Sunday, March 31, 2019

"Tiger Cruise"




An elderly lady was standing at the railing during her grandson’s Tiger Cruise on board a Navy ship holding her hat tight so that it would not blow away in the wind. One of the ship’s officers approached her and said…

"Pardon me, ma’am, I do not intend to be forward but did you know that your dress is blowing up in this high wind?"

"Yes, I know," said the lady. "I need both my hands to hold onto this hat."

"But ma’am, you must know that you are not wearing any panties, and your privates are exposed!"

… said the gentleman in earnest. The woman looked down, then back up at the officer and replied…

"Sir, anything you see down there is 75 years old. I just bought this hat yesterday!"



Saturday, March 30, 2019

"Tijuana Delicacy"





A Drunken Sailor was down in Tijuana in a local restaurant drinking after a long day of roaming around good ol’ Mexico!  While sitting at the cantina sipping on a Tequila, he noticed a sizzling, scrumptious-looking platter being served at a table across from him. He asked the waiter …

“What is that you just served?”

… The waiter replied …

“Ah Senor, you have excellent taste! Those are bull’s testicles from the bullfight this morning. A delicacy!”

The Sailor though momentarily daunted, said …

“What the heck! I’m game to try anything, bring me an order of those!”

The waiter replied …

“I am sorry Senor. There is only one serving per day because there is only one bullfight each morning. If you come early tomorrow and place your order, we will be sure to save you this delicacy of the day.”

The next morning the Sailor returned, placed his order, and then that evening he was served the one and only special delicacy of the day. After a few bites and inspecting the contents of his platter, he called the waiter and said …

“These are delicious, but they are much, much smaller than the ones I saw you serve yesterday!”

The waiter shrugged his shoulders and replied …

“Si Senor, sometimes the bull wins.”




Sunday, March 17, 2019

" A Gal In Every Port "


Moms and Dads, lock up your doors and hide your daughters … the fleet is in town!  Any young lady within a fifty mile radius of port of entry were never safe from a sailor who had been out to sea for any amount of time.   Swabs were like a pack of hungry pit bulls chasing a pork chop as soon as they saw women for the first time in months!

Why wouldn’t they? When a sea going Crackerjack just spent a month at sea stone cold sober, working sixteen hour days, his most intimate moments were on the shitter with Rosie and her five marry sisters and a filthy nekkit lady magazine that’s been passed from shipmate to shipmate … just don’t get the pages sticky! There’s nothing like being out at sea crammed into a testosterone fueled compartment with no contact with the outside world to make you a bit untamed.

“Me hair is made of hemp and me clothes of seaweed … I’m as hard as I am as I are … aaaargh!”

That’s the spirit, I always say.  You tend to go feral with poor eating habits, rude sounds from strange orifices and a gape in your step we call your ‘sea legs!’  We were steeped, boiled and drowned in stupidity all those years. I suppose you could say we thought with the wrong head more times than not and that often lead to precarious situations.

And though we weren’t known for being debonair like a traveling Casanova, we could crack you up with the hook of a joke we’d honed to precision after endless night watches.  We had a certain sort of allure … peculiar and intriguing with every yarn we would spin of the mysterious storms & sun rises, treasures and faraway places we’d been! And when that lassie at the bar would gaze in the sailor’s eyes … she’d surely be lured through fathoms of charm she could only skim the surface of. 

And in a pub … How many can count the nights of drunken debauchery finding yourself trying to peel her arm off at 0400 hours to make it back to the ship before liberty secured?  What do you do with a ‘Drunken Sailor,’ indeed!  Nothing like the story of the sailor who was ‘UA’ with the Captain’s daughter and found passed out on top of her by Shore Patrol in a blubbering mess!

Yes, a “girl in every port” is a saying for a reason, but it’s not that simple. If there’s anything us Crackerjack Sailors liked more than a girl in every port, it’s having one waiting back home for your return! She’d be waiting joyfully with open arms wearing the dime store perfume and cheap red lipstick! After a passionate sailor promised all those gals eternal devotion, love and romance … it turns out there were more girls than you might think willing to spend their evenings with their panties off for some silly son-of-a-bitch of a sailor … He-He! Those were some days!!!




