'The Art of Mooring'

Ever wonder just how much one of them grey hulled Navy ships cost the tax payers? For a destroyer maybe a few billion green backs... maybe?!? You'd a figured with such a large investment of the king's ransom so to speak a lot of extra care would be taken to haul them things into the pier... well you'd be surprised!!!

You see in the Navy we call this exercise the art of mooring! For those of you crackerjacks who never stood sea & anchor detail, it entailed using giant ropes, or what we called 'lines' in the Navy to pull the big hunk of metal to the dock when we pulled in port!! Sorta like tying up a fish'n boat but on a much greater scale!!!

At some point out in the great blue yonder the Skipper figures it's time to call away the Sea & Anchor Detail over the 1MC! At that point the Deck apes all headed topside to the forecastle and all the twidgets and gun monkeys to the fantail!! Once everyone mustered with the Chief, all the 'T' wrenches, smoke floats, heaving lines, and monkey fists were coiled and faked on deck for the up coming evolution that usually didn't happen for another gaudamn three to four hours in the ice cold rain or blistering heat!!!

Once alongside the pier and the word was passed 'over all lines' it became a personal challenge to the manhood of all worthy seaman with a heavie in hand to toss that damn monkey fist straight at the poor son-of-a-bitch idly waiting on the dock! We were lucky not to knock anybody off his keister!! This was the point when all the funny shit started to happen!!!

When I was a young blue shirt on the Bagley my compadres gave me the pleasure of tossing the heavie over to the pier! After two or three tries I finally got the son-of-a-bitch to the other side!! Once the fella on the pier got our line strapped around the bollard my compadres kept yelling to him to dip the eye of the other end of the line once we got it across!! Of course being wet behind the ears I had no gaudamn clue what they were talking about nor did the young fella on the pier!! When he asked... I not wanting to look stupid, told him to drop the line in the water... hence dipping the eye!!!

All those sons-a-bitches just busted out laughing at me! Then the Chief proceeded to chew my ass with veins popping out each side of his neck and explain to me that dipping the eye means reach'n through the noose, grab the line and pull it through the eye so it will fit over the bollard and pull tight!! Of course I didn't live that one down for months!! Who would've thought I'd be the Chief on the fantail one day!!!

Once the mooring lines were over, the tugs and the 'OOD' would maneuver the ship into its ideal position next to the pier! If you recall my story 'Another Bird of a Feather' you'd remember how the shit hit the fan when FC2 Henry caused the bridge to lose control of the ship!! I tell you the gaudamn mooring lines were smoking!! We watched videos in Navy Bootcamp of this stuff... sailors gett'n their legs chopped off at the knees by those mooring lines!! That's some scary shit...!!!

But it's not over until it's over! The point of being a cracker jack sailor is going out to sea!! And most of us young rowdy types were hungover at best if not still three shits to the wind and barely hanging on!! Once while pulling out of Majuro of the Marshall Islands we had just brought all lines onboard and called 'Underway!! Shift Colors' when the tug on our starboard bow lost control!! All of the sudden the ship thrust forward and began to pick up speed...

The next thing I know one of the line handlers was yell'n,

"The ol' man is gonna park her on the pier!"

All the gaudamn natives were running like hell while everyone on the fantail was duck'n down low and hanging on for dear life bracing themselves for one hell-uva crash! And what a hell-uva crash it was!! There was a terrible hellish reverberation of the rumbling hull and splintering wood off the quay wall as the fantail raised about ten feet in the air and it seemed as though we had road the ass end of the ship up on the beach!!!

We were gaudamn lucky the screws didn't catch the quay wall or our happy asses would've been sitt'n pier side in the Marshall Islands waiting for a new screw in the mail!!!

Hours later we were down in the skin of the ship taking pictures of the dented hull poking through the lagging with the 'DCA' saying something of the effect...

"Yep, it's a Destroyer alright!"

