"Terms of Endearment"

In the Navy we have our own distinctive lingo to identify with the world around us. A floor is no longer a floor but a deck. A wall is no longer a wall but a bulkhead …etc. We also use certain terms of endearment to describe our fellow shipmates. “Shitbird” is one that particularly comes to mind! You see, a shitbird is a sailor whose performance is lacking and is generally a long term problem for his shipmates. Down and dirty, “He’s a screw up”!!!

Now I’ve been in this great Navy for a number of years and one thing I can say without hesitation is on every ship, in every department, inside every division and usually within most work centers there is always that one shitbird!! Starting with the Bagley, there was Morrison. On the Rainier we had a few but “Big Nosed Henry” probably topped them all, and on the MOMSEN, of course there was “Goof Troop”. Then there was Driver on the Chucky “V”. It’s not surprising that this term was invented by a bunch of squids. I’ve accounted for a couple of shitbirds in some of my previous tales however, I’m going to discuss the shortcomings of one shitbird in particular in this little yarn.

I wrote a snippet about three months ago on this guy but it never got saved to my notes so I’m going to drag it out a bit as to leave no stone unturned. FC3 Driver was his name and the ship was the good ol’ Chucky “V” between  1992-94!

I was on the Carl Vinson for a couple of years when Driver checked onboard and I needed an extra hand in my CIWS Mount as I was the only man designated in Mount 21. He had a wrinkled shirt half tucked and his boots needed a good shine. From the get-go it was obvious that Driver was a turd that needed some polishing but I’m not a Boatswain’s Mate and Firecontrolmen usually aren’t in the habit of creating shinola from shit. In this rate either you’ve got what it takes or you don’t. Driver was in the backseat with his blinders on, hence the rhetoric insight on the pun Driver…..if you know what I mean.

Carrying on…..Shortly after reporting aboard, Driver was recounting the infinite details of his childhood and how he had been sheltered by his momma. When he got to the ship in Alameda, California he was living in his truck’s camper shell in the fleet parking lot. When asked why he didn’t live onboard he just exclaimed he needed the extra privacy. Well that’s kinda understandable but seems more inconvenient than it’s worth.

As if it wasn't comical enough to which I might add I did not find funny at the time, Driver’s first job in the CIWS mount was to check the water level of the transmitter coolant system. He was to open the fill port and let the reservoir level drop to find how much coolant or glycol he needed to add. Now anyone with good sense would figure to screw the fill port lid back on when finished… but not Driver, no he just turns the system on and watches in bewilderment as the cascade of coolant water sprays al lover the inside of the barbette making a nasty mess! I don’t know if anyone of you has ever had to clean up a glycol mess before, but it’s a sticky sweet smelly goo (basically antifreeze) that gets everywhere and the common rag just doesn’t do the job to clean it up!

Then was the time when Driver was tasked to clean out a duplex strainer to the primary coolant loop in CIWS. This is a salt water strainer that basically has two strainer baskets so one can be used while the other is cleaned … never really worked out that way. We always had to secure the saltwater to prevent leak by….but not Driver, though we trained him on several occasions he still took it upon himself to test this theory. He ended up flooding the whole damn CIWS Mount knee high in salt water ruining several pieces of gear including the diagnostic computer to the CIWS Control Panel…I’m using laments terms for you civilians out there….Later he stated he just wanted to work the strainer the way it was intended to work though we’d warned him on various occasions this would fail! Knuckle head just wouldn't listen.

Now as if that wasn't enough, there was an issue with CIWS Mount 21 while I was on leave that caused the whole Search Array assembly plus the Radome on top to get replaced. For those who don’t understand what CIWS is, imaging R2D2 with a Gatling gun erection….the radome on top as his head!! But getting back to the story….when I came back off leave my LPO and I were climbing up to tweak the antenna a bit. As we opened the Radome we handed it to Driver down below….now the radome is not made of a very durable material, it’s somewhat like a double ply’d egg shell. Driver gets a hold of this thing and drops it upside down on the deck…..there was a half dollar sized indention in the very top center of the radome we had just replaced thanks to this shitbird….

