YES! THIS IS A RANT! pLEASE! PLEASE! dO NOT READ, UNLESS YOU WANNA BE DIS-PLEASED! THEN, BY ALL MEANS, BE MY MOTHER-FUCKIN’ GUEST! BUT WATCH YER STEP! THIS SLOPE IS SKIPPERY & SLIPPY-ERY!!! motherFUCK YOU WordPress! I am Cryin’ Over Madelyn. wanted to think about her some more! add some shit to a recent post! But Oh No! Caint bE havin’ that FUCK YOU WP! THERE IS AWWAZE A FUK-U WORK-AROUND! WHO THE FUK YOU THINK U BE FUKKIN’ WID?! HUH???!!! IDIOTs! MORONS! “How Do You Hold A Moonbeam In Your Hand?” FUK YOU WP! IF YOU DID NOT HOLD ALL MY SHIT HOSTAGE I WOULD FUCKING JUST FUJJING KILL YOU AND THEN SPIT ON YER GRAVE!!!!!