To this day I don't know how the hell we made it through that ordeal! From my recollection the Deck Apes said something about the tug capsizing when it lost control... we all wondered if the Navy was gonna have to pay reparations for one tug boat and the whole gaudamn supply of alcohol from the island!! But it didn't matter because the next few days were full of the exhilaration and high of  sweet fresh salt air and fantasies of coming home... the feeling you get that last couple of weeks just before pulling in from a long deployment...euphoric!! Once you feel it you never forget it! Next...

"Look Out Pearl, cause here we come!!!"

“Uniform Flap-Doodle”

I’ve been told being a Navy Master Chief is a complicated form of hedonistic cannibalism! Your sorry ol’ up-tight ass becomes embittered on black oiled coffee only to make meals outta your own kind.

Just the other day as I was checking out of the Navy Base Gym when an ol’ Master Chief stops me while somewhat agitated,

“Hey Shipmate, you know you’re not supposed to be wearing those blue undershirts in the Gym. It’s against uniform regs!”

At first I didn’t acknowledge beings I’m retired, as though my haircut didn’t give it away. After his second heed I replied,

 “Well Master Chief, I’m retired so I don’t think those rules apply to me anymore.”

His response,

“Well if you were a true shipmate then you’d lead by example and wear a more appropriate T-shirt!”

Hmmmm, I just couldn’t help myself at this point!

“Well Master Chief, if the Navy is so full of real shipmates then maybe I wouldn’t have had to buy  this damn blue T-shirt three months before I retired!”

He looked a bit puzzled as I walked off and that was the end of our dialogue. Just another “no shitter” to throw out there… What really chaps my ass about the whole gaudamn thing is that so called blue undershirt wasn’t even an authorized uniform item. Under the guidance of our glorious Uniform Exchange many a sailor bought these blue undershirts for the new Navy Working Uniform (NWU’s)!!! When the Uniform Exchange put them on sale they failed to follow the guidance of the new uniform regulations and sold the wrong kind of undershirt. Apparently the threading of the undergarment is too gaudamned comfortable for our sailors to be wearing so they forced our boys and girls to buy new ones. A waste of money that few young crackerjacks can afford to part with.

Then if that wasn’t enough I read a publication in the Navy Times called “Uniform Outrage” that really got me think’n!! What the hell is the Navy doing anyway? Apparently while the Navy was handing out huge uniform allowances for our sailors to afford this new uniform change, our young recruits in Bootcamp were gett’n the shaft. Yep, you heard it right. Big Navy didn’t have the uniforms to supply the young’ns in their early stages of Naval Indoctrination so they issued the older utilities… kind of a cross between the old style dungarees and a Puddle Jump’n Dress Uniform! To make matters worse, they had no intentions of reimbursing these young’ns and expected them to suck it up… that’s until the Navy’s Big Boss (CNO) got wind of it. Thankfully he set things right.

But I gotta say, why so many damn changes with the Navy Uniform anyway. I must’ve went through a gaudamned gazillion changes over the years and it never made a lick of sense. We already had two different sets of summer & winter uniforms… not to include our dungaroos and coveralls. Now the Navy’s tell tale symbol of the American Sailor is endanger of being phased out. When I joined this canoe club the ball cap was the distinction that made you different from one vessel to the next. Now the ball caps are all but gone. And the Dixie-cup… the internationally recognized symbol of freedom, womanizing, and heavy drinking in far away foreign seaports will soon be found only in the bottom of some archaic footlocker in the back of Grandpa’s dusty ol’ attic… Okay, so you might argue with my moral values… but tell me this, when is naval leadership gonna quite monkeying around in this world of silly fashion bullshit and get the hell back to swashbuckling sailoring?

Is the Navy brass so embarrassed about our uniform they have to change it every damn ten years? Hell, you can’t even wear the new NWUs in public! “Cause it’s a Working Uniform,” they say! If you want to instill pride in these young ladies then you need to empower them and make’m feel good about that uniform they wear. 

Personally I prefer the ol’ white hat cocked down over the brow with that ‘lock up your mothers & daughters’ look about e’m!! If you go to Washington D.C. you’ll find the ‘Lone Sailor’ in honor of our sea going countrymen!! But in the near future you might not recognize his rebellious stance with his hands tucked in his pockets and his pea-coat collar standing straight up in defiance of uniform regs… It’s like the punch line of that ol’ joke with the Admiral and the three generals and the sailor tells the Admiral to kiss his ass and the Admiral says…

“Now that takes Balls!!!”

