"Good Ol' Boys and Good Times"

Anyone out there leave the Ol’ Canoe Club with a seabag full of memories? I just spent an hour today on Zoom with a group of ol’ shipmates, and I do mean old, from back in our Rainier days. Boy the cobwebs got cleared off the Rolodex of memories didn’t they boys?!?

Our conversations went straight from happy to see your faces shipmates to right down the drain where all our shenanigans rest with the whale shit. We talked about how Jack Daniels was one of our most admired people on the planet, or that waking up in somebody else’s rack other than your own butt nekkit, or being so drunk you pissed on your own Birthday Cake!

And for all you chubby chasers and fatty fans, there’s that time a couple of the fellas hooked up with some lesbians and one of the boys got the fat girl …

“Why is it me that always gets the shit end of the stick?”

“All I know is I looked over and you had a 44-triple-D stuffed in your mouth!”

“She was so big we could use her as a decoy for a whaling ship!”

I wasn’t there, but from what I gather she really tipped the scales. But as they say, big girls need loving too and they love to do the horizontal mambo! I’d given the first ten pages of my address book to have seen that!

“Man she was hairy too! I was so entangled in her thick rug it was like wading waist deep in a grass prairie on a wet soggy day! I swear I tripped over a piece of the last guy’s crank armor!”

“What about that buck-toothed gal that used to work in operations? She was so ugly she’d make a freight train take a dirt road.”

It doesn’t take long for a bunch of shipmates to start talking like a sailor once again after twenty-five years apart. Listening to our conversations you’d swear a one-celled amoeba had a greater IQ than the bunch of us put together…

“I don’t remember it that way… I told her I was gonna shampoo my pubic hair with her saliva.”

“Yeah, remember that gal you went home with on Halloween and her Jack-0-Lantern on the porch had more teeth than she had!”

At the house I think there was a sign above that said “Liqour in the front, Poker in the Rear!”

Then we recalled one night when one of our shipmates we’ll just call “Jeff” was so blackout drunk at the surfer soaked Garnet Strip in Pacific Beach, San Dog, he was on the dance floor at Moose McGilllycutty’s swaying back and forth staggering up behind some cute little Mexican Chica and grabbed a handful of ass. She was there with her boyfriend and about six or more Cholo gangster look’n fellas that were ready to take us all down. If it weren’t for the meaty sized bouncers I don’t think we would’a made it out alive!

Yes, our exploits may be the best evidence to constitute we did not descend from monkeys, but have not yet ascended to them. But hey, at least we never got hung from the yardarms. Here’s to the days of our drunken power fantasies … sucking down suds and getting capsized drunk doing stupid shit Darwin warned us not to do!!!