" Navy Sex Pills "

I found this ad in an old girlie magazine and just had to pin it here for your enjoyment. This is too rich!

( Fin )

" MEPS "

 

I’ll never forget the day I showed up at MEPS. I arrived at the entrance as they scurried me away to the medical facilities. The nurse took one look at me and said…

“Okay, Buddy, you’ll find a seat on the other side of the swinging doors.”

Before I knew it, I was getting a physical. They put me on a table and covered me with a white gown that had my ass hanging out the back end. As I sat there, the room filled up with several other prospects joining different branches of the service. An old codger of a doctor walks in, walks up to me and covers my face. I said …

“I’m not dead. I just want to join the Navy.”

… To which he said …

“Okay, jump up and down on one leg.”

So I jumped up and down on one leg. Then they started to examine me. What an examination it was… as they put a Doctor at one ear and a Doctor at the ear, look through your head to see if they can see each other, if they can, you out … disqualified! Then the Doctor said to me …

“Do you believe in the hereafter?”

“Of course I do, Doc…”

… He said …

“Good, from here on, you’ll need some faith!”

Then they sent me to see a classifier… the one who helps me pick out my job. I was to become a Firecontrolman.

“What the hell is a Firecontrolmen? Do I put out fires?”

“No actually quite the opposite. You start them.”

And ever since I had told family and friends that I joined the Navy to be a fire starter. You’d never believe the looks of confusion on their faces.

I went to ‘Great Mistakes’ for Bootcamp. Never did I realize just how great the barracks would be, with tiled floors that we stripped and waxed on a daily basis. That’s a lot of wax … and I learned about buffer rodeos too. Then there was the Navy Chow! They say nothing is too good for the Navy, and that includes the chow. Because that’s what I ended up eating… nothing. After eating that food I finally found out what G.I. stands for …

“Got Insurance?” 

( Fin )

" US Navy Coffee "

Coffee to a sailor is the nectar of the gods. A Navy Sailor cannot function properly without coffee. Navy Sailors must retain a three to one ratio of coffee to blood to keep from going absolutely crazy.

There are many ways to have coffee … Regular, Black, and Midwatch Brew. Regular is using the prescribed amount in the coffee maker in accordance with the manufacturer’s instruction, poured into a cup with sugar and cream.

Black is done in the exact same method using no cream whatsoever, with sugar optional.

Now the Midwatch Brew, use two to three times more coffee than the manufacturer’s specifications and let it sit brewing for a minimum of two to four hours. This coffee should be thick, bitter, and strong enough to wake the dead. Navy Sailors coffee ration should be regulated to two to three pots per day. Over caffeinating a Sailor may result in longer than normal work days, longer than normal sea stories, and restlessness.

Coffee was created by combining the tears of a Food Service Specialist, the shrieks of a Yeoman, and the fear of green recruit seamen. Early Navy Sailors used these ingredients to make a tasty stimulating drink. Boatswain Mitch Coffee was the inventor of the drink in which it is named. Sailors from ancient Columbia cultivated the first coffee beans in the mountains and later sold the plantation to a Mr. Juan Valdez, so that Navy Sailors could focus on other things like drinking it.

The more you know … 

" The Ship with the Flat Tire "

 

In “The Ship with a Flat Tire” we live the misadventures of the U.S.S. Carnation, a ship named after the prohibitionist Carry Nation. Carnation is an Auxiliary Submarine Support ship, (ASS-1), converted from an LST and used to deliver torpedoes to submarines at sea. As for the rag-tag officers and crew, they play a similar likeness to the television series M.A.S.H.  There is, for instance, Commander Nord, who has fourteen children, each named after a ship type or naval station. His Executive officer is Lt. Albert Armageddon Schwetzbaum, whose consuming ambition is to create a public Image for the Carnation and take credit for the ship's Navy Bean Soup recipe Contest. (Winner of the contest is Lt. (jg.) Allison, a peanut butter maniac, whose recipe includes, of course, peanut butter. The central figure is Ensign J. Roger Westbury. The Carnation, whose missions may include the transportation of space monkeys, is under threat of imminent decommission from the service. When the ship is finally ordered to cruise down the Carolinas, it has to head back to port because a rubber inner tube used as a substitute shock absorber for the clutch assembly blows flat. It’s a good read I recommend for those into ol’ Canoe Club humor! 