So one day as if this guy couldn’t be trusted to handle the most menial tasks on CIWS, Driver was left to do the weekly inventory of all hazmat we had in our hazardous material locker. Well, you’d think he couldn’t screw this up, right? Think again my friends….he had come across some needle gun lubricant bottles that were unmarked inside the locker. So he asks me, “What are these bottles and how do I inventory them?” So I told him they were PU-55-Y Lube oils and ID-10-T grease. Figuring on this guy having enough sense to put two and two together I walked off and didn’t think much of it…but a week later our Chief comes in to do a spotcheck on the Hazmat inventory from the previous week.

“Who the FUCK wrote 'Pussy Lube' and 'Idiot Grease' in my Hazmat locker?”

Yeah, I got my ass handed to me, but looking back it was well worth it. It’s crazy how he would often do things not knowing how much he screwed up but again generally screwing me over. After that little scenario he was transferred out of CIWS and placed in a gopher division where he could do no harm to any weapons systems onboard. This guy was a real 'soup sandwich' and about as useless as a screen door on a submarine... so he unquestionably held the dubious distinction of the 'SHITBIRD'!!!!

“Crank’n”

In the Navy, on top of the job you enlisted for, you're also expected to be a firefighter... janitor... and food service attendant among many other things. For the first couple of years you're in the indentured servant program. You’ll get paid but it’s pennies on the dollar and you’ll be left to do most of the shit work that no one else is gonna do. But that was to be expected when I joined back in 1987.

There I was on the USS Bagley FF 1069... a tin can as most frigates and destroyers are so affectionately referred too and barely large enough to fit the 280 sailors who called it home. When I got to the ship I was introduced to the job so warmly dubbed as 'crank’n.' Ahhh yes, mess crank’n... before the Politically Correct Circus took over and changed it to Food Service Attendant (FSA). Nearly every junior enlisted gets their hand in at least one three month tour working sixteen long hour days starting bright and early to the smell of cooking grease at 0530 wearing those prestigious serving hats! I should have considered myself lucky as I only had to do 72 days... Thanks to FC3 Morrison and his unsightly acne that kept his filthy ass from working around any food.

There were many jobs you could be assigned to while Crank’n... usually the first job was refilling the condiments on each table... taking out trash... refilling juice machines... and constantly wiping down tables. I hated that job as I was always called upon to be a damn gopher… gopher this, gopher that..etc!! But you didn’t want to work in the Deep Sink... guys would get 2nd degree burns from the water and serious cuts from all the gaudamned sharpies!!! Then there was the wardroom where some typical jackass officer would always leave his shit mess on the table and bitch about his food touching on his plate or some other stupid shit. Most of those assholes got a pube or two in there chow on a daily basis. But I think the most prized job of all was the Chief’s Mess as they always payed a handsome dowry for your worthiness, however I was never fortunate enough to be ordained with such esteem...

Nope, for me I was introduced to bang’n trays in 120˚ temps at 100% humidity!!! Yes, that was the good ol’ scullery... where Igor the Dragon would conveyor all the dirty dishes through a soap and rinse cycle to be rushed back out to the mess decks for another group of filthy 'Crackerjacks' to make them dirty again. But I gotta say I actually enjoyed this job more than the rest. I didn't have to deal with people, and so long as I kept up with the dirty trays and silverware, I didn't get any complaints. Well, there was the exception of the scullery tray window directly across from the Chief’s Mess door. Every time there was a dirty tray left on the lip of the window and the ship took a roll, the door would get a nasty muddle of food flying in its direction. Oh, I tried in vein to keep this from happening, even putting a sign over the window to please put trays over the lip. There was this EW1... 'yelled at him to put his tray inside the lip, so he chucks the damned tray at me! That got my ass in a tail spin... Noth'n worse than being in a losing situation, even if I could have kicked his ass, I would’ve been explaining to the Skipper why I struck a First Class Petty Officer. But I left it alone. Something I had to learn to do quite often growing up in the ranks.

