Happy New Year Everyone... And Stay Safe!!!

‘Bat Crazy Navy Wife’

You know what I did before I married? Anything I wanted too! I’d suckered women…  been suckered by women… had a 38 special pointed snug into my nutsack… slapped on both face & ass cheeks and chased outta the club by a few gals meaner than a hornets nest on fire!! There’d also been a time or two I was left high and dry with no pot to piss in!!!

But nothing could’a prepared me for marriage! They say marriage puts a ring on a woman's finger and two under the man's eyes… well I still insist that I’d been drunk for several years… woke up sober one morning and found myself married wondering…

“How the hell did that happen!” 

Every time I see that episode of ‘Family Guy’ where Quagmire gets married I can’t help but relate… women marry men with the idea of changing them while men get married hoping the woman will never change?!? It never quite works out that way now does it?!?

In our younger years if I came home early my wife thought I was looking for something… if I came home late she’d be madder than a bobcat caught in a piss fire swear’n I’d already had it… from somewhere else!!!  She once threw my cloths and all my belongings out the second story window of our apartment ‘cause I went out with the boys for a beer!! But now that we’re older… and I’m not as pretty as I used to be she ain’t so damned jealous and mean … I should’a learned it at a younger age when my mother chased her husband down the road in a night gown & robe with a rolling pin and a cigarette… no shitt!!!

A shipmate was tell’n me a Sea Story the other day about how the ship’s wive’s club came up all unannounced to meet the ship in Subic back in the day… Oh hell he didn’t even have to go any further than that and I knew this was gonna be a good one!! Can you imagine pulling the ship up to the pier in the PI with a bunch’a horny ‘Crackerjacks’ ready to hit the streets of Olongapo only to look down at the Quay wall…

“Son-of-a-Bitch… What the hell is she doing here?!?”

Does that situation ring any bells?!? I could only imagine the look on that poor sucker’s face… bring’n tears to his eyes!! 

It kinda reminds me of a fella I knew on the Chucky V years ago… when the ship was on deployment this fella had quite the time hang’n out on Magsaysay! So much in fact that his wife met the ship a week later in Singapore and the sad sack had mentioned he was feel’n a little funny down in the loins but didn’t think noth’n of it!! About another week later he had to go see the dock and get some of that there green serum stuck in his ass for the drippy dick!! What’s worse is he had to call and tell his wife about it… talk about shitt’n in your own nest!!!

Rumor had it his wife repackaged a gift full of crotch crickets when he got home…one of those ‘Don’t piss down my back and tell me it’s rain’n kinda moments I guess!! Yep… he was up shit creek with outta paddle… that’s for sure!!!

Yeah… In Twenty-Three years I saw some pretty crazy if not unruly then unholy shit in my day… reminds me of another fella I once knew… we’ll call him ‘Vinny The Vulture’ … if you saw the fella you’d surely understand!

Now ‘Vinny The Vulture’ was one of them fellas who was really book smart but couldn’t poor piss out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel… FC2 Nato type… couldn’t make a plug for a dog’s asshole with a hardened piece-o’shit for a pattern… a ‘taco’ short of a fiesta if you know what I mean! I don’t remember how many times this fella flooded the NSSMS Magazine!! Well ol’  ‘Vinny The Vulture’ had a wife so gaudamned fugly we called her ‘Snaggletooth’… and let me tell you, she was wound up tighter than the girdle on a Sunday Church Minister’s wife at an all you can eat breakfast buffet!!  I’m talk’n tits caught in the wringer rung tight kind’a shit… crazier than a shithouse rat kind’a woman!! 

We’d been out to sea for a few weeks and this poor fella was dominated by this woman… pussy whipped beyond belief! Pull’n in everyone could notice her on the pier… hoot’n  and holler’n and making a seen!! Well… no sooner was the brow laid and outta nowhere here she comes barging into the ‘CIWS’ Mount no less…

“Where’s my Husband… Where’s my husband… I know he’s here somewhere!”

…All loud and Snaggletoothed and shit with her dress hiked halfway up her ass… looked like she’d been joy rid’n one of them bollards on the pier!! Scared the Holy Bu-jeeezus outta the lot of us sitt’n in the Mount… scream’n and yell’n like he was hiding from her… hell, we he had to call him up to come and calm her down… she was batshit crazy!!! … I could never figure it out… I’d be standing Officer Of the Deck 1200-1600 and I shit you not this woman would be call’n three or four times wanting to know when her husband was gett’n off and could she leave a message… we’d have the message board filled with little yellow stickies to FC2 ‘Vinny The Vulture’… stacks of e’m… crazy… batshit crazy!!! They say that love is blind… but marriage is a real ‘eye opener’…

But that was noth’n like the time me and one of my running mates met up with a couple of gals who took us to a late night party in Bremerton… around 90’-91’! Passed out on the living room floor I was woken up by a slurp’ slurp’ slurp’… only to look over and see lil’ miss Neil & Bob on a fellow Crackerjack at the other side of the room!! She finished… got up and walked into the kitchen… came back through the living room and walked outta the front door with a paper bag in her hand…

“Hey Shippy… where’s she going?”