Friday, March 15, 2019

"Water Tight"




Material Condition Readiness for battle and weather conditions are set aboard US military vessels to maintain watertight integrity and readiness against various threats. There's Condition X-Ray, Condition Yoke, and Condition Zebra, all used to dictate how to "button up" ships.

The names of those conditions were derived from an old childrens' quip,

"XYZ— eXamine Your Zipper."

That’s what they told us in Bootcamp … True Story!!!

" Drop Foot "



I’m suffering from drop foot due to neuropathy after spinal surgery ten months ago! I found this joke rather humorous …





Two sailors meet each other on a pier. Both are dragging their right foot as they walk. One points to his foot and says …

"Persian Gulf, War in Iraq!"

The other points his thumb behind and says …

"Seagull crap, 20 feet back!"


Sunday, March 10, 2019

"Tool Stank"


This week, I grabbed a box of tools at work that brought back a lot of Crackerjack memories. The box was made of yellow plastic and on the inside were a set of multi-colored nut drivers of various sizes. Then it hit me … that smell! The Xcelite tool box has a smell the EPA would confuse with a hazardous waste dump. It’s absolutely stankalicious if you know what I mean.

It brought back memories yes it did. We used these tools quite extensively in the turbo-techno-twidget world of whizbangs and molecular synchro servo umpty squats in the good ol’ Canoe Club! You twidgets should all remember the old Xcelite tools. I remember the first time I’d used these engineering marvels, they had a smell worse than a Motel ‘6’ bathroom after a chilli dog eating contest! I spent a little time sniffing each tool in our unorthodox chaotic toolbox filled with accumulated crap discovering which ones gave off the butt stank! I’m not talking the unwashed rank kind of horrid. But the “something crawled inside a monkey’s ass, stayed there a week and fell out dead and horrid."

After a couple of ships and signing on to a brand new commissioned ship, we got a brand new set of these tools in each CIWS Mount in a big brown briefcase.  I thought for sure, some new tools that don’t stink … I couldn’t had been more wrong. As soon as the tool kit was opened the A/C in the space immediately recirculated the distinct smell of ass that permeated everything once the case was opened.

We tried dipping them in solvents like PD-680 and alcohol to kill the smell … nothing worked! We even poured stuff that made the place smell like a cheap New Orleans whorehouse. Our First Class at the time tried one of them ultra-sonic cleaning machines a time or two but with no luck. I guess the Top Brass figured working with such a high level of stank should develop a level of immunity that could stand up to anything below the level of ground zero in a CBR environment.

There were times you’d be laid out in the back of the shop, with your foul weather jacket tucked under your head taking a snooze until someone opened that God-for-sak’n tool case …

“Who the hells been wearing their skivvies inside out and backwards for the last three or four days?!?”

That smell could knock your socks off and send them running…

The best part was during General Quarters. Each Mount had three or four young Seamen from the Deck force assigned as their Battle-stations. There was nothing like a young crackerjack sailor all sweaty from a hot day on deck with deck gray spattered dungarees and arm pit stains the size of a volleyball.  They’d come in and get in battle dress discussing women’s tit sizes and sex with the fat girl that hangs out at that club out in town. The Mount Captain or one of the other techs would inconspicuously open the Xcelite case behind one of the unsuspected swabbies and …

“Man, what’s that smell? You been scratching your butt?”

… another would say …

“Seaman Jones, you smell like you haven’t used soap and water for two weeks! What, did that fat girl let out the flatulence and you haven’t showered since?”

“That’s some of the foulest air imaginable! Damn!!!”

“What are you a dog? Why don’t you shower after stick’n her in the butt?”

We would stumble around the CIWS Mount acting dumbfounded wondering what the hell that smell was. And the shenanigans would go on as that unsuspected swabby would take big time heat for that nasty smell, and none of the others were any of the wiser.

Yes, those were the days.  Your average civilian would never understand us. They just wouldn’t get it, period!





Saturday, March 9, 2019

"Navy Wives"




A Navy Wife found out that her sailor husband had stopped paying the bills while away at sea. Needing financial support she went to Navy Relief. After the initial greetings the gentleman asked the names of any children she had...

"Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, and Dave!"

… She replied …

"Ten children all named Dave? If you don't mind, how do you ever call them to dinner?"

… He asked …

"I just shout, dinner time Dave, and they all come."

… She said with a smile …

"No... What I mean is, how do you call just one of them?"