I had the fortunate task of Crank’n while we were on deployment. Yes, it was Westpac 89-90, my first skip across the Pacific Pond. The nice thing about pulling in port for a few days was that I only had to work in the galley every other day. This left plenty of room for some liberty time. Specifically while we were in the P.I. or Philippines for all you land lubbers! The freak’n place was an adult Disney World, but I’ll leave that for another story!! I remember coming in at 0200-0300 in the morning filled to the hilt with San Migoo (San Miguel), Mojo, and Bullfrog just to catch a couple of winks before my drunk ass had to serve chow for the next work day! This was a common occurrence as a Fireman I once worked with was passed out under the dragon with the dry heaves well into the breakfast meal on a certain occasion. I was covering his ass while our Filipino MSCS, Senior Chief Angeles was out on the prowl looking for our drunk asses. I think he got a joy out of watching us suffer in his home port. He knew how us American boys were over there and this was his chance to make asses out of us.

“You pucking mudder puckers better get to work, Sheeet!” I pucking better not catch you pucking off!” I’ll pucking hab your asses!”

Yes this was the typical ranting of Senior Chief Angeles at least two or three times a day. I don’t think I ever saw this guy smile. During the day we use to have the local stevedores come aboard with all of our dry goods and produce. These guys would form a line all the way from the brow to the refer decks passing the goods down below. Senior would always give them handouts along the way. I remember our Mess Deck Master at Arms, FC1 Hodges would get soooooo pissed about this and he’d chase them out of the mess decks. One day Senior Angeles confronted FC1 about terrorizing his stevedores’!

“Why you pucking gib deez guys hard time? You leave them alone. They work for me!”

This pissed FC1 off as he replied,

“I don’t need you as Ali Babba and the Forty Thievedores trampling through the mess decks and stealing all our food!”

Oh man! I laughed my ass off for days! That was one of the best comeback moments I’d ever witnessed. The funny thing was, it put Senior in his place. He never came at FC1 like that again the rest of his tour!!

And they say the Filipino Mafia doesn’t exist! LOL!!!

"San Migoo and the Mojo Too"

Okay, so I promised a couple of yas I’d write a sea story bout the P.I… There’ve been many a tale told and there’s always a familiarity in each of them but I’m gonna give you my side of the story as I’d seen it back on the ol’ Baglady FF 1069 during WESTPAC 1989-90!!!

As many of you know Subic Naval Base has been closed down for some 17 years or more… Probably somewhere in the neighborhood of around 92-93 when President Aquino forced us out! However, way back when, it was the legendary Adult Disney World that every sailor on a Westpac Cruise would unavoidably become acquainted with. This was the home base for all ships once in the 7th fleet rather heading out to the Persian Gulf or sailing from port to port in the South Pacific.

I had joined the ol’ Canoe Club to see the world but never in my wildest dreams did I even think I’d have a run in with a place like this. I don’t remember if it was told to me or if it was just overheard,


“Hitting the streets in Olongapo is like a first grade kid being let out of class for recess….always running to be the first guy in your favorite roadside bar!”


Yeah, that pretty much sums it up as I remember it while leaving the ship and head’n out with 21 peso to the dollar in hand taking a walk across the infamous shit river! By the time I had made it there the bridge had been fenced in with corrugated metal keeping sailors from throwing pesos into the sewage below for kids to dive for!!!


Once in town you could hear the raucous of music and people emanating from the carnal celebration of vendors, discos, bars, and massage parlors that lined Magsaysay as far as the eye could see. As with most liberty ports the aroma of shit lined with a hint of barbeque and jeepney exhaust exuded through the air. Every jeepney driver, salesman and whore on the street would hound you for your services. You had to be careful and make sure you had a tight hold on your wallet as those little shits were masters at the game of pick-pocket.

Yes, from there a cluster fuck of sailors managed their way to their favorite bars. For the cherry boys, it was an opportunity to experience what was renowned throughout the fleet. For the fleet returnees it was reunification with their honey koe or a chance to butterfly with a new set of girls. Yes these were the infamous bar girls who catered to the fleet. For roughly 300 pesos a bar fine could be paid to show Joe long-time or short-time pucky sucky no shit!! Of course a meager tip for her services was usually expected in the end.


Yes these were days cataloged in my journals of long winded debauchery and immoral decadence. In a time when I was young, dumb and full of sexual angst. But I ain’t alone dancing with those memories… rest assured 99.9% of the squids and jarheads that hit the streets of Olongapo know exactly where I’m taking you. He,He,He… There was The Top Gun, Florida Club, Sierra Club, or if you dared to venture into Barrio Baretto or Subic City you might find the Hard Rock or the Rock Lobster to your liking... Whatever your tastes there were plenty of spirits and ladies for everyone!!!


