In today's episode, we learn why we hadn't thrown our garbage overboard for the past three days......
USS AMERICA (CV-66)
Latitude 00˚ 00’ N
Longitude 039˚ 00’ W
This is actually the kind of stuff we mostly do.
You can relax.
“Time to visit Davy Jones Cooler, filthy
Hoisted to my feet, I watched as the lid of the cooler was flipped open to reveal the contents of the box. In addition to three other wretched pollywogs was some of the trash which hadn’t been tossed overboard.
|Wrong Davy Jones.|
If nothing else?
Oops, too soon?
Apparently, they save garbage for things like this.
I was rudely flipped up and over into the box. The lid was slammed down over my head, casting us into a humid, fetid darkness. The smell which wafted its way around my head and into my lungs made me nostalgic for belly-diving with the Royal Baby.
|Actual Davy Jones.|
"Man, those people are really effed up looking.
White people are whack."
|"Well, it wasn't all garbage, |
“No problem. You can’t possibly have made things worse,” I said as the remains of Saturday night’s chicken a la king clawed under my fingernails and Friday’s beef yakisoba slipped into my socks.
“If anything, you improved them.”
The lid flew open and we were ordered out.
Golly, the minute we’d spent in the cooler only seemed like an hour! Just when the heady bouquet of vomit was beginning to intermingle with the chipped beef, too!
Another shellback (Jesus, how many did this ship have?) smacked my behind with his firehose (enough with the frikkin’ shillelaghs, already!) and pointed at three rows of garbage bags strung together and held in place by duct tape.
NOTE: Is there anything duct tape can’t do?
|"Let's see...where did I leave those tubes...?|
Oh, no matter, I'm like Davy Jones.
I'm dead, too."
“You will now crawl through Captain Nemo’s escape tubes!”
Great, he said escape! Maybe we were almost done here. I had had just about enough Navy tradition, thank you. Scraping eggs and cigarette butts off officers’ plates was beginning to look real good just about now.
Energized by the thought I may be done, I dove into one of the garbage bag “escape tubes.” Right into even more garbage! Geez, how many days did they save this stuff?
Garbage-filled sack for one?"
I pressed my lips together in a vise as I tried to keep someone’s partially digested lunch from forcing its way in. As I crawled on my hands and knees, I felt sodden pieces of old vegetables and rotted lettuce heads grind into my dungarees. Oh, look! Someone else couldn’t keep their stomach contents where it belongs!
I finally reached the blessed end. Like a bear emerging from his den at the landfill, I poked my head out into fresh air.
A shellback (who else?) greeted me.
“What are you!?”
Fantastic. A quiz.
Smack in the ass.
“Wrong, go again!”
Cursing myself for giving the wrong answer, I lurched back to the front. As I reached it, I brusquely shoved aside my green-around-the-gills cooler companion. No way did I want him and his tender digestive system ahead of me in that thing.
|"You're not going back to work |
until I get all the vomit off you!"
Seconds (seemed like hours) later, I popped out of the cute, this time with a leaf of cabbage round around my head like a hobo’s hat.
This time, I didn’t give my tormentor a chance to ask.
“I am a Shellback!”
A nasty, smelly, greasy shellback with eggshell drying in his crack.
Who probably should have thought twice about leaving his clothes in his locker until he returned to Norfolk in five weeks.
|"Seriously? You crazy bastards can keep that! |
And to think we wanted gays in the military!
In the Navy, my ass!
Oh, I get it...hee...hee...hee."
Hope the rest of your Labor Day weekend is peaceful and vomit-free.
And that nobody is smacking you in the ass with a firehose.
For those of you who aren't Americans, hope your Monday is going well.
That vomit and firehose stuff applies to you, as well.