"For Better or For Worse"

This one goes way back to my days on the BAGLADY……..

Does anyone remember the time when we 'Crackerjacks' had Playboy pin-ups in every locker or risqué pin-up art on the water tight doors of the ship's offices. These were traditional heir-looms of the ol' boys club I first joined back in the day.

The Ol' Canoe Club has changed over the years and through the course of action and reaction I had been forced kicking and screaming to change with it. Nowadays we have a much more "PC" Navy with women sailors as well as officers that either for better or worse it has been obligatory to enter this marriage of the coed fleet with. This never changed the fact that the 'COC' has always been heavily inundated with or influenced by people that could give me orders they don't understand. I've seen it as a Seaman Recruit to being a "Salty" ol' Chief! But ever so often you get a few good ones in the mix who understand the turmoil and psychology of young men in their sexual prime.

I remember a particular time we had a coed midshipmen cruise in the summer of 1989. There were fifteen or so middies from the Academy and the NROTC program riding the ship for a week. They toured, practiced and operated everything under the sun or red lights to get technical but the female middies were the most appealing. I believe there were two or three. We had one up in the MK68 Director one time during a gun firing exercise. It was Ltjg Meyers, the female middie, and myself. As the new and ever so interested young lady she was, we let her man the Director Officer's position while Mr. Meyers showed her the ropes. Now remember, we didn't get many female types since they didn't allow women on combat ships in those days.

So Mr. Meyers sat in the Director Tracker's chair while he explained in detail our riggings so to speak and how we displayed them in this part of the ship. As she stood there peering out the Director bubble I sat behind the now obsolete range finder peering at her curvaceous bubble butt with an erection as stiff as a dogging wrench... pitching a tent completely losing focus with the task in hand. Mr. Meyers was not oblivious to my indiscretions as he put his hand over my eyeballs until she turned to face him moving her ass out of my sights.

Yeah, that Mr. Meyers was a cool cat. He managed to regain my attention and put me back into focus without identifying the results of me testosterone levels peak’n in the midst of our little training session... but what could be expected of a young twenty-one year old sailor in the waft of a lady's perfume and the tear drop shape of her voluptuous curves nearly brushing up against me on every turn. It nearly took all my practical senses to keep me from making any snide remarks or doing anything that might latently be considered sexual harassment! Yep, I carried on smartly and Mr. Meyers and I had a good laugh about the subject hours later!! He was a gentleman but he wasn't queer, and he understood what made young men tick! Perhaps that is why he was such a good officer and a crew favorite!! He was also the Wardroom's selection as the Wog Queen while crossing the line during our 89-90 WESTPAC deployment!!!

Oh, but let it be known, I still tried to take a peak through the buttons of that middie's blouse as she wasn't wearing a t-shirt underneath. Totally unregulation I might add, but I didn't mind as she was wearing a soft pink brazier. I don't think anyone ever corrected her as they were enjoying the sights as well! Us men, we're such pigs!!!!

“It’s A New Year But We Were Young Once”

"Reveille... Reveille... Heave out and trice up. Smoking lamp is lit in all authorized smoking areas.”

That’s the first sound you here in the morning underway when it’s time to get the hell up if you weren't already on watch. I can’t believe 2018 is already upon us. I can still vividly remember waking up at 0500 hours,

“Drop your Cocks and grab your socks, it’s time to get to work!”

I remember thinking during those first days what an awful & dreadful mistake I'd made! How could have I possibly be looking forward to this shit?!? Boy have the times changed!!!

If anyone had told me in 1987 I would look back someday and use terms like "The best years of my life," I’d tell the son-of-a-bitch he needed to see a gaudamn shrink or wack them over the melon with a double sized dogging wrench! Time numbs the memories of frigid miserable nights in chilly wet guard shacks try’n to keep your feet warm next to the ancient space heater unshaven and read’n the carvings widdled in the warped plywood just to keep your gauddamned eyelids peeled back. Or standing the never ending job of aft lookout on a dark ass night in frozen cold rain biding time for that hot cup of coffee on the mess decks after some other poor miserable sap relieved your sorry ass.