Speaking of Barrio and Subic, there was a game the ol’ salts use to enjoy playing out there. Something called smiles, from under the table….you know what I’m talking about! The first one to crack a smile had to buy the next round!! Yeah, but that game was much too slow for a young lad like myself. But I knew many who looked upon it as sport!!!


Rather you enjoyed the taste of San Migoo, Mojo, or Bullfrog the results were always the same, a full night of unadulterated drunkenness and sexual debauchery! Yes Sir, many a ‘Crackerjack had been dragged back to the ship and put on a drunk watch so as he wouldn’t pass out in his own vomit. It was a menacing proposition that many a sailor would delve into blind and head first. Hahaha!!! And if your ship was import for a few days, weeks or in some cases months, well….sailors were known to go days without sleep just to do it again and again. It's a gaudamned wonder we even survived!!!


I remember a particular night at the Top Gun try’n my hand at “Balut!” Yes, if you’re a Sailor who can stomach this crap than you’ve been in the P.I. for far too long my friend. I could get past the smell but the dead chick inside was just too much. But sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do to impress your honey koe..ha,ha!! But it’s nothing a little Sam Migoo couldn’t wash down! That would be San Miguel for all you landlubbers out there… the particular beer of choice when in the P.I.!! Then maybe a little monkey meat from the street vender. Not sure what kind of vittles those really were but it hit the spot when wandering the streets while in euphoric inebriation!!!


One night while in a drunken stupor I had my fill of liquor and could barely hold myself up but managed to make it to the ramparts of the shit river bridge when this Filipino approaches me in very good English I might ad and says,


“I know you prom on de chip!” Are you going back so soon? I got pamily here. You like to meet dem?


Well we had many a Filipino onboard and quite a few new faces had shown up recently so I figured he must be one of our new shipmates! So I start walking my drunk ass with him down Magsaysay when we veer off into a side road and down a few blocks. He’s telling me about his family and how he can get me things for cheap, cheap here, no worries. Then he sits me down in front of this house and asks me if I want a beer and I said sure. While he went in to get me a beer this ol’ lady takes my hand and puts it in a warm cup of soapy water. Not thinking anything of it, I thought maybe it was cultural or something, I look around and there are quite a few Filipinos standing around looking at me funny. My shipmate comes out and hands me my beer then he says…


“You pay her now! You pay her it not por pree!”

“What are you talking about man?”

“You pay her our I kick your ass!”

By this time I look around and notice that I’m surrounded by about ten or twelve Filipinos and my ass is sobering up real quick! I thought to myself…

“Oh Shit, I’m about to get my ass PUMMELED!!”


So I reached in my pocket and pulled out a few pesos and some centavos… threw them all up in the air as every one of those little bastards looked up… and as soon as they did I charged right through the weakest hole I could find between them and kept running my ass as fast as I could til’ I got to Magsaysay!! There I saw some Shore Patrol and explained what had happened. They ultimately told me to go back to the ship and consider myself lucky I didn’t get my ass kicked!!!


Yes that my friends was “TRULY” a sobering experience. I may have lost a few peso….but I got away with my life…and learned a lesson about street smarts as well!!

But you can bet your Candy Asses I was out there doin it again the next night!!!

HELL YEAH!!!!

"Sailor Beware"

This is a no shitter... There are a lott'a gals in every port! Some small... some tall... some pretty.... and some not at all!! Then there was Chelsea... Chelsea was a 32nd Street regular at the Scuttlebutt Enlisted Club in San Diego! One evening around April of 89'. I was with a few shipmates when she came to the table and asked if I’d like to dance. I didn’t see the harm in such a request as she was somewhat of an attractive girl... could'a lost a few pounds... and I assumed she was Navy and had a few tangles with Navy gals by this time. I tried to stay clear of these lady types as they posed a possible danger to my way of life, you know the ol' saying,

'Don't shit where you eat'...