“A Few Good Leaders”

 This is taken from an article from thirty years ago that I cut and pasted together to fit today’s government and military. I hope you enjoy…

It is the year 2027, and a top-secret meeting is going on at the White House…

“What do you have for us?”

President Brandon asks Admiral Drag Queen, chairperson of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

“It is not good news, Mr. President,”

… Admiral Drag Queen reports ...

“One hour ago, India and Pakistan exchanged nuclear warheads. Delhi and Karachi have been obliterated.”

“Anything else?”

… President Brandon asks while stifling a yawn …

“Forty-five minutes ago, Israel was attacked by Scud missiles carrying deadly concentrations of VX nerve gas. The damage is extensive. And 30 minutes ago, China took out the island of Oahu, including the city of Honolulu, with nuclear-armed cruise missiles launched from one of its newest submarines.”

“Do you know aloha means hello and goodbye?”

… President Brandon says, smiling …

“I learned that yesterday.”

Admiral Drag Queen clears her throat …

“Fifteen minutes ago, the European Union moved huge numbers of its troops into the Ukraine. Russia is responding as we speak with chemical, biological and nuclear attacks on all our NATO allies. The alliance is in tatters.”

“Finally, we get to do things our own way.”

… The president says.

“Mr. President,”

… Interjects Ned Truth, director of the FBI,

“Domestic terrorism continues at a high rate. Last night some powerful bombs exploded in downtown shopping districts in Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles. White Supremacy is our greatest threat!”

“Speaking of terrorism,” says Regina Sweetness, director of the CIA, “we lost track of ten tons of plutonium that were being shipped to the U.S. from Ukraine, and the Jalisco Cartel has been known to be hoarding 16 hydrogen bombs and an Aurora II aircraft-delivery system, is on the loose again somewhere in Latin America.”

There is silence in the room as the news Is considered. Then President Brandon speaks up …

“Is that it? Don’t we have any problems besides this boring stuff?”

Army General Jack Pansy Ass raises his hand …

“I thought you would never ask,” he says. “First of all, God bless you, Mr. President.”

“And God bless you, General.”

“Mr. President, | am handing you files on the Army’s top leadership excluding myself with the suggestion that these people be relieved of command immediately.”

“For what cause, General?”

“Sir, all of these men and women, though good warriors have committed some kind of indiscretion against Democracy.”

“Consider it done, General.”

… Says President Brandon ...

“We can't have bad people leading us.”

… He pauses …

“Well, we'll have to rely on the Navy. What is your readiness status, Admiral Drag Queen?

The admiral blushes…

“Mr. President, the Navy is undermanned and we need money.”

“What?”

… The President exclaims …

“The Navy is unavailable.”

President Brandon turns to Air Force General Michael Inclusiveness …

“What about you and your troops, Mike?”

“Mr. President, before I answer that, I have just been handed the news that Istanbul, Turkey has been destroyed by a space-based weapons system.”

“I understand,” says the President, “but what is the Air Force's DEI status, General Inclusiveness?”

“I guess you don’t remember, sir. Executive Order 6969. Otherwise known as the ‘Flyboys Can’t Be Pie Boys and Fly chicks Can’t Be Quick-Fixed’ decision.”

“I signed that document,”

… The president says …

“Executive Order 6969 says that any personnel who do not fit in the parameters of Diversity, Equity or Inclusiveness are to be grounded until further notice.”

“Yes, sir,’

… General Inclusiveness says…

“But there was also Subparagraph Four of that order, which wiped us out.”

“The ‘No White Male clause? The ‘No Conservative’ priority?”

… President Brandon asks ...