“Oh her husband’s on the Nimitz and he works all weekend… she’s just bring’n him some lunch!”

‘WTF’ Over!!! Hell, I didn’t even ask… She didn’t even bother to brush her teeth… gurgle some water… wipe her mouth or noth’n!! Poor fella probably went to kiss his wife and got the nasty end of some other fellas man butter… uggghh!! True story… I ain’t bullshitt’n!! You couldn’t make that stuff up!! I gotta say that gal was lower than a snake in a wagon track!!!

Another situation comes to mind of more recent times as one of my fellow Chiefs got himself in a pickle with his marriage… I won’t mention names to protect the guilty… but this is one of those ‘Jump’n outta the fry’n pan and into the fire’ kinda moments!!!

Now just before his retirement… this fella was telling me how his wife had went to the previous Skipper when he was cheating on her… but Skippy wouldn’t do anything about it! So after many days and nights of painful arguments he eventually left his wife for this other gal who ended up being a real basket case! Now keep in mind we were in Maine when this all took place… Now a year later we’re in Everett, Washington and he left that crazy bitch from Maine and moved back in with his wife but the basket case followed him all the way cross country!! If things couldn’t get any worse she slashed his tires… keyed his car… called the cops on him several times… terrorized his family… called him over and over causing problems… (sounds like one of them lifetime movies your wife makes you watch don’t it?!?)… then one night after a few too many drinks he went to hunt this crazy bitch down and got pulled over for a DUI! Now ol’ Skippy wants to do something about it… he wants it to be painful!! Not only did the Skipper want to dress the Chief’s ass down for the DUI but he was gonna have him busted for adultery as well… that was before his wife showed up on the Quarterdeck wanting to give the Skipper an earful…

“I’d already came to this Command when my husband messed around and you sons-a-bitches didn’t want to get involved! Now we’re back together and that bitch is all crazy up in this shit and now you wanna bust my husband? Hell no you ain’t bust’n my husband!! Now your mess’n with my money… my retirement! I’ll be all over the six o’clock news with this shit if you don’t get on point! “

Damn!!! … Needless to say my fellow Chief got to leave with his rank intact… though he didn’t get his retirement ceremony that was promised… but that was small potatoes and I guess he could thank his wife for saving his ass on that one!!!

Hahaha… I once heard that a man who muttered a few words in the church, found himself married… and years later he muttered something in his sleep and found himself divorced!! But thankful for my friend things worked out for the better!!!

Yep… I’ve ridden the Rollercoaster of Marriage… and I’ve watched many others do the same… Can’t tell ya how many times I’ve visualized the duct tape over my wife’s mouth! You know she’s really easy to get along with as long as I see things her way… isn’t that always the case gentlemen?!?  Every time I disagree with her…

“And your crybaby whiny-assed opinion would be?” 

Once while recruiting in the field I was having some marital problems and ‘Big Navy’ directed me to seek marriage counseling… of course my wife wouldn’t come so it did no good…

“I didn’t marry the Navy, I married you! There’s noth’n a counselor can tell me that I don’t already know and I can give you that advice for free!!”

I mean I’ve always wondered… If a man is standing in the middle of the woods complaining and there’s no wife around to hear what he’s got to say… is he still wrong?!? Really… all we want is a piece of mind and a lil’ bit of that honey pot to keep us from look’n elsewhere… but the chance of routinely gett’n laid after marriage is about the same as the number of ‘R’s in ‘Fatt Ass Chance’… you might as well buy a house every ten years and give it to some gal you can’t stand… it’s cheaper they say!!!

… I don’t know maybe I’ve become Pussy Whipped over the years… I’ve been in the dog house so many times that when I meet another shipmate I don’t know whether to shake his hand or sniff his ass!!

When I first met my wife her sister told me to stay away and that I had no idea what a bitch she really was… yet after all these years I found I will always cherish the initial misconceptions I had about her…

I guess that’s why marriage is kinda like the Navy… ‘It's not just a Job... It's an Adventure!'

‘BONG, BONG, BONG... Jump Through Your Ass-Ex'

 “General Quarters… General Quarters… All Hands Man your Battle Stations!”

