Streaking is defined by the Webster Dictionary, as an "informal run naked in a public place so as to shock or amuse others." Like a drunken Will Ferrell in that movie “Old School,” it invokes a younger time when streaking was a common part of my repertoire. Allie, Liz, Terry and many others can probably tell you how I was never shy even in High School about stripping down butt nekkit and running the gambit rather it was mooning a cop or streaking through the Food World parking lot. All I needed was a dare and some liquid courage and I was on my way to showing my lily-white ass to the world! Things didn’t change much after enlisting into the world’s finest Navy. Before tale hook and all the politically correct horse manure they shoved down our throats, being butt nekkit in public was about as natural as chasing women … chasing women butt nekkit! Now there’s something for ya!!!
I was
just reading about a young fella out of Norfolk about three or four years ago
gett’n tasered and corralled by the local constable outside of Busch Gardens in Williamsburg, Va. Apparently, he
had a little too much liquor and possibly some illegal substances while deciding to run around butt nekkit in the park parking lot. Seems like an odd place
to get frisky, but I’m down with it. Unfortunately, he got charged with
resisting arrest among a few other things and the Navy Brass didn’t take too
kindly to his lack of décor.
Back in our day, streaking butt nekkit didn’t seem to be that big of a deal. Here’s the scenario …
Eight or so of us would be drinking at a local watering hole gett’n
all piss drunk, and before you knew it, we were out on a streak. Have you ever
been to Lombard in San Francisco? I have… butt nekkit all the way down the most
crooked street in the world!
On many
of our excursions, the girls were pretty drunk and often in on it too as they
would heckle, hoot, and holler. I remember a few giggles and "oh my Gods"
in the Denim and Diamond parking lot out of Alameda with our pricks flopping
around in the night air! The cops put a stop to it and read us all the riot
act. But I suppose there were just too many of us to take in, so we all got a
warning shot across the bow.
I
remember an incident in Jebel Ali (Gerbal Alley) where a bunch of us went on an
MWR Bedouin excursion in the dunes eating barbequed goat burgers and watching
some belly dancers while we drank formaldehyde disguised as beer and ran butt
ass nekkit up and down some dunes for the fun of it. Then there was that time in Hong Kong drinking
that gauddamned awful Tiger Beer and eating God only knows what they put in the
food just to find ourselves once again daring one another to run up and down
the alleys of the Wan Chai district butt ass nekkit. What about the Sembawang Seaman
Center in Singapore where we spent Christmas skinny dipping in the pool at 100°F
and 100% humidity with them little Filipina hostesses serving at our beck and call. We didn’t hear no whining, bitching, or complaining about inappropriate
behavior or other horse pucky. Anybody who knew me back in those days can tell
you I ain’t about to make this up. This ain’t no bag of horseshit I’m feed’n
you. It’s just who we were and it was what it was … the good, bad, and the ugly.
Me, Smithee,
Mitchell, Ricoh, the boys on the Rainier, and many others had many a beer and a
barmaid spending wonderful evenings getting loaded chasing the ladies and gett’n
naked as a jaybird in some of the strangest places around the world. The ol’
Canoe Club has a million no-shit stories that fill the memory banks of us old
salts. I’ve got a million of these stories stored up in a categorical Rolodex file in my brain housing. The note cards are a bit yellowed with a few stains here
and there and the ink might be a little blurred, but I can tell you one thing
that ain’t no shit… The ol’ Canoe Club set the stage for shenanigans that provided
belly laughs and tears for a guy like me. Ahhh you should have been there. I didn’t know
it or even appreciate it at the time. But those are some of the best-damned
memories a fella could ever ask for!
Like that old seventies song used to say ...
♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸ ¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪ "We had joy we had fun, we were streaking in the sun, but the cops got their guns and shot us in the buns" ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸ ¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪
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Sitting in Abu Dhabi parked way back in the lonely piers. One of our number came back from an evening imbibing at the Seamans Center. He was somewhat inebriated and started undressing for beddy bye time. Decided he wanted a smoke first. The only place to smoke was the fantail so still buck ass neckit he headed up with cigarette in hand. He didn't have a lighter in his birthday suit (or pockets) so he strolls up to the Quarterdeck and asks the POOW "Say boy, got a light?" He was escorted back to berthing and instructed to hit his rack. Next morning as he was headed to quarters the Old Man passes by, says "Say boy, got a light?" Nothing else was ever said.
ReplyDeleteyou forgot the part were the senior chief says "NO BALLS" at least thats how mine started
ReplyDeleteMy service time from 1964-1968 allowed me to participate in many of the aforementioned shenanigans. Should the shore patrol approach me when I was dressed in civilian clothes they would often give me a wide birth when they found out I was a corpsman. It was more often that they may have been, at one time, at the mercy of a corpsman. But I never used the corpsman status to get special treatment. However, they had the duty to make sure all sailors and Marines were representing the US in an acceptable way, sort of. It was a few years in this sailors life that brought about some once in a lifetime memories.
ReplyDeleteThanks, all of you, for your service.