Little did I know Chelsea wasn’t in the Navy, she was just a Navy dependant or so she said. Apparently her aunt was an Admiral though I never delved into the specifics. However, these were the credentials she used to get on base so I had no reason to doubt it. The fact she was a senior officer’s relative made me a little ambitious in my endeavors to tuck her in that night.

After the bar closed we drove out towards Rosecrans as she was supposedly living with her aunt in that area up by NTC San Diego. Now I obviously couldn’t do the deed at her house so we got a room in a local motel just down the road from base. A seedy place yet cozy enough to do the trick. After a romp in the sack, I waited until she fell asleep and left her at the motel room. I was driving my buddy's car so I had to make sure I got back to base in one piece. Now, little did I know... somewhere in the course of leaving the club that night I must have pointed out the ship to her because she knew exactly where to sniff me out.

The next evening after knock off ship's work I climbed into my rack to catch a few extra ZZZs before going out again for the night. I believe it was around 2000 hours or 8PM for all you landlubbers, and the Messenger of the Watch (MOOW) wakes me and says,

“Hey Swing, You gotta girl on the Quarterdeck looking for you. She brought you some flowers too. She said something about having a good time last night.”

Me thinking nervously...

“Tell her you looked for me but I wasn’t here. She’ll believe you.”

The MOOW looks at me funny...

“Okay!”

And off he went to deliver the message. About an hour later I had shit, shaved, showered and was ready to hit the club again when I’ll be damned if she wasn’t standing at the end of the brow pissed as could be. I said to the MOOW,

“What the Fuck? I thought you were gonna tell her I wasn’t here.”

“I did, I came up and told her you told me to tell her you weren’t here.”

I was so pissed at that asshole. I couldn’t believe he was such a dumbass... and a horrible shipmate at that? Did he just do that shit on purpose? I really couldn’t tell as this guy wasn’t one of the sharpest tools in the shed. I was so dumbfounded... but I had to face up to it. She wasn’t gonna leave until I did.

As soon as I got to the end of the brow she threw the flowers at me and started cussing up a storm.

“What the fuck was that shit? Blah, Blah, asshole, asshole, Blah, Blah!”

Basically the jest of all I heard. I really wasn’t in the mood and so I appeased her and we walked back to the club. I somehow calmed her down and she was buying every bit of my bullshit. But when we got into the club another gal had caught my eye and I wasn’t about to be hindered by this thorn in my side... I simply told her,

“Listen last night was a lot of fun, but you have to understand that’s all it was. I have no need or reason to drag this on any further and I think we should just end this whole charade right now.”

“What? So you think you can just have sex with me and that’s it? Is that all I am to you?”

“Yeah, pretty much, it was just the sex. “

Oh boy, that was a mistake. She proceeded to slap the living shit out of me while the bouncers had to pull her off and force her outta the club. I had managed to put myself in the middle of such a spectacle that I ruined any chance of getting with that other gal. I had to think a bit about what I had just said and regret it.... I couldn’t leave the Club as ol’ girl could have been outside wait'n me down like a scorned woman often does... So I took a seat at the bar and shot the shit with a couple of familiar faces...

"Just curious... you always fuck up like that or are you just trying to amaze us?"

"Hey... You gotta roll with the punches!"

"Yeah, there's no virtue amongst swabbies, we're all fuck'n whores!"

".....HaHaHaHa..." as we all nervously laughed!

Yeah... I had to take my lumps. After all... it was quite a display...  and I learned a valuable lesson about scorned women. Though I have to admit, I was the talk of the ship for time.

Ya Gotta Love us Crackerjacks!!!

"Déjà vu While Manning the Rails"

Remember steaming in to port while manning the rails?!? San Diego… the land of Nautical Navy nonsense and rarely condoned activity… and there we were… the Navy’s finest in all our glory!! We managed quite an attractive curiosity while manning rails on this particular two hour tour of spectacular stupidity!!!

Manning the rails is a method of rendering honors used by naval vessels throughout the Navy! The custom evolved from that of manning the yards, which dates from the days of sail!! On the ol’ wooden ships, iron men stood evenly spaced on all the yards (the spars holding the sails) and gave three cheers to honor distinguished persons of honor!! Today the crew is stationed along the rails and superstructure of a ship when honors are rendered!!!