Ya’ll remember don’t ya?!?

…Followed by the hurried racket & pandemonium of dozens of boondockers hitt’n the ladder wells and the unquestionable thud of watertight hatches and doors as the ol’ grey lady turned into a floating mechanized menace of war! Only thing that comes close… Yell’n ‘Male On Deck’ while walk’n into a modern day shower party shindig in the female head!!   

Man I got so gaudamned burned out from them there drills! You know what they say…

“Drill 99.9% of the time for the .1% chance something might happen!”

I think the concept was conceived… developed… and given birth head first by the Department of Redundancies Department somewhere in the middle of that there Pentagon building! ‘The beatings will continue until morale improves’… that is, they do what they do through relentless repetition ‘til you dream that shit under your eyelids… or your eyes start bleed’n… whichever comes first!!  

Take my first ship the ‘Baglady’…  the  more we drilled it seemed the worse we got… as Mr. Meyers would say…

“Much work remains to be done before we can announce our total failure to make any progress!”

That was before we failed that first ‘REFTRA’ in the summer of 89’!  

I ain’t shitt’n nobody when I say it seemed as though every time you’d get up to grab a smoke… take a shit… or try to catch an after dinner nooner…

‘BONG… BONG… BONG…

There goes the alarm again! It was enough to drive a grown man stark raving batshit!! I can still recall climbing outta my rack still half asleep gett’n football tackled while try’n to put my boots on… ‘Gangway’… bodies hurdling up and over in every which direction…

“Don’t stop to dress out just haul your ass down the alleyway!”

I can still remember those sweet dreams of ‘Suzie Rotten Crotch’ smell’n so sweet & sexy in her laced panties while try’n to do the horizontal mambo…

‘BONG… BONG… BONG…

Sleeping in a top bunk I’d damn near rip my scalp off on one of them damned pipe brackets six inches above my head and put me in a coma so long when I came too my civvies would be outta style! And that speaker box two feet away was sooo gaudamned loud if felt like the earwax was gonna shoot straight outta my ears!! And I’d be so damned confused I didn’t know rather to wind my ass or scratch my watch!!!

Then there were the times sitt’n on the shitter with a nekkit gurlie magazine harder than a woodpeckers lips… to read the articles of course…

‘BONG… BONG… BONG…

… And some disturbed Chief would come strut’n in…

“Let’s make like a turd and hit the trail… in other words shit and get off the pot!”

“Man this place is so in tune with dynamic harmony… it sucks as much as it blows!”

“Swing… pull yourself away from the titties and put away the magazine!”

“But Chief… First I gotta make the bald man cry!”

“Hey… if I don’t see Admiral Browning in their then the Seamen can’t take no Shore Leave… so put away that tiny garden hose and let’s go man a fire hose!”

“But Chief it’s not fair… it’s five against one and Rosie is call’n the shots!”

“Gaudamn it Swing… it’s time to NUT-UP or SHUT-UP!!”

Yeah… no matter how hard the command would beat us down… I was still able to get it up!! But if you really were dropp’n the deuce?!?

‘BONG… BONG… BONG…

… Forcing out a dump… several farts slipp’n out at a .50 caliber machine gun pace… and a face full of animated expressions!! Forget the courtesy flush… You Gotta Get To Your Battle Stations!!!

There you go putt’n on the battle dress in an area the size of a sardine can with four or five other nutty sons-a-bitches…

Just to spare the awkwardness…here’s my anal announcement… RRRRRRRRRRIPP!!!”

“Let’r Rip Taterchip!”

Yessss… a real room clearer… unless of course you were pinch’n a loaf when you left the head… then your sitt’n there with a turtle head pok’n out…

“Chief when can I go use the head… I really gotta finish that aborted dump!”

“How about never… Is never good enough for you!?”

By the time the drill was secured and Zebra Set…. The shitters looked like they’d been occupied by a pack of baby chimpanzees in the zoo!!!

Or being in the ‘Rain Locker’ when the drill goes down… Usually the power goes out before the ‘BONG… BONG… BONG… and like a blind man at an orgie you gotta feel your way around hoping to hell & high water you don’t grab the wrong knob on the way out the door! This is when accuracy and attention to detail are of the utmost importance!! Now you’d think being in the Navy I’d know the ins & outs of showers… you know ‘Soap on a Rope’ and all… but this wasn’t the time to be rubb’n one off just because the lights are off… cause they come on again real fast!!

“I see you’ve set aside this special time to humiliate yourself again in public Swing!”

“Yes Sir… this is gonna be another one of those jump through your ass-ex situations!”