“That section grounded most of the Air Force?”

“Yes, sir.”

President Brandon glowers in frustration….

“All right, where is the commandant of the Marine Corps? General Fidelis will take care of our problems immediately, if not sooner.”

“Sir, there are no more Marines!”

… Reginald Integrity, the National Security Advisor, discloses…

“We had to disband them.”

“The leathernecks? Disbanded?”

“Yes, Sir. Remember the Schroeder- Steinem-MacKinnon Report? It said all Marines are bad people, by definition. The USMC was classified as the most sexist, racist, fascist, and horniest military service, bar none. So you said it had to go.”

President Brandon stares out the window at the Rose Garden for a moment …

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, “we need highly progressive military leadership. So let me show you my role model for the ideal commander.”

There is a gasp in the room as the president holds up a large photograph of a well-known historical figure …

“This man was as pure as the driven snow in all the ways that matter.”

… The president says ...

“He was a vegetarian. He was basically nonsexual. And this is the key: He was totally faithful to his wife during their marriage. This man should be our symbol of a most progressive military command.”

Reginald Integrity frowns ...

“Mr. President, that man didn't marry his mistress until World War Two was ending. The wedding was held in an underground bunker in Berlin. The next day, he and his bride committed suicide before the Russians could get to them. He never even had time to cheat on his wife.”

“Well, Reggie, you may have me on a technicality, but you'll have to admit that for whatever reason, this guy never committed adultery.”

… President Brandon says while smiling ...

“And when it comes to the highest standards of military leadership, that is the only thing that counts.”

( Fin )

“Waterlogged Logbook of Foolhardy and Forgotten Sea Battlers”

 By - Bruce McCall

 “Poland’s Sub Goes Glub”

Poland succumbed just a tad later than most nations to the epidemic of submarine fever that engulfed the navies of the world around the turn of the 20^th century. Twenty-three years later, to be precise, a large explained by Polish Naval Chief of Staff Pzdyndzk as the consequence of forgetting to renew the defense ministry’s subscription to Jane’s Fighting Ships in 1901 and prodli plap dzynubi,(“just plain missing out”) on world naval developments ever since. But then Poland awoke; a subscription to Jane’s was fired off. Within months, submarine fever gripped the Polish naval soul.

Now all Poland needed was a submarine. The used-sub market proved a bust; those submarines not lost in a devastating World War had since been broken up under terms of one or another disarmament pacts. By 1924, a good used one-owner U-boat was not to be found. Poland must build her own, just as Poland built her own steam-powered aircraft in 1917.

A vigorous research and test program followed; the 16 citizens who had them volunteered their bathtubs and hundreds of individuals participated in exhaustive underwater trials. Who can forget citizen Jerzy Sdudz of Zakopane, who set an underwater record of better than 23 hours, and whose widow still treasures the medal brave Jerzy posthumously earned? And what of the student body at Krakow’s Polytechnical Institute who performed the painstaking task of scaling up a four-inch kazoo to 88 feet of gleaming, full-sized sub?

At last, the big day came the dockside scene, a glitter of pomp and circumstance, Polish style. One token crash dive, then Poland’s pride and joy would surface and head out for sea trials. Or … would it? The dive was flawless, but eight hours later the band still stood poised. Dignitaries squirmed and doubts dawned, but the Prime Minister’s eulogy one week later was upbeat.

“Popli, Polski!” it began … “Good try, Poland!”

And went on to stress the importance of all Poles banding together to design and build a truly modern lug wrench.

 

 “Plucky Ecuador’s Daring Bluff”

It all began when Colombia violated the 1908 Jute Treaty with neighboring Ecuador by dumping her jute production on world markets at rock-bottom prices. Six months later, in the spring of 1941, Ecuador’s jute industry faced ruin, and out of the bedlam on the floor of Quito’s Jute Exchange rose a cry for justice. Colombia must pay reparations! But Colombia, under the iron heel of Generalissimo Lopez “Iron Heels” Lopez y Lopez, was in no mood for conciliation. Quite the opposite. Claiming “intolerable insults,” Lopez demanded free passes on Ecuador’s new railway for all his military officers.

