaplain!”
https://gorilla-vomit-publications.blogspot.com/2018/?m=0
I wise ol’
Salt once told me…
“Those
mistresses who lean on lamp posts have a lot in common with musical organ
grinders… both have their monkeys out on the street, doing tricks for a living.”
Mermaids & Sailors have gone hand in hand since the sirens of the Greek Mythology! They can be evil, delectable or anywhere in between. Here are a few mermaid cartoons I picked for you ol’ salts that I hope you can enjoy…
“PoPeye”
( Fin )
Here’s another from the Preacher. I hope you enjoy his story of patriotism and a thoughtful reminder of our great nation…
I have
for years posted this tale just before Independence Day, and here I go again:
Bristol,
RI hosts the country's oldest and largest Independence Parade each year. I've
often told you the tale of my return from Vietnam to indifference and
hostility, with two shining exceptions, but by and large far from the
flag-waving welcomes our WW2 heroes received.
In 1986 I
decided to march at Bristol. Very early in the morning, decked out in uniform
and medals, I drove the half-hour journey down to the mustering point where I
quickly found the Vietnam vets' contingent. We sat or stood about, swapping war
stories and jokes, and soon it was time to form up. We had a cadence caller, a
grizzled and bearded little Special Forces master sergeant with a Silver Star,
Bronze Star, Purple Heart with clusters, and more chest candy than a North
Korean general. And before you knew what was what, an A-10 zoomed over, almost
at treetop level, and that was the signal to step off.
Flags,
flags, flags. Flying bright and brave from porches. Soaring proudly from
front-yard poles. Waving back and forth in spectators' hands. Music, music all
around us. And I noticed one heartening thing.
The
people were sitting, enjoying things. But as they heard the ordered tramp of
boots, heard our cadence caller singing it out, saw our group approaching -
they came to their feet and SCREAMED! "Welcome home!" "Thanks,
guys!" "America!" "USA! USA!" And as we marched along,
we constantly saw people ahead notice us and come to their feet.
On the
porch steps of one old Victorian home, two tall, thin old men in suits and
ties, garrison caps on their heads and medals on their chests, stood at rigid
attention-holding salutes. "Eyes - LEFT!" shouted our cadence caller
as he snapped one back at them. History comes alive before us. And, yes. We
were part of that history, we realized afresh.
A pretty young blonde girl, no older than twenty, ran out and pressed a cold bottle of beer into my hand, whispered...
"Thanks, sailor..."
and kissed my cheek. I
winked, took a swig, and passed it along to the next man.
Finally
we approached the town square, which was strangely quiet. The reviewing stand
was filled with town officers, military officials and (I found out later)
visiting Soviet military officers. As the first Vietnam veteran put a boot in
that square...
All the
sirens in the fire station and in their engines sounded off and the cheers were
deafening as we gave the stand an "eyes right" and showed Bristol and
the world what pride and service were all about! A bell began to ring in a
nearby steeple. Pandemonium. Joy. America. America!
In 1967
when I returned from our Westpac deployment it was less than it might have
been. But don't weep for me or feel badly, for on that hot July day on the
shores of Narragansett Bay, I got my "welcome home." We ALL got our
welcome home.
Thank
you, America!
They’ve got a great new act at the Sailor Bar in Pattaya Beach, Thailand! A gorgeous stripper actually smokes a cigar from her nether regions … really creates quite a riot! But nobody wants her butt when she’s through with it!!!