Or what about one of them situations where you were in the middle of the chow line filling your glass of bug juice or just sitt’n down…

‘BONG… BONG… BONG…

“What the hell is the Ol’ man running GQ at this time for?!”

Yep… it could really make a gaggle of ‘Crackerjacks’ full of piss & vinegar! Watching everybody drop everything all at once bitch’n & complain’n…

“Gaudamn it… I’m soo hungry I could eat the balls off a low fly’n duck!”

“Yeah… well I’m sooo hungry I’m about to fall through my asshole and hang myself!!”

“Well… I’m so freak’n hungry I could eat the ass of a rabid skunk!!!”

… “And I’m so Hungry I could crawl up a pigs ass and eat a ham sandwich!”

Hahaha… those crazy ass Crackerjack Squids… always made the time more meaningful!!!  

And when the drills were over and all was settled down… it was time to clean up the clusterfuck left before the Three Ring Circus came to town! Footprints track’n through the still fresh paintjob on the unsecured weatherdecks… clean’n the shit paper Cesspool in the head… swabb’n up the water left behind by Repair Three… or clean’n up the standing food that’s found its way on the deck & bulkhead in the galley and the mess!! Yeah… try gett’n help with that! It’s about as easy as herding chickens!!!

Yep… the ‘BONG… BONG… BONG… down & aft port… up and forward starboard or you might find yourself on your ass was just a part of life for us Crackerjacks traveling at two miles an hour under the speed of light! It’s no wonder after twenty plus years of that shit we all start look’n like an orthopedic rehab convention every time we get together!!

A wise man once told me…               

“Don’t ever be the first… don’t ever be the last… and never volunteer for anything!”

Funny I was too busy gett’n a knot jerked into my ass! They say you learn from your mistakes… I guess that’s why I was making so damned many at an early age… so I could grow up and be a F#ck’n Genius!! Lord knows I had trouble count’n my balls twice and com’n up with the same number!!

At the end of the work week… ‘TGIF’… Thank God for Fridays… ‘Reduced Battle Rhythm Day!!!’

‘Dog & Pony Shows’

Anyone out there remember the ‘Dog & Pony Shows’? You know… where some Admiral or Special Interests came aboard to be entertained with our significance in this small little world while proving to ourselves sometimes we really do run a three ring circus!?  You don’t have to be a barnacle encrusted ancient mariner to remember those extravagant acts of bullshit!!!

Down below the Deck apes would break out the  chipping hammers, needle guns, paint scrapers, knuckle busters and an ol’ folgers ‘in your cup’ coffee can full of haze grey and a couple of dirty paint brushes for over the side work’n parties! Forward with the punts and scaffolding painting over oxidation and deterioration… haze grey but not yet underway!! Figure if the public can’t see the rust it must not exist…

Once the Admiral… Commodore… Commander-In-Chief… or King of Timbuktu came aboard…

“Very Well… Very Well… Very Well…”

The son-of-a-bitch could give two shits about a white glove inspection or how sparkly the brass is on the Quarterdeck!!

Off to the Wardroom… Messdecks… or Flightdeck to address the crew…

“We are gathered here today…”

Rattling on like the clapper on a gooses ass!! Every gaudamned Chief instructed to inform their crew not to ask any pertinent questions…

“Seaman Jones… I don’t want you say’n shit… I don’t care if your mouth is full of it!”

Inevitably some passive aggressive little prick would ask some jeezus in cahootz with the devil shithead question knowing the answer wouldn’t be what he’d been hearing all along…

“Well that ain’t what the Skipper says…”

That kind’a horseshit got everybody in hotwater!!!

But my first chance encounter with the ol’ ceremonial ‘neal & bob’ picture show was onboard the good ol’ USS Baglady… FF 1069! Man I gotta tell you… the crew on the ol’ Baglady was like a gaudamned script right outta McHale’s Navy!! We didn’t really much care two shits about peacock strutt’n bravado or prancing around like a whore with the fleet import kind’a thing for the transitory brass!! Get all primped and fancy for some dang ceremonial formal was nuttier than a squirrel turd in our book!!

I found out the hard way when we failed our first round of exercises better known as REFTRA! I guess the Commodore wasn’t too pleased with our lack of diligence and embarked aboard for our second round of trials!! By the time it was all said and done the Skipper had his proverbial tale between his legs before we were finally announced ready to join the fleet!!!  

Then came my tenure onboard the good ol’ Chucky ‘V’… CVN 70! I remember the Big Sea Daddy of all Sea Daddies was coming to pay a visit and my Warrant Officer approached me…

“Petty Officer Swing… I don’t know why I’m putt’n you in this position cause your about as handy as a pocketful of paper assholes… but you’re gonna be a sideboy for ‘Slick Willie’ when he comes aboard!”