Rather than comply, the proud Ecuadorians blew up the railroad. There was no invasion as Ecuadorian roads could kill a man. Tensions mounted, then Ecuador acted. Colombia’s coastline would be blockaded; the naval embargo would throttle her into a more reasonable state of mind. An Ecuadorian blockade? Generalissimo Lopez scoffed. What would Ecuador do for a navy? It is not recorded what Iron Heels said a few days later when aides puffed into the presidential mansion in Bogota with stunning news. Hundreds of Ecuadorian ships were sitting offshore in a line that stretched farther than the eye could see! His words, happily, are lost to posterity, but it is known that Lopez quickly ordered Colombia’s fleet, the pocket battleship Conchita, a converted banana boat, home from a two-year goodwill visit to Havana, with orders to run the blockade. A gesture was better than nothing to the honor-conscious Latins; indeed, it was everything. But even the gesture came to naught. One sight of that forbidding string of Ecuadorian sea power fronting the coast of his homeland and the Conchita’s Captain paled. A few token barrages from a good safe distance and Colombia’s sole sea-born sentinel streamed away on a goodwill visit to New Orleans. Months dragged by, increasing Colombia’s hardship and her strangled economy. Army colonels mumbled junta. Tons of unshipped and unsold jute lay rotting, or whatever jute does, on the docks. Ecuador’s own just industry revived, then flourished and nine months after it began, the blockade ended. There it has remained, a sacred symbol of the chutzpah of a doughty nation. And to this day in Colombia, anybody caught building or displaying a cardboard cutout of a ship is shot on sight! 

“SWASHBUCKLERS OF THE SEA, BUCKLED IN ONE SWASH”

Gleaming cannon mingling with fluttery awnings, the fighting summer yacht Tanya Chebovka Smirbovka plied the limpid waters of Lake Gnip in the restless summer of 1909 on a double mission of pleasure and vigilance. Pleasure because Lake Gnip was the summer playground of Czar Nicholas’ court; vigilance because not even a yacht was safe in these parlous times from attack by the anarchist Bubkin Clique. Hence an armed pleasure craft. But it was no use. Engineering dropout Bubkin merely waited for the Tanya and her cargo of aristocrats to reach the middle of Lake Gnip—then drained the lake, liquidated his trapped victims, and made the beached yacht his headquarters. But no use again; days later, czarist police reflooded Lake Gnip and surrounded the refloated Tanya with armed punts. The hapless Bubkin and his henchmen were nabbed high and wet.

The USS Mrs. Millard Fillmore carried a crew of nine and one giant Mode-O-Tone table radio, left over from an exhibit in the Hall of Sparks at the fabulous 1933 Chicago World's Fair. Entertainment was her mission; the fleet was in and “Mrs. F.” was on, serenading American gobs. The Pugh Custard Harmonica Hour or Church of the Air —no sailor could escape the ubiquitous Mrs. F. and her high-decibel jollity, blaring across the water for more than a mule. From Pearl Harbor to Panama resounded that unmistakable din. Not even gunnery practice brought relief. The merry-making marauder of the U.S. Navy was unstoppable—until one fateful August night in 1936. Nobody knew which ship sneaked up in the dark and rammed Mrs. F., tying up her tubes forever; but the immediate scramble within the fleet to claim blame was, to say the least, unseemly.

Water-borne man has dreamed of the unsinkable ship since the day he first capsized. And ever since Nazism first sur- faced, Hitler’s minions plotted to put the idea afloat for the perverted purpose of war. Thus was born one of the Third Reich’s most diabolical secret weapons: the heavy cruiser Graf Himmelfarber, with her ingenious reversible hull. Ach, let the British swine tear her to bits below the water line; the Graf would simply roll over and start on another hull while a team of experts patched the damaged one. Let the English scum riddle her again; over she would roll once more. She had just been launched when a workman fishing off the bow caught a carp; little did he realize that his “catch” was, in fact, one more Nazi trick, a bait-seeking torpedo dis- guised as a fish. Up with a roar went the Graf Himmelfarber. Down in flames came another of Hitler's evil dreams.