Nope, when I look back I can still savor the aroma of ships at sea, third world sewer pits and dirty shithole bars with young iniquitous barmaids,

“Hey you sailor buy me drink? I love you long time no shit! You need horny girlfriend?”

Who could possibly forget the taste of cheap pitchers o’ beer in foreign ports and the camaraderie of good ol’ shipmates from the past! Yes, we were young and dumb and full of sexual angst! Those were the glory days of the past. Hell, I remember that ol' Boss song.... back in high school. One night me and Rob Foster had a discussion about that very song while booz’n it up in our teen years!

Oh, so many memories and stories to tell I don’t have enough time to tell’m all in one sitting. With the slyness of a fox, the genius of an idiot, the stories of a troubadour, the veracity of a bullshitt’n rascal and passions of a Casanova, life has been good to me so far! I think Joe Walsh once whistled a tune to that beat years ago…

I got enough wiley names to overload Noah’s Ark. Crazy animals like Smithee, The Hoz, Marlboro man, Shawn the six foot cockatoo, Skippy, Schlup meister, Dave Macleveen, Wintersteen, Buck ‘Gusto’ Gust, Ricoh ‘Suave’ Hilton, Stevo the Aussie, Jay-Walther, Mike ‘Lawless’, ‘The Sauceman’ Saucier, Jose ‘Yo Quiero Taco Bell’ Rayos, Double “A” Ron, Jay ‘Drunk Ass’ Snyder, Arnold Palmer '9 hole' Niendorf, and if I left your sorry ass name out there’s just too gaudamn many to scribble down over a twenty-two year span!! You guys are all forever implanted into the mnemonic pictures of this ol’ salts crusty ass mind!

The misdeeds of our nautical youth gone wild included booz’n, carousing, chasing naughty girls, moon’n shore patrol, gett’n caught with our pants down, sex on the beach in Waikiki (Hert should remember that one), stinking like a brewery at morning muster, the long lines at medical after PI, and so drunk you end up puk’n in yer boots kinda fun! How the hell did we make it out alive I wonder! I think I left a pair of my skivvies in some shanty lil’ whore house overseas! How many hangovers did we celebrate to the hair of the dog? How many times did we say to ourselves,

“Holy Shit! I’m gonna get in big trouble for this crap!”

What about the bloody marry breakfast club thanks to NC1 or pull’n a certain shipmate out of his rack drunk ass naked and into the shower to get him to work the next day? Or deal’n with the redneck loggers, angry natives and transvestites that made our lives hell on certain occasions! Those will be in future stories to tell! Hang’n out with fellas like these was always a joy. There never seemed to be a dull moment. If we weren’t chasing tale we were always into some mischievous bit o’ trouble.

One of the greatest things about growing up in this ol’ canoe club is run’n into some ol crusty shipmate and reminisc’n about ol’ times! Who remembers Doc pass’n out prophylactics at the brow just before liberty? Those damn things were thicker than the tire tread on a gaudamn freight truck! How many scallywags can ever say they ran down the crooked path of Lombard Street, San Francisco in the dead of night butt naked fueled on a fifth of JD & a pack of Marlboros, pushed over a row of choppers outside a biker bar while yer buddies pulled your scrawny drunk ass to safety! Yep, been there done that!! That's a no shitter……..!!!

Then one day you meet a gal who couldn’t resist the temptation when her cousin told her to stay away cause you're a sailor with a girl at every port!!

Well, it’s 2018 …I’m married with four kids, a respectable job, and a life full of ridiculous sea tales that’ll make your head spin! If I was sitt’n next to myself on an ol’ bar stool listen’n to all my bullshit I wouldn’t believe it either, but all me hardy shipmates were there & they can surely attest to these triumphs & testimonies of an ol’ salt!! We were young and our hearts were an open book…another ol’ song! And our minds and souls are still an epic tale of outlandish memories and beautiful scantily laced women…..oh, the webs we wove!!!