That’s right… you guessed it… Mr. ‘Cigar Swilling’ Bill Clinton… Commander-In-Chief himself! I gotta tell you folks… I wasn’t too excited about it!! I started thinking of ways I might meet & great the fella when he came aboard…

“What’s up Slick”

or

“Willie… you’re slicker than greased goose shit on Christmas morning!”

Once he was piped aboard and head’n for the platform the sideboys were dismissed and I never even got to actually meet the son-of-a-bitch… not even a damned handshake!! 

Then there was Lucky Ol’ Number 7… USS Rainier… Legend of Service! I gotta tell you… that was the best gaudamned command I ever served under!! I commissioned that bad boy… and the Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Boorda was onboard that particular day!!  Everyone topside was look’n sharp and feel’n fifty feet tall proud as hell!! When the ship came alive I was manning the aft CIWS mount… it crossed my mind to push the fire button and let the whiz-bang make it’s chainsaw brazen sound… dummy rounds of course… but sure as hell would’a scared the shit outta the folks on the pier… and sure as well would’a went over like a pregnant pole vaulter… yeah it was a thought but on that particular day I didn’t have a hair on my ass…

But you know we did a lot of tours onboard ‘Lucky No 7… once tied up to the pier with the brow in place we’d be giving tours in San Diego… San Francisco… or anywhere else our Skipper might deliver us! The citizens of the free world were always quick to greet and praise us in admiration of our wonderment!! Little did they know what was on our devious minds with the smell of lady perfume and skimpy summer dresses… ‘hide your daughters & lock up your wives cause the Navy’s back in town… as soon as ‘Knock off Ship’s Work & Liberty Call’ go down… we were on the prowl!!!

Then after a few years of shore duty and donning the ol’ khaki crown of thorns… I was headed to the USS MOMSEN DDG92… what a bunch’a nonsensical nonsense that turned out to be… or as Darrell Smalley used to say…

“This shit is fuckdiculous!”… or something of the sort!!! 

After the ship was built in Maine we headed off on Sail around to homeport Everett, Washington!  There was no way in hell we were passing Norfolk without pulling in!! But this required some butt snorkeling action from a few in the mess… as our illustrious Electronic Warfare Chief decided to paint his portion of the super structure without coordination with deck department no matter how ill advised… as every rust stain that ran down the bulkhead was covered just before pulling import… after all ‘there’s a lot of brass hang’n round them there piers!! Later that night after a good night of drink’n at the Chief’s Club and stumbling back in the Virginia rain… there was one hell of a maelstrom going on up on my aft missile deck!! Upon entering the area in question to see what the hell was going on… I couldn’t help but notice the series of cofferdams built around the superstructure to protect the deck from the running paint as it seeped its way down the bulkhead!!! The next morning was noth’n but a big ol’ fight in the mess with finger pointing and name call’n… it was worse than a band of hookers fighting over the last John in the bar!!!

If that weren’t enough… I’d been the Section Leader on this particular morning when word came that our Commodore, DESRON NINE, would be coming about. I swear the Chain of Command was up & down the Quarterdeck like a whore’s drawers… the XO making sure the OOD & Petty Officer of the Watch knew the proper amount of bells and proper terminology and when to give the stinger… the CMC making sure the OOD & Petty Officer of the Watch knew the proper amount of bells and proper terminology and when to give the stinger… the CDO making sure the OOD & Petty Officer of the Watch knew the proper amount of bells and proper terminology and when to give the stinger… and of course I was up there the whole time watching this unfold…

“If it ain’t broke… fix it till it is!”… was the phrase of the day…

And the Commodore came aboard with all the pomp and circumstance a fullbird DESRON Commander could muster! I gotta say the Quarterdeck watch was stiffer than a wedding dick as the Petty Officer of the Watch, a Seasoned Boatswain I might ad, had such a nervous twitch it could'a registered quite high on the Richter scale and managed to FUBAR the whole gaudamned thing making us look utterly ridiculous…

“I’m sorry Chief…”

ME…

“The next fuck’n word outta your mouth better be some genius Mark Twain Bullshit cause it’s  gett’n chiseled on to your tombstone you dipshit!”

I stuck around the Quarterdeck so I could incur the wrath of the ‘COC’ directly… as the CMC insisted that I relieve everyone on the Quarterdeck…

“Master Chief, that’s between me and the CDO and you know as well as I do that you the XO and the CDO have all been down here several times ramming this shit down our throats… it’s no wonder something was bound to go wrong!” 

