Saturday, August 31, 2013

Those Who Go Down to the Sea in Ships Part III


17 JUN 1977

Latitude 00˚ 00’ N
Longitude 039˚ 00’ W
                          Atlantic Ocean
Hot.  Frikkin' Hot.


The captain swore that Oprah would never be allowed aboard ever again.

Remember, it's not just a job, it's being....

forced to the flight deck with dozens of likewise miserable "pollywogs," hosed down by insanely smiling shellbacks, whipped with firehoses by gay Irish pirates, and accosted by MS1 Angelo Abunzallah.....

    “Well, hello there, slimy,” he sneered.  He grabbed the back of my pants (which was actually the “front”).  He pulled an egg from a bag he carried around his waist and shoved it down the back.  As it nestled between my cheeks, he gave my behind a smack.

    I grimaced as pieces of broken eggshell oozed down my legs.

    “See you later, boddy,” he cackled and disappeared.

    “Hear ye!  Hear ye!  King Neptune’s court is now in session! 
King Neptune's Court.
Or Congress.
All ‘wogs rise for his highness!”

    I staggered to my feet, eggshell pausing to say “howdy” to a part of my anatomy which was unfamiliar with eggs.  I looked up to see who I thought was the ship’s chaplain decked out in a shirt covered with tin foil.  In his left hand he held a wooden trident covered in yellow aircraft paint.  Atop his hair (in reality a mop head-I hope it was clean) was an aluminum pie tin fashioned to look like a crown.

"You better believe I'm pissed.
I smell like fish.
And my junk is buried in cement."
    He pointed his “trident” in my direction and roared, “What pathetic piece of sea scum do we have here?”

    MS1, my eggshell “boddy,” stepped forward.
  
  “Your majestee, this slime work in S-Pife’s scollery deevizhion.  He break too many deeshes.”

    For some reason, “King Neptune” was able to understand him.  He scratched his black shoe polish coated chin and glared at me.  Finally, he said, “I find you guilty of the high crime of breaking dishes in this ship’s S-5 Division!  For your punishment, I sentence you to visit the Royal Baby and to spend one minute in Davy Jones’ Locker.  Bailiff, take him away!  Next!”

"There, there, Mummy wasn't
going to let that barmy Yank
sailor anywhere near her precious."
Oops, wrong Royal Baby.
    I was roughly grabbed by my shoulders and half-dragged away.  After a short distance, I was dumped at the feet of a huge, half-naked fat man.  Clad only in what was once a white towel, he was easily the largest man I had ever seen.  What’s more, his huge belly was liberally coated in what had to be arresting gear grease.  Except this time, instead of being applied to the huge cables used to recover (or “trap”) a landing aircraft, it was....oh, I was afraid of what it was going to be used for.

    He looked down and laughed a huge laugh.  Never saying a
Yeah.  That's more like it.
Wait...what??
word, he laughed again and grabbed my head.  With a grunt, he rammed my face into his stomach.  Given no warning, I struggled to breathe.  And prevent my head from slipping into his cavernous navel.

  
  Just as quickly, he released my head.  Gratefully, I inhaled deeply, but accidentally drew in some grease.  Coughing black blobs of blecch, I was once more rammed into a quivering mass of greasy flesh.  This time, the Royal Baby grabbed my ears and twisted my head deeper into his stomach.  I felt some of the goop forcing its way deeper into my nose.

    Finally I was released, gasping, onto the flight deck.  Again, I was roughly grabbed and dragged to a five by five foot wooden box.  Good Lord, what could possibly be next?

    No way it could have been worse.

No, it didn't get this bad.
What do you think we are?  Animals?
To be concluded...


32 comments:

  1. And this is what happens when you fall behind reading. I must now go find parts one and two.
    I had heard that there was certain ceremonies for the first crossing of the equator..poor you

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    1. Apparently it's been going on for centuries. Or something like it. I've read that the Romans crucified new sailors as they transitted the Strait of Messina, but they had to stop. They were running out of people to man the ships.

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    2. Plus, it was my first time at sea. Then, two weeks later, I got 21 stitches across the bridge of my nose.
      Things got better.

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  2. This sounds like some really strange and surreal stuff. Did the Village People lie to me? I don't want to think about that.

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    Replies
    1. Naw, sometimes it got worse. Like during kamikaze attacks.

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  3. This needs to be put to the Big Screen.
    Who will play you in the movie version?

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    Replies
    1. Well, since George Clooney is busy.....
      Mike Myers?

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  4. Yikes, smothered in flesh. I can only imagine was the box is for.

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    1. I'll give you a hint.
      After it was over, I wrote to a friend (he says he still has the letter). One of the things I wrote in the letter was, "They save garbage for things like this."

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    1. Oprah might be no longer on the ship, but I hope they don't invite Gov. Chris Christie for a tour.

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    2. I at first wrote Christie, but I replaced him with Oprah because I figured my overseas friends would more readily recognize her name.
      Always thinking. :-)

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  6. Damn, I'd have to bleach myself ten times after that. Think I need to bleach my brain just thinking about it, blah

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    1. I made the mistake of leaving my clothes in my locker until we got back to Norfolk in five weeks,
      Yeah.

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  7. I wondered if King Neptune and his henchmen were going to make an appearance. I'll be waiting eagerly for the rest.

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    1. They had to finish lunch first. I think they had fish.

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  9. At least they didn't make you lay the egg you sat on. The Royal Baby sounds pretty cool, like Jabba the Hut. It might have been fun if you'd rubbed your favourite sauce on him first.

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    1. I think that sauce was running between my cheeks.

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  10. I don't think that your body could ever get used to an egg being smashed just around there, eggs just aren't meant to go there on males full stop! Looking forward to the conclusion of this, it's been a good journey!

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    1. Especially, if I farted, we'd have some nasty scrambled eggs.
      NOTE: I realize that makes no sense. I just wanted to use the word 'fart.'

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  11. Ok the whole egg thing cracked me up...............

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  12. Yeah, the egg thing... classic. Yet still so funny. That is, as long as it's not MY butt...

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    Replies
    1. 36 years later, I can still hear "Hello, Slimy" as clear as a bell.

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  13. Eggs and trident, bellies and grease...sounds like your typical visit to Home Town Buffet. The trident's for freshening your mouth after eating.

    For the millionth time: you make me laugh. Thank you.

    xoRobyn

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  14. Oh man, never say it can't get worse.

    Because it will and can get worse.

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  15. I'm sure there has to be a round of pink belly coming somewhere in this story!

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    Replies
    1. Pink belly doesn't make an appearance here, but pink belly makes an appearance in the complete book.

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