It was more than just seagoing lingo when tars aboard H. M.S. Contagious were summoned up to the bridge. Much of this cast-iron leviathan of the sea lanes was a bridge over England’s scenic River Wumble until 1923 when dire flaws in the navy's new Fitz & Blithery Sea Mouse carrier biplane fighter called for drastic cures. The defense ministry saw the bridge as just what it so desperately needed; its arched structure was the key. By giving the plane a rolling downhill start, that steep forward deck did what a 91-hp engine couldn't ... got it airborne. Success? No, disaster, for aviation’s unbending rule says that what takes off must sooner or later land. Sea Mice by the droves took off without a hitch. Sea Mice by the droves landed, rolling uphill on that steep aft deck, hesitated, stopped . . . then rolled right back down again like stones into the sea, kerplunk! Bad show, gentlemen.

“Albania Girds for Four-Way War”

What did it matter that uny Albania was not really men- aced from all four sides, so long as tiny Albania thought she was? Enemies were everywhere the keyed-up Albanians looked in 1927, and they looked everywhere: to the north and Yugoslavia; to the east and more Yugoslavs, not to mention Romanians and Bulgarians; to the south and Greece; and west lay Italy. Some called it Balkan paranoia, but the Albanian naval chief of staff, Admiral Luhixu, called it an emergency. The country went on round-the-clock alert, or as much of an alert as Albanians could summon. The air force flew himself into exhaustion on patrol. And the unique destroyer Abnax Nerpi was christened—four times, once for each of her quartet of prows. What a master stroke for a nation whose pinched purse allowed only one man-o'-war yet who had to defend herself in several directions at once! Here was a ship to blast the Yugoslavs closing in from the north while broadsiding the Romanians and Bulgarians on the east and spitting fire at the Greeks attacking from the south and still dealing salvos to the Italians in the west. The Abnax Nerpi was indomitable, impregnable—and, alas, un- navigable. In fact, berserk. The over-bowed destroyer took a shakedown cruise and shook herself to smithereens, going down with Admiral Luhixu standing—fittingly, somehow— at what he deemed to be the helm. Fair Albania, bereft of what seemed a brilliant means of defense, was left waiting for the imminent invasions to begin; at last report she still was.

“Holy Imhotep it’s Moving”

The desert heat plays strange tricks on a man’s eyes, but this was ridiculous—a distant pyramid off on the Suez skyline, not just floating in the fierce noonday sun but seeming to move steadily south at a good four knots! Surely, 1t was a mirage brought on by the heat, the lack of water or an extra helping of couscous. But no, it was a pyramid moving steadily south at a good four knots. And not just any old pyramid but the most lethal pyramid ever conceived, something to boggle the wiliest mind of the highest high priest in Imhotep’s temple. It was Imhotep, Jr., the desperate last-ditch gambit of Cairo’s clandestine-warfare plotters. This sly masterpiece of Arab subterfuge may have looked to casual eyes like just another harmless old stone pile—but underneath that au- authentic facade bristled a gunboat load of shot and shell. Come darkness and the Imhotep, lurking in some unexpected spot, would open up on nearby Israeli positions, raining down a hail of Arab ammo. Come dawn and a bruised and baffled enemy would find no gun emplacements to snuff out. Only an empty desert with its ever-constant pyramids. The brilliant ruse worked. Deadly Imhotep's guns flashed nightly and Cairo rejoiced. Alas, the eager Arabs could not leave well enough alone; a fleet of 22 more death-dealing decoys soon studded the Suez. One pyramid, yes; two, maybe—but a traffic jam of pyramids? Something was definitely not kosher. Israeli guns boomed, Cairo’s crafty pyramid club came tumbling down and another Arab jig was up.