I intended on relieving the Petty Officer of the Watch but not the OOD… but the CMC did not agree with my analysis… though the CDO concurred with me on this one and so it was done!! Needless to say the CMC had me in his office chewing me up and down every which way but loose… I could feel the ‘Bullshit-O-Meter gett’n pegged in the RED’!! That was pretty gaudamned standard on the Mighty Momsen!!!

You see… it always amazed me when some Navy Brass turned up on a pier, the ship’s ‘COC’ dropped the mission and assumed the position… crisis management… and oxidation miraculously stopped and everything got painted over… dirt & rust alike!?!? The outside looked all spiffy and squared away… but beauty my friends, is only skin-deep!  Just once I’d like to hear an Admiral say…

“And Captain… by the way, you might also want to tell your sailors that painting over rust doesn’t make it go away… it just hides the rot!”

Yep, it’s all for show… just a grandeur collection of brownie points… lamely contrived visuals… and a complex presentation of politics… politics… and more politics! I suppose sometimes it’s better to look good than to be good!! Hell… they say you can tell who the brown nosers and ass kissers are… ‘Always acting like a bitch in heat!!!’

It's also been said that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions! And with all the bells and whistles that come out spit shined and ready for action during those ‘Dog & Pony Shows’… there will never be a shortage of ass kissers and boot lickers!! Not in this ol’ Canoe Club!! But Hey... just leave it up to a ‘Crackerjack’ sailor to come up with the term ‘Dog & Pony Show’… with all the Sex acts in Tijuana… Thailand… and the likes of the PI!!!

The Pottification Of The Navy

I can’t take credit for this one!  I found it on… http://www.fredoneverything.net/Potties.shtml  ... and it’s quite fitting for my blog… so to whoever Fred is… ‘Great Article’

Hoo, the Navy has gone funnier than when Junior put his tadpoles in Aunt Lu's milk. It's wonderful. Headline, the Washington Times: "Navy admiral wants to get rid of urinals."

On aircraft carriers. Yep. See, urinals aren't good for gender-equity, which is what the Navy is for.

Best I can tell, the admiral figures urinals make the girls aboard feel plumbing-challenged. It gums up their self-concept. And life, remember, is already tough for gals on warships. It's bad enough having those boomy old gun thingies everywhere, and those smelly airplanes. They make a hostile environment and all. But the worst is those disgusting white patriarchy symbols, stuck threateningly to bathroom walls.

Think about it. Every time a woman goes to the men's room, there they hang, row on row, in silent reproach, telling her she isn't Fully A Person.

The horror.

But now help gallops over the horizon, thumpety-thump. The help's name is Admiral John Nathman, and (incredibly) he's a naval aviator. Yes indeed. Potty John, the Carrie Nation of urinals, is going to make it all better. He wants "gender-neutral water closets."

When I was a Marine, I always wanted a commander who had an interest in urinals. None of them did, and they probably still don't. But the Navy, as Marines have always suspected, is a little different. And apparently getting differenter.

Personally I don't think Potty John has gone far enough in making the military resemble a sorority house. For example, a gal on ship stands out by virtue of having breasts, which must create a hostile work environment. (In fact I've never met a sailor who was hostile to breasts, but I'm being socially progressive here.) I think that as a simple matter of consideration for our warrioresses, men in the services should be required to have breast implants. Gender equity. This is, after all, the New Navy.

If compulsory surgery seems extreme this year, at the very least silicone strap-on mammaries should be mandated. Think of them as pre-loaded bras. Since servicemen have to wear uniforms anyway, minor additions could do no harm. Infantrymen carry packs, don't they?

I figure breasts might become insignia of rank. Enlisted men would get small ones. Officers would have big mommas. Potty John, being an admiral, would have three. The Chief of Naval Operations would wear an udder.

Look, I'm just trying to be helpful.

Let's be honest. Many unnecessary hardships are inflicted on women by the Navy. It's so…military. I figure the Navy might consider renaming a carrier or two in a more woman-friendly manner -- the USS Daycare comes to mind, or the good ship Terrycloth.

Then there are family separations. I'm agin'em. So I figure a carrier's hangar deck could be divided into a labor ward and a nursery. Granted, weapons would have to be sacrificed, but all they do is encourage violence. (Onboard counseling might help to reduce this lamentable side-effect of testosterone. We could have caring, sensitive fighter pilots.)

Fact is, I admire Potty John for his willingness to be different from all those stodgy old male admirals we used to have. Can you imagine Bull Halsey (I guess today he'd be Heifer Halsey, or maybe Steer Halsey) focusing on urinal equity as he led the fleet against the Japanese? How about David Farragut: "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ah…Wait! Let's stop and talk about gender equity!" No. No urinals for them. They were fixated on violence.