“That’s easy, I just call him by his last name."

Friday, March 8, 2019

“The North Atlantic Squadron”




Sea Shanties can come of the naughtiest kind. Send the kids away, send away the easily offended, send away the not-so-easily offended, and then give it a spin. While listening to this tribute to the North Atlantic Squadron, you’ll almost certainly find yourself happily tapping your toes to the most explicit sailor music imaginable. Which is just fine, until you come to the realization that your seagoing salt of a Great-Grand Daddy likely sang these very songs. Then you might feel a bit strangely disturbed. Enjoy …


Away, away with fife and drum,
Here we come, full of rum.
Looking for women who peddle their bum
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

When we arrived in Montreal, she spread her legs from wall to wall.
She took the Captain balls and all in the North Atlantic Squadron.

We were seven days at sea, the Captain took to buggery.
His only joy was the cabin boy in the North Atlantic Squadron.

Away, away with fife and drum,
Here we come, full of rum.
Looking for women who peddle their bum
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

A-sailing up and down the coast, now here's the thing we love the most,
To fuck the girls and drink a toast to the North Atlantic Squadron.

Well, off the coast of Labrador we took on board a floating whore.
We fucked her forty times or more in the North Atlantic Squadron.

Away, away with fife and drum,
Here we come, full of rum.
Looking for women who peddle their bum
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

A-sailing up to Newfoundland each sailor had his prick in hand.
Oh say, my boys, can you make it stand? in the North Atlantic Squadron.

And when our ship is in dry dock the whores around us all do flock.
It's every man unfurl your cock in the North Atlantic Squadron.

Away, away with fife and drum,
Here we come, full of rum.
Looking for women who peddle their bum
In the North Atlantic Squadron.
Away, away with fife and drum,
Here we come, full of rum.
Looking for women who peddle their bum
In the North Atlantic Squadron.
Away, away with fife and drum,
Here we come, full of rum.
Looking for women who peddle their bum
In the North Atlantic Squadron.



Saturday, March 2, 2019

"Tattoos No Longer For Sailors & Whores"


Tattoos with sailors can be traced back as far as the 1700s when Captain James Cook came across the Maori of the South Pacific, and his crew decided to get tattoos as "souvenirs" of their visit. After that the connection between sailors and tattoos steadily increased.




It had often been said that sailors and prostitutes were the only ones that had tattoos and that they'd end up in prison someday. 





Miss Eleanor Barnes of the Seaman's Institute once remarked, "Some people pour out their colorful stories to juries. Others relieve the tension by writing for the confession magazines. The sailor enlists the tattooers needle upon his own body in dull blues, vivid reds, greens and yellows to record the story of his loves and hates, his triumphs, his religion, and his patriotism." Enuf said! 




In the 1940s tattoos saw one of the biggest booms the tattoo trade had known in years. From far and wide, eligible young Crackerjacks were flocking to their favorite needlers with demands for lingerie, skirts, brassieres, fans, bubbles, flowers, and butterflies, almost anything that would cover up a bare spot.



Norman Collins, better known as Sailor Jerry, was a prolific tattoo artist for sailors. During the Second World War in Honolulu, Hawaii, the red-light district was ablaze with sailors and soldiers about to ship off, and in the very center of this was Collins. His skill and prolific work helped make tattoos an art form in America rather than merely a permanent souvenir for drunken sailors.




Since the 1970s, tattoos have become a mainstream part of global and Western fashion, common among both sexes, to all economic classes, and to age groups from the later teen years to middle age. For many young Americans, the tattoo has taken on a decidedly different meaning than for previous generations. The tattoo has "undergone dramatic redefinition" and has shifted from a form of deviance to an acceptable form of expression.




Tattooing has been on the increase: habit not confined to seamen only…



Once the mark of sailors and bikers, body art is now sought after by the fashion-hungry… 




Tattooing has "entered the mainstream" 




Tattooing has passed from the savage to the sailor, from the sailor to the landsman. It has since percolated through the entire social stratum; tattooing has received its credentials, and may now be found beneath many a tailored shirt.





… FIN ...


Friday, March 1, 2019

"Musical Implants"





The Naval Institute has been working on the development of computer chips that store music inside women’s breast implants. 

This is a major breakthrough, as women are always complaining about sailors staring at their breasts but never listening to them…