"The Trophy"

Since the individual who asked me to write this story is still alive... possibly owns a rather intimidating large caliber handgun... and almost certainly knows where to find my sorry ass his name will not be mentioned to protect his innocence. However I must add that innocence was never a distinguishing trait of the individual in question!!!

San Dog, California a place called "Tango Lima" or more infamously known as the Trophy Lounge! Its this place on National City Blvd that's been around for a very long time. This establishment is a legendary staple around the 32nd Street Naval Base in San Dog where the clientele & the decor surely haven't changed since 1987. After walking in and paying the $5 cover charge to the ol' Auntie dressed like a gaudamn keystone copper... it's easy to see the place looked like it hadn't changed a wink in the last twenty years.

Walking in there's the musty smell of inferior booze... dim lighting and sleazy women with cheap perfume. Across the way is the disco ball hanging above a black and white checkered dance floor. Watch out when going to use the facilities in back... just above the ol' six foot long pisser stall is a collage of hustler and penthouse cutouts from magazines dating way back to the 1970s'! When head'n to the dance floor the dance moves have stayed the course as well, as you may get pulled into the "Electric Slide" by some gaudamn Filipina cougar!! Noth'n but horny Crackerjack Sailors grinding up on the nastiest look'n ex hookers off Magsaysay Avenue in Olongapo of the Phillipines. All the pretty ones....well they don't ship from the islands anymore so they're all ol' cougar Westpac Widows now!

You see, back in the day many of these Filipina brides were young prostitutes working at a place out of Subic Bay in the Phillipines called Olongapo and Magsaysay was the main drag running through town. It was a Debauchery of beer and hookers which sounds like one of the largest depositories of vice ever assembled by man, perhaps it was but we loved every gaudamn minute of it, like an "Adult Disney Land!"

Inevitably, it seems that many twenty year old wives who spent their entire teens sitting around lurid bars enticing sailors into buying drinks and leasing a bit o' pleasure into their panties marketing true love, undying affection and intimate personal pleasure for the low price of 250 pesos or about $20 American dineros... a little slice of true love with the meter running the boys use to say. Now they do the same thing during the many months that their husbands are away at sea just for the price of drinks and a bit o' dinner at Lourdes after the Lounge closes!

The proximity to the Navy base ensures sufficient lonely men to keep these "WestPac Widows" comfortable for six months while the boss man is away! Other names the Trophy Lounge has been known for, "Home of the Fleet Widows", "Divorce Clinic", and "Adultery Hour".

But don't get me wrong, it's a run down hole in the wall and don't let the name fool ya! There's anything but a Trophy Wife in that place. It's a sultry little racket an them gals will nickle & dime you all the way to the bedroom if you let'm!! It's a gaudamn meat market, no bones about it and a great place if your look'n for a one night stand. Since there've been no more replacements after the Phillipine base closures back in 1991 it's become a top cougar bar in the San Dog area where the women prey on lonely young sailors look'n for a "Honey-Ko!" But being a Sailor from the good ol' days you might reminisce about hang'n out in Olongapo drink'n San Migoo in a gaudamn humid shit hole bar like Top Gun or the Sierra Club, "Hey there Sailor I be your Honey-Ko, you buy me drink! I love you long time no shit!!!"

So if any of you fleet idiots read this and recognize yourself, notice how I tactfully handled the subject with no reference to name, rate, or serial numbers!! Neither was the mention of the itchy dandruff in your crotch them gals gave ya to hitchhike back to the boat with.

Oh, and if you hook up at the end of the night don't go to Lourdes afterwards. She'll bring the whole gaudamn clan and you'll have to pay the tab!!!

  

"THE WICKET"

Once upon a time, In a foreign land just north of the border, somewhere in the Canadian Wilderness there was an iniquitous place called ‘The Sticky Wicket!’ A place infused with rundown charm and youthful mischief with the allure of a culpable party of young swashbucklers pursued by wankered ol’ cougars looking for an easy lay!! Been there twice in a Canoe Club lifetime and it’s always the main stay for young Crackerjacks visiting the Victoria BC!!!