“The Day the Banzai Died”

Japanese spies fanned out across the Pacific as the 1930s dawned and the Rising Sun rose. Their orders were clear; Bring home plans of the latest foreign warships; lie, steal, kill even buy anything to help build a modern fighting fleet. The battleship Goto Jairu was one triumph of this sinister espionage assault but a coup that all too quickly curdled into tragedy.

Launched in November of 1936 after a crash construction program and a blaze of publicity, the 1,500,000-ton silver monster puzzled naval savants. She looked to the expert eyeless like an up-to-date battlewagon than some mighty, hellish toy. Was that giant hull really cast in lead, as it seemed? Why no guns? What to make of a battleship with a superstructure of two huge funnels, period? And could a flat-bottomed battleship even float? The Goto Jairu drew awed gasps as she slowly, majestically backed down the slips; but the roar of a million banzais faded and died when she slithered in one long breath-taking slide straight to the bottom of Tokyo Bay. What had gone wrong? Nippon’s lips were sealed, but captured Jap documents squealed; postwar sleuths pieced together a bizarre tale of espionage run amuck. Present in an honored place at the ill-fated launching had been the junior Japanese spy known to Westerners only by his code name, Mr. Nice Boy, a rather dim lad who took up espionage only after failing in an earlier career as an abalone slicer. Mr. Nice Boy had sailed to America in 1932 but misread instructions. Instead of working in a ship in Washington, as ordered, the hapless Jap ended up toiling as an obscure shipping clerk in a Waltham, Massachusetts, novelty-and-game factory. After two years, he suddenly returned to Japan, where his suicide by hara-kiri scant hours after the Goto Jairu fiasco, though little noted at the time, proved the key to everything. Sending a clue in the movements of the shadowy Mr. Nice Boy, investigators retraced his steps in America. And there it was, in a yellowed clipping from the back pages of the Waltham Daily Hue & Cry; the answer to both the riddle of the Goto Jairu and Mr. Nice Boy’s messy end. “Strange Incident at Local Factory,” ran the minor squib. “Officials Baffled by Theft of Mold for Toy Battleship used as Marker in Popular Monopoly Game.” The eager Mr. Nice Boy had done his job not wisely but too well – and Japan’s plan for naval supremacy and world conquest never passed Go! 

( Fin )

"Various South Seas Cartoons"

 For all of you, a quaint collection of South Sea Hula Gal’ cartoons. I hope you all enjoy…

'Tootsie Rolls'

( FiN )

"Shanghai Jones and the Post Mortem Rickshaw Races"

 

Here’s an old short story from a series called the ‘China Sailor’ by O.C. Hand. His work was obviously put together before the Second World War when American Sailors freely frequented the ports of Shanghai, China. I hope you enjoy this little yarn and the adventures of Shanghai Jones and his shipmates as much as I did…

 

It’s a sad thing to have to admit about a friend but there’s no use holding back the fact that Shanghai Jones was always in shoal water with some gal … or gals. We used to puzzle over his fatal fascination for the fair sex and never did hit the right answer. It certainly wasn’t his good looks because he didn’t have any. He was lanky, raw-boned, weather-beaten, and downright homely. But the girls loved him. Maybe it was because he was a bos’n mate. Some of the time we envied him but most of the time we felt sorry for him. The wimmin just wouldn’t leave him alone.

One chilly October day our seagoing Casanova, in company with blubber-bellied Tubby Wilson and myself, were cruising down Yeates Road in the International Settlement of Shanghai without a care in the world. Our rickshaw boys were trotting in that mile-eating fashion of theirs while we lolled back watching the ever varied street scenes and hoping that the wild taxis wouldn’t mow us down.

I said just now that Shanghai didn’t have a care in the world and the reason why I said it was that Shanghai had just shaken himself free of his latest female entanglement … or so he thought.