My father spent four years at sea during World War II, first aboard the USS Greer in the North Atlantic, and then in the Pacific on DD-554, the Franks. He didn't talk a lot about it. He was there for some of the big assaults, doing close fire support with 5-inch-38s. Those were ugly days when blood ran on the decks and the kamikazes screamed in and you red-barreled everything you had at the nacelles and hoped you hit a fuel tank before the pilot hit you. I bet those sailors, mostly dead now, all of them forgotten, would be proud to know about Potty Consciousness.

Truth is, the military needs to be stripped of all manner of gender-unfriendly trappings. What could be more phallic than a tank gun? The very thought must be offensive to women, and make them Uncomfortable. Submarines are nothing but nuclear-powered phallic symbols. (With a propeller, which is a disturbing thought.) I reckon we ought to have gender-neutral, cubic submarines. Flowered wallpaper would add a homey feel and, if you got rid of those awful male torpedo-things, there might be room for a shopping deck.

The potty problem has reared its genderishly inequitable head for years in the mascara military. You just get in trouble for talking about it. Consider urinals and the Army. They were never a problem, because men regard the entire earth as a urinal in waiting. The side of the road, the middle of the road, a tree, the ocean -- they don't discriminate. The way feminists see oppression everywhere, men see urinals. It's a design feature.

Which means that if a battalion of trucks is maneuvering in the desert, guys don't care. Anywhere is as good as anywhere else. Women see things differently. They're embarrassed. They want a bush to go behind. In deserts there aren't any bushes. That's how you know it's a desert.

So they want all the guys to stand on one side of the truck while the ladies retire to the other. Of course, if the truck is in the middle of a group of trucks, this doesn't work. And if some dimwitted guy forgets he's not really in the military, and thoughtlessly goes to the wrong side of the truck to check the oil -- that's sexual harassment, buddy. Firing squad to the fore.

I'm dead serious: Research has been done on ways to let female soldiers pee standing up. If that's not gender equity, it's at least comic relief.

I have to agree with Potty John: For many reasons, none of which I can think of, men should not be allowed to stand comfortably while making a sacrifice to the Porcelain God. However, the Navy shouldn't simply write off its investment in urinals. Surely unmasculine uses can be found for them.

They would make splendid planters for flowers, for example: They have a robust watering system and good drainage. The lighting would have to be replaced with grow lamps, but this requires a mere changing of bulbs. Easy. We would have a win-win situation: Feminists would get even with men for being able to use urinals, and men would have flowers to look at. A window-box arrangement around them with drapes would be lovely.

See why I tell guys, Don't enlist in this silly circus?

I've gotta run. To my stockbroker's, to invest in implant companies.

What Inspired the last Story...

'Flam Basted Crackerjack McBrag’

If you’re an ol’ Salt you probably don’t miss the fun of busting your ass with water crashing over the bow… grown men gett'n tossed around like skivvies in a clothes dryer… moving fore and aft in the pitch & rolls of a drunk’n Irish River Dance with ass pok’n valve stems... unforgiving stanchions and bone crushing steel hatches waiting for your approach… crusty valve handles and orifice knife edges… low hang’n pipes & unused brackets tearing gouges outta your nogg’n!!  It was a gaudamned smorgasbord of things that’d knock you into tomorrow before you knew what the hell hit you!!!

Not much to brag or write home about… at least at that point in time anyway… but all be damned if you went home without a story or two to tell the Moms, Pops, and all the ones left in Midtown USA… Cause back home was different than being on the beachfront in Sailor town USA where the sign says ‘Keep the Sailors off the Grass’ or ‘No Squids Allowed’!!!

You see back home you could have a face of a bulldog chewing a hornets nest look’n like you fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down… but in a Service Uniform it didn’t matter… Every dame hotter than a goat’s ass in a pepper patch would be rubber neck’n to get a look your way… it’s enough to make you happier than a hound dog with two peckers! There’s nothing like being home all gussied up in your crisp Crackerjacks or favorite pair of Dress Whites!!!

Of course the kinfolk would say…

“The last time I saw you, you were knee-high to a grasshopper… boy how you’ve grown!”

But some of them hometown gals were look’n for a real man to take them away… added with a bit of flam basted Sea Story gibberish… a ‘Crackerjack’ on a fourteen day furlough might be a good catch!!! Nothing like sweet talk’n the honeys when you got home about a life of wonderment and adventure… hell they didn’t know any better! It’s one of the reasons why passing the art of tell’n Sea Stories from one generation to the next is so important… so us ‘Crackerjacks’ can cook stuff up so full of wonder and amazement that anything wear’n a skirt and laced panties would fall in love in a New York Minute!! Because everyone knows that any Squidly-Do-Right who can’t tell a Sea Story is about as useless as tits on a bull!!!