Unsurprisingly... well, it's no fun! You stand there for hours shak’n a leg trying to get the cramps out as you try to stay still and frigid keeping that brave appearance of a full ship’s compliment on deck projecting pride and professionalism!! But I’ll bet nine out of ten sailors can’t stand manning the rails!! That's why they’re so happy to oblige the special sea & anchor detail ping’n their eyeballs off the radar console... Any other time they would bitch about that!!!

Sometimes while manning the rails it could be frigid enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey as they say! I’m talk’n about pecker shrink’n frigid!! Especially in the dead of winter pulling into Bremerton, Washington with the cold rain bearing down like ice picks on the steel deck!! Other times it could be hotter than a whore house on nickle night!! The nylon material of those dress whites could feel like an aluminum foil sweater in the heat of high noon in Death Valley, not to mention the oven skillets we call corframs baking our feet to the nonskid! Try doing that for four hours on a long sea & anchor detail!!!

But as Crackerjacks always do, we survived and took the usual gab about what we were all about to do once we got ashore while taking center stage! Seeing friends and family, finding the nearest watering hole, carousing with the finest wimmins and eating a good dinner were all subjects of conversation!! Then came the call to attention over the ships loud speaker as the sea & anchor detail prepared the mooring lines!! We could see the approaching pier or quay wall... sometimes looked close enough to jump off and make a run for it!!!

Conversely speaking, on one particular day onboard the ‘Chucky V’… we had the most memorable manning the rails of all time! Somewhere’s around the spring of 1993 as we were pulling into San Diego for much needed liberty, as we were rounding the horn of North Island ready to approach the quay wall!! Just as the ship pulled in with tug boats on all sides, a small motorboat drove up our port side about 50 to 100 yards from the bow and had five bodaciously topless young beauties on its forecastle holding up a sign for the Déjà vu Gentlemen’s Club!! Just as we were mooring to the pier they all turned around and gave us a big juicy moon!! OOOH Yaaa….. everyone was whistling & hoot’n holler’n… it was quite a celebration!!  The Officer On Deck (OOD) had to tell everyone to settle down and get back into ranks!!!

After going below deck our Divo who was an old salty Warrant says…

“Ya’ll look as excited as a bunch a blind queers in a hot dog factory! What the hell’s got ya’ll grinn’n like a cat eatin' shit out of a hairbrush?”

That ol’ fart was a riot! He could be mean as hell but he always knew how to makes us laugh!! Rest assured the Déjà vu Gentlemen’s Club got plenty of patronage from the “Chucky V.” And needless to say, it was a very interesting welcome ashore!!!

At times there was no better job in the entire world better being a Crackerjack Sailor while manning the rail! Well, maybe it's number two behind being Hugh Hefner or Larry Flynt… you can have your soft porn or you can have it hard… take your pick!! There ain’t nothing like paradise where the female cohabitants are all butt nekkit with perky tits!!!

"Never Bite The Hand That Feeds You"

So there I was somewhere lost in sexual anxiety and a lack of anything close to sobriety! Yes this is another no shitter my friends from a couple of decades lost in this ol’ salts memoires. A time when nothing was more sacred than the comradeship with friends and a common interest for booze, babes and persons of the opposite sex! Yes them were the days to remember.

Life was as full of raunch and debauchery as a “coming of age movie” in the likes of Animal House or American Pie. We were just a few good men in uniform refusing to grow up and take on anything that resembled any parallel to what is known as responsibility. That was worse than a four letter word to our lewdness and iniquities. Yes we spent most of our time and money on beer, girls and plenty of foolishness. A silly bunch we were indeed spending life in the fast lane knowing that to slow down would mean to become domicile and tame. This my friends, we were not.

As I remember it there were several of us with Shawn and I usually heading the pack. Though I have to say I usually took a backseat to Shawn as I made a much better wingman to his debonair fashion and good looks. Though where he exceeded in his charm he sometimes lacked in good judgment, yet it could be argued that we all did at times….most of the time. We were a spirited bunch of blokes left unrestrained and often fell pray to our own misgivings…ha-ha.