We turned on down to the right to head past the race track onto Nanking Road where we planned a little get-together with some of our shipmates. We were just about opposite the race track when a look of pure terror came into Shanghai’s eyes…

“You, Boy, chop-chop! Plenty chop-chop you get mutchee cumshaw!”

… Shanghai shouted urgently at his rickshaw boy…

“Ah, ah,” chanted the rickshaw boy while putting on a burst of speed, “Ding-hao, me chop-chop,  all light.”

Tubby and I didn’t know what all the excitement was about but we told our boys to step out “masque” (never mind) the cost in order to keep up with our shipmate. I might add that Tubby’s boy had quite a time getting upturns, what with the heavy cargo he was shipping …

“Hey, Shanghai! Wait for us. What’s the score?”

… I yelled after the fleeing bos’n’s mate …

“Trouble! Plenty of Trouble! Natasha is following us!”

I looked astern and sure enough, there was a pretty pleasantly plump, but completely infuriated blonde fast overtaking us. No mistake, that was Natasha all right.

Natasha was a former flame of Shanghai’s … a White Russian girl who sold tickets at the Jai-alai stadium in town. She and Shanghai had been pretty thick at one time, particularly as she used to give him some pretty good tips on who might win the Jai-alai matches each night. Lately, though, Shanghai had begun to consider himself foot-loose and fancy-free. Natasha didn’t agree and it looked as if Shanghai would end up with either Natasha or a broken head. A good many of those refugee Russian gals were built on substantial lines and in a free-for-all with no holds barred, I’d have given Natasha the edge on almost any bos’n’s mate.

Evidently, Shanghai felt the same way because we went careening down the crowded street, even going through a traffic light and getting cussed at by one of those tall turbaned Indian Singh cops. We were in front of Wing-On’s big department store before we stopped and Shanghai leaped to the deck and threw a couple of Chinese dollars at the panting rickshaw boy and disappeared into the store. We followed … and so did Natasha.

Then began a real game of hide-and-seek. Wing On’s was a large store. I guess you might have called it the Marshall-Fields of the Far East, so there was plenty of room for the race. Somehow Tubby and I managed to keep up with Shanghai and squeeze into an elevator just in time to have the elevator door slam shut in Natasha’s determined face. That of course, gave us a breathing spell since she couldn’t know at what floor we’d get off. We decided to go on up to one of the top floors where the Chinese theaters were. You may think it funny that a department store would run a theater, but wait until I tell you that it was three floors of theaters, each floor with half a dozen shows going on at once. Personally, I think it’s a very good idea and one that we could well use at home.

But I digress … we picked out the most crowded show we could find and sat down on a bench in the middle trying to look inconspicuous. The waiter came around and we ordered tea and watermelon seeds. You see, in a Chinese theater, everybody goes for a sort of social get-together. Most Chinese have memorized the plays during childhood and only look at the stage occasionally to check up on the actors. Furthermore, when the most important actors appear, the orchestra consisting of cymbals and a one-string banjo make a big racket. That lets the audience know when they ought to pay attention, I guess. So there we sat drinking tea and chewing on watermelon seeds and every so often applying a hot towel to our faces, another good Chinese custom that we ought to look into, as being quite refreshing.

On the stage, an attractive Chinese actress wearing a beautiful multi-colored gown and a high headdress was reciting her part. The stagehands were wandering around setting up various items. Everything is symbolic of something. One potted palm may mean a whole forest’ one man an army. This saved on space and money and as long as the audience understood the representation, there was no need for more. The Chinese are smart people.

Suddenly Tubby turned and pointed…

“There she is! There she is! All hands take cover!”

… Tubby Roared …

Sure enough, there was Natasha looking intently down the rows of people. Shanghai became very busy with his hot towel. We followed suit with me peeking out of the corner of my eye at our pursuer.

 “She’s seen us,” I whispered as Natasha’s glare came to rest on the quarry.

At that, Shanghai jumped up and dashed forward. He made an end-run around the side of the stage and disappeared, while Natasha came over and joined us.

“Vat ‘av you done weeth my leetle Shanghai?”