The truth is… it ain’t really lying… but just stretching out the truth a bit! You know what they say…

“It ain’t bragg’n if you done it… as long as you can back it up!”

Well after twenty-three years I can surely back it all up! But at nineteen… twenty years old, you’re still wet behind the ears and don’t know shit about shinola!!  It’s funny how the horse crap you spoon fed the gals was inversely proportional to the crazy shit you fed your buddies!! Try tell’n a gal back home about the Tijuana Donkey Shows and the Girls in Thailand and she’ll skedaddle the other way quicker than shit... But the boys… they love that shit... they'll smile and look at you all amazed like a baby in a topless bar!!!

No the ladies liked to hear about the adventures of heroism and exotic places like Tahiti, Hawaii, France & Italy! But anyone who knows me well can attest to the ‘V’ shaped scar on my right leg… an ugly son-of-a-bitch it is!  To the ladies as the story would go…

“One of my shipmates fell off the portside and I had to jump in to the deep blue and rescue him from the shark infested waters… and that’s when this big tiger shark came in and clamped down on my leg… it was at this time I pulled out my trusty navy issued bowie knife and sent the critter to the bottom of ‘Davey Jones Locker’ as fish food… courtesy of the US Navy!!” 

Of course that’s a load of shit… but when you’re home on leave and in the backseat of her Daddy’s 88’ Olds… you ain’t even gotta wear the tits off the tires and she’s ready to do the horizontal mambo with the sexiest man alive!! And to the fellas who didn’t know any better…

 “So there I was on the streets of Olongapo in the Subic Bay of the PI… After a night of exasperated sex with the hottest bar girl in the land I was off to find another… when she pulled out her switch-blade and accused me of butterfly for not being faithful… and that’s how I got my War Wound… One Hundred-Thirty Six Stitches later!!!” 

And on and on the stories grow… nevermind the one about the stolen ambulance riding into town to pick up hookers and beer…  or how Seaman Smith Jumped out of a three story window of a cathouse butt nekkit to evade the shore patrol… and other gold plated bullshit stories concocted by the best minds this ol’ Canoe Club could muster!  Don’t bullshit me… if you’re a salty ol’ goat then your guilty as hell… we’ve all been there and done that!! Anything it takes to get down a young fawns shorts… never too big for one’s britches to think too highly of themselves… cause we were young and full of sexual angst!!!

More lies got told than any other time in your chronological history… no such thing as the gospel truth… and hell your parents… you didn’t even have to lie to them… just tell them what you do and they’ll embellish the story tenfold!! When I became a CIWS tech my Dad went around tell’n everyone how I was in charge of the fasted gun in the fleet… whatever the hell that means… and when I became a Tomahawk Tech he told everyone I was in charge of launch’n the Tomahawks into Iraq and Afghanistan… and I remember when I told him I made Chief he told the whole damned town I was Chief-of-the-Boat!! Now I’m retired and build rockets and he tells everyone I’m a Chief Rocket Scientist… I love my ol’ man… he really means well!!!

But when you’ve been around the world and seen the things I’ve seen… sometimes truth is stranger than fiction!! I’ve seen several nekkit ladies in the Phillipines, and their titties ‘Do’ have looong nipples… sometimes an inch or two looong… No Shit!! And there really are real live lady boys in Thailand that could make most women jealous… all over the gaudamned place!! And I’ve really seen Go-Go dancers shoot darts outta their cootchie-lala and hit a bulls-eye from ten feet away… No Futher-Mucking-Bun-Of-A-Sitch!!  And I’ve drank stuff that tastes like thirty year old turpentine and made me feel like a floor story tenant in a two story outhouse kind’a shit the next morning!!!

But at the end of the day we spent more time chipp’n paint… buff’n floors & shining brass than living those adventures around the world we tell you about! I couldn’t tell you where the mundane boredom stopped and ‘The Little Golden Book’ stories started… if I did it would be ‘Classified Information’ and I’d have to kill ya if I told ya!!

Ha-ha… it reminds me of that joke…

An Army brat was boasting about his father to a Navy brat.

"My dad is an engineer. He can do everything. Do you know the Alps?"

"Yes," said the Navy brat.

"My dad built them."

Then the naval kid spoke:

 "And do you know the Dead Sea?"

"Yes."

"It's my dad who killed it!"