So sit right down and join in as I lose my last shreds of sanity in this ‘No Shitter’ of a tale filled with wild & crazy antics, where Crackerjack Sailors usually low in intelligence, devoid of civility or any good sense come to play! Where the topics of thread’n yarns usually included sports, sex, alcohol, partying, beer, and bad action movies!! These are a group of fellas who never cease to live up to their reputation!!!

Yep… this was the same cadre of crazy bastards from the ‘House’ in a previous story! On another visit, a conspiracy of Crackerjacks & Khakis alike fully partaking in craziness ensued with alcohol and loose talk!! Though probably frowned upon by Navy Brass, it was definitely a place to relax your uniform and let your hair down!!!

I believe it was in 95’ onboard the Rainier ‘Lucky No.7 the first time I made this weekend get away! Only a day’s trip from homeport but seemed worlds apart!! I don’t believe anyone knew what we were in for when we left the ship!! It was the days of debauchery and who better to celebrate with than a few thirsty shipmates!!!

Young, dumb and full of … ‘testosterone’ we looked for nothing more than drinks and sleazy bar scenes! It was as though someone laid peanut shells out like a red carpet for feet to follow!! Everyone would eventually find themselves at this place!!!

The Wicket was home base on liberty and provided every bit of entertainment possible! It housed a nightclub in the basement known as Legends, a game room in the back, a couple of restaurants and pubs on the main level and a rooftop bar and volleyball court… oh and did I mention the hotel so you never had to venture far!! This place was self-contained with lots of character and appeal!!!

I remember a night of Karaoke sitting with the boys and a shipmate known as ‘Brewster’ walked up to the microphone ready to sing not knowing his shipmates had done him in! There it was in big bold letters...

"I Am Woman!"

He suddenly threw the microphone to the ground and yelled…

"Oh hell no!"

Then there was the late night incident when Caldwell hooked up with an ol’ ‘English Maid’ before sobering up to realize… and ditched her in a coffee shop at 3AM with his buddies foot’n the bill!! Thanks again asshole … it’s all good!!!

Remember Goffinet hooking up with that old floozy native woman and renting a room?!? She ended up with Needham before the weekend was over…oh, how she got around!! Then there was the night in Legends where the whole ship’s crew was sexually mesmerized in some euphoric wild orgy!! There were Officers, Chiefs and Blueshirts leaving items of clothing all over the floor that should have covered particular extremities we need not see, but that’s none of your business!!!

It’s what made the stay so mind boggling! This was the first time I left a port and heard the Captain announce over the 1MC…

“What was done underway, stays underway!”

I’m sure his guilt was of something the Misses was not supposed to be acquainted with!!!

Years later onboard the mighty MOMSEN, the Wicket became infamous once again! One particular night around 10pm, after all had been drinking, things got a bit whacky!! Now it doesn't take long for the average person to get bombed out of their mind… but our QMC had so much drunk’n swagger he could barely walk!!!

This was where things got interesting! He started grabbing the young females in inappropriate ways and making rude gestures!! After being somewhat inebriated and talking the shit all night, it led to a full group of groping Khakis explaining themselves to the Skipper!! Even the Command Master Chief was not impervious to such acts of decadence as it may have contributed to his dismissal!! He was sorely missed subsequent to this story, but we all enjoyed his company while it lasted!!!

I honestly cannot think of a single memory I don’t enjoy when looking back on such occasions! As ridiculous and abhorrent to some these stories may seem, these guys were as fun loving and careless as sailors have always been known to be!! There has always been something charming about the delightful creatures we call sailors... they’ll never leave the bars, they’ll always find love and they’ll always be in debt... while the women will love’m, the towns will tolerate them, and our tax dollars will always support their woes!!!

It’s exhilarating looking back at who’s not afraid to shake what their mama gave them just inches from your face! As the last lamenting souls of shame cry out in laughter…

 “The Devil made me do it!”

Have another round and enjoy the rowdiness……

'The House'

Well, I’ll throw another ‘No-Shitter’ your way! It must have been around 1995-96’ while onboard USS Rainier… Good ol’ Lucky No. 7!!  I’ll refer to the place in question as ‘The House’… a little shack just a stone throw away from the shipyard in Navy Yard City, Bremerton!!!