… she coldly asked …

We didn’t get a chance to lie to her because just then the stagehands removed a huge piece of painted cardboard from the stage, the cardboard having represented a fortified city. Well, Shanghai was behind the fortified city and when it was removed, there he was right out on the stage looking as though his defenses really were down. Worst of all, the orchestra started a terrific noise as if Shanghai were the local Clark Gable!

There wasn’t much to do except to slip the anchor chain again. Natasha got mixed up in the aisle with one of the waiters, so we got away scot-free and all the way down to the street again.

As we emerged into the open air, Shanghai noticed some rickshaws pulled up at the curb. All of them were empty except on in which the occupant was covered completely with a rickshaw robe, a corpse no doubt being moved from one place to another. Shanghai paused only an instant and then leaped into an empty rickshaw.

He quickly explained …

“Now, I’m going to play dead. You go on ahead and have my boy follow. I’ll cover up with the rickshaw robe and we’ll get the jump on her that way.”

The scheme sounded good. Shanghai covered himself with the robe which every rickshaw carries while Tubby and I engaged two more rickshaws. Then I turned and beckoned Shanghai’s boy to follow us. He didn’t seem very willing, so to convince him I promised plenty of cumshaw for the trip. It was a good thing, too, for there was Natasha and she had spotted us.

Another wild ride followed. I couldn’t be sure whether Natasha would follow us or not, so I urged the boys on. We made an all-time record getting down to the landing …

“Okay, Shanghai, you furl your awning now.”

… I said to the blanket-covered form …

No answer … Tubby and I walked over curiously. We threw back the robe…

“Hey, you …” I started to say and ended up with a squawk.

It wasn’t Shanghai at all but a genuine honest-to-goodness corpse. We were so startled that we didn’t even notice that Natasha was standing by us until she gave a scream of horror. No wonder the rickshaw boy hadn’t wanted to follow us. We had taken the wrong chariot!

“That’s what comes of helping your shipmates,” complained Tubby. Shanghai’s probably gone off with some other babe by now and we’re left holding the … I mean the corpse and Natasha!”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “And furthermore, we better get the deceased back where he came from ore we’ll end up in the brig!”

It was not an ideal situation…

About that time we were attracted to a commotion on the landing. Turning, we saw Shanghai followed by several indignant Chinese locals all headed for us. Shanghai was sweating and wiping his brow anxiously.

“Where’s that body?”  he bellowed to me …

“Natasha’s here, Don Juan; perhaps I ought to say ‘which body!’”

Poor Shanghai grabbed me and Tubby by the arm and shoved us into a sampan then tumbled in himself at the same time urging the boatman to shove off. We shot out from the landing with Natasha screaming Russian explicative in our general direction while the people who had come to the dock with Shanghai were shaking their fists at him. They were obviously the owners of the corpse and would probably calm down now that they had the body once again. I just couldn’t imagine Natasha calming down though.  

Shanghai began to tell us this story…

“When I got under the blanket, I noticed that we weren’t getting underway, yet I didn’t dare come out for a look-see because of the wild Natasha. Must’ve been five minutes before we began to move and I still didn’t dare uncover. Well, we went for about five blocks, and the sopped. I figured it was okay to come out, so I took the robe off… ‘Lord have mercy!’ I don’t know who was the more surprised, me or the Chinese undertakers. There I was right in the middle of a bunch of coffins. The undertakers looked as if they wished they were somewhere else almost as much as I did. I finally convinced them I was alive all right and then they were mad. I don’t blame them either … seems that one of them left the corpse parked outside Wing-On’s telling the rickshaw boy that another man would be along to pick it up in a few minutes. So you ended up with the boy, and I ended up in the morgue. Whew!”

As I said before, Shanghai always had a lot of gal trouble. Yet after the incident, he stayed out of trouble with the ladies for a whole darned week! Yeah, you guessed it … he didn’t leave the ship for a week.

 

( The End )

 

 

 

( Tubby )