"Good Ol' Memories"

I was talking with a good ol’ shipmate friend today I hadn’t seen in something close to thirty years! We were shoot’n the mess about all the sorts of crazy shit we used to do and get away with.  Man we were some good Darwinians weren’t we? There must’ve been some strong selective pressures for stupidity, because we were running the towering circus maximus of grandstands when it came to idiocrasy!

I remember going to medical so many times for bumps, bruises, contusions, piss’n funny colors and hangovers … The friendly Doc on the Chucky ‘V’ was real generous with that ‘IV’ Drip and plenty of 800 Mg vitamin “M.”  They always told us,

“Drink plenty of fluids, take these 800mg Motrin pills and change your socks.”

“Change my socks, why for?!?”

“Because they can stand up on their own next to the nudie mag you got tucked in your coverall pocket!”

With all our dumb exploits, the Corpsmen could cure all sorts of diseases with Motrin. Sometimes they would douse you with chicken blood, mutter some voodoo mumbo jumbo, and perform an exorcism on you … but it was the Motrin that did the trick. It was the cure-all, be-all for pain, injury, illness and ferocious bouts of hurt feelings. 

I got a bump on my nogg’n once.  Didn’t do nothing out of the ordinary, just put my dirty underwear under another shipmate’s mattress and accused him of stealing them … somehow you get a lot of bumps on your nogg’n playing games like that! We were always doing stuff … especially when coming back off of liberty a 0100 hours and waking up the walrus sing-a-long in the berthing. You know sometimes I would get the sudden urge to run around naked while flossing a white towel between my legs letting out the ol’ war cry about group butt sex or some other outrageous howling noise to provoke shock value.

“What the hell is all that racket? You know it’s 0100 in the gauddamned morning?”

There three or four of us are butt nekkit doing a Native-American Moon Dance in the middle of the cruise lounge screaming like scalded dogs as the demon alcohol would strike again!

“You sons-a-bitches need to put some pants on and go to bed!”

“Oh come on Petty Officer Umpty Squat … we’re just having some fun!”

“Yeah, you shipwrecks look like a bunch of bare ass naked Flinstones having a Gay-old-time screaming like gutted banshees with your wankers dangling all about the gauddamned place! Now engage your brains and go to bed … sleep it off … or I’m gonna be on your ass like a fat kid on a smartie!”

“You ain’t gotta hair on your ass!”

“Try me shipwreck!”

You could tell he wasn’t kidding around with all that spittle coming out of his mouth and his eyes red with fire. Our First Class was of sterling character and strict Christian principles. He’d whip you with a yardstick like Sister Mary from the Nunnery if you got too far out of line.

And that was just some of the fun we had in our nautical youth! Dumb, Dumby and Dumber … it’s a miracle I tell you that I’m still alive to talk about it. As much as we hated it, I sure do miss it. It kind of goes with that ol’ saying …

“Yesterday sucked, today sucks, tomorrow is going to suck, and this seems to be a pretty solid forecast for the rest of my enlistment.”

After twenty-three years in the ol’ Canoe Club, I remember it well … and I stayed to the bitter end!!!