It was around 1991-92 as we delved into the shitholes we called taverns and bars such as the Wheel House, Cheers, Drift Inn, Red Roosters (Crimson Cocks), Bernie’s, Crow’s nest, Castaways and the infamous El Camino’s. Many nights up until dawn rather hanging out at Denny’s for breakfast or in some young ladies friendly abode for an intimate nightcap. Yes, these were our golden years of the notorious pub crawl!!

On this particular night with one noteworthy friend of mine we headed out on another enticing evening of immoral self-indulgence as we met up with some young ladies of the red blooded Native American variety and tangled with them in a bit of flirtatious conversation. Humor was always the best method to win a dame over as I’m sure not much has changed over the years. After several hours of toxic libations and copious amounts of laughter it was time to close the bar and head off into the moonlight for one of those tantalizing nightcaps I spoke of previously. As both my compadre and myself were feeling a bit lucky on this evening it was too unfortunate that the lesser of the three ladies we were to accompany home was without a bedmate. It was quite a shame as there was 200lbs of good loving to be had and no one for her to share it with.

Needless to say on the way home she was our chauffeur for the rest of the evening as she had the only car between the five of us. On our journey from our illustrious shithole of a sailor bar to the local Indian Reservation in Kingston, oh did I mention these dames were Native American? The two young ladies we happened upon were non stop in their antics of mockery and ridicule at the third wheel of the night. It was a wonder we made it safely to our provocative sanctuary without despair as the poor doll surely did not deserve the malaise she had received from her cohorts.

Nevertheless, we made it safely and dispensed with any further delay as we entered our perspective bedroom of lustful and timely copula. Yes it was a night to remember as we had hit the jackpot and put another notch on the ol’ bedpost to dignify our masculinity once again. Yet there was something we had left unnoticed in our inebriated abandonment, the young Miss left to herself. In our selfish act of intemperance we left her humiliated and displeased in her situation. Looking back I cannot blame her for her disposition as I’m sure she had much self gratification leaving us alone with no car to get us back home.

In the morning we found ourselves a good thirty minute car ride away from base and no transportation to get back. Our ladies of the night had no telephone in operation and thoughtfully deterred us from asking the neighbors as we were clearly the only two white boys in the proximity and any attention to ourselves might be cause for bodily harm. Those Native American boys don’t take very kindly to us white boys having sleepovers in their neck of the woods.

Lucky for us it was early enough to sneak out of the tribal dominion and head out on foot five miles to the closest convenient store. We somehow managed to acquire a taxi cab at a cost of over $50 between the two of us and three hours of unauthorized absence once we arrived at the ship. This is not an easy story to believe when explaining our alibi to a very irritated Chain of Command. Lucky for us it was a week before Christmas in 91’ and the ol’ man wasn’t to be bothered with such an annoyance. For punishment we were to refrain from taking any leave of absence for the holidays and come into work every morning to strip and wax our Department Head’s office rather needed or not. By chance we had a forgivable Chief on duty the day of Christmas and told us to get the hell out of there and enjoy the day off.

To us this was a night to remember and though the recourse was daunting it was just and worth its while. Though I learned a valuable lesson in all of this and a couple of idioms come to mind,

“Never Bite the hand that feeds you!”

and

“Having a taste of your own medicine!”

Life my friends is a lesson learned, and may we never forget this!!

'Work Or Pleasure'

A U.S. Navy captain was about to start the morning
briefing to his staff.

While waiting for the coffee machine to finish its brewing,
the captain decided to pose a question to all assembled.

He explained that his wife had been a bit frisky the night
before and he failed to get his usual amount of sound sleep.

He posed the question of just how much of sex was
"work" and how much of it was "pleasure?"

A commander chimed in with 75-25% in favor of work.

A lieutenant said it was 50-50%.

An ensign responded with 25-75% in favor of pleasure,
depending upon his state of inebriation at the time.

There being no consensus, the captain turned to the
seaman who was in charge of making the coffee.
What was HIS opinion?

Without any hesitation, the young seaman responded,
"Sir, it has to be 100% pleasure.."

The captain was surprised and, as you might guess,
asked why?

"Well, sir, if there was any work involved, the officers
would have me doing it for them."

The room fell silent.

God Bless the Navy sailor.