I don’t recall ‘The House’ having an actual genuine name attached to it… though you should’ve been able to earn a ‘Tiffany Bona Fide Ceremonial Certificate’ for taking part in the horse pucky that went on inside those walls! Every drunken degenerate Salt stationed on the Lucky No. 7 paid pilgrimage to ‘The House’ at one point or another!! The Chief CEO, if there was such a thing, could easily have been identified as a ‘Crackerjack’ by the name of ‘Walther’ but from here on we’ll keep names out of this matter of self-indulgence unless some of you would want to be known otherwise!!!

The house was forever full of uncontrollably drunken sailors aided by massive amounts of alcohol and an acerbic amount of stupidity too calculated to be stupid! It was legendary but sometimes dangerous, consistently packed with misfit Crackerjack types committing senseless acts of debauchery to include but not limited to food fights… keggers… beer bongs… drunken karaoke’s… alcohol induced fantasy football… streaking… outside urination… sometimes bed wetting… strip teases… girlfriend swapping… and more!! If you couldn’t get your drunk on and find a way to cross pollinate with the opposite sex, then something was awfully wrong with you!!!

Occasionally those Slap Happy Staggering Drunks would wreak havoc on ‘The House’ in such raunchy and often tasteless proportions that habitability would be called into question while the city code inspector paid routine homage! Drunken Fools would customarily leave physical as well as emotional ruin and chaos in the rearview mirror!! It wasn’t unusual finding Sharpie graffiti on walls… ceilings… undergarments… and the butt nekkit skin of schloberknocked drunkards left on the floor with no defense!! Much of the walls were papered with beer cartons for décor… Budweiser, Bush & Coors… and if empty cans and bottles weren’t modified as ashtrays, they were flawlessly erected as pyramids on various table tops!!!

A smell loomed in the air suggestive of raw sewage mixed with alcohol and sex! It was a complete melee of the senses I tell you!! Mostly vulgar, raunchy, and occasionally scatological but so paradoxically alluring that one could not help themselves to join in on the fun!! Yes, this house was emblematic of what you might imagine on any college campus… but in the ol’ Canoe Club we don’t need fraternities, we make our own!!!

Believe me, this was no sausage party! If you had a vagina there was no need to worry, you were always welcomed!! Many wayward lassies paid tribute to ‘The House’…  some might have been your proverbial exotic dancer… a young college student trying to pay off her loans… or some wild floozy picked up from a local watering hole!! There was often an abundance of scantily clad ladies hanging around, though I’m not sure if legality was ever questioned, at least under the age of 21 (Don’t think otherwise)!!!

You could even witness ‘UFC’ style catfights full on with hair pull’n… crotch kick’n… boob tugg’n & the whole shebang! Sometimes this could lead to tongue on tongue… wet T-shirt kind of ultimate male fantasy if the stars were aligned just right!! If anybody could afford a video camera I’m absolutely certain the Porn Industry would’ve had some strong competition!!!

Just prior to the '96-97 maiden voyage of Ol’ Lucky No. 7, the house was vacated and likely condemned as it should have been! Right before going out to sea some of our not so fortunate shipmates received a court summons for damages incurred!! Damned glad my name didn’t make that list as I recall the reparations reached into the thousands of dinero!! The land scaping was destroyed… chimney wrecked… and the neighbor’s lawn & teenage daughter molested!! The roof was an amusing place to cavort though the shingles were a bit rough on the hind side!!!

It’s rare to see sailors match up to those fellas way back when! The Navy would rather spend its money on alcohol deglamorization programs in hopes to induce a grown up group of boy scouts it has been sorely lacking the past several centuries and get rid of the drunken skirt chasing moniker you see on the Silver Screen!! But they might as well create some fictitious character to do their bidding as Wally Cleaver didn’t join the Navy… I know, I saw him getting drunk at a ‘Frat Toga Party’ in some Midwestern College Campus!!!

So....with all of that shocking wickedness going round, what wasn’t to love about those guys?!?

                                                            Artwork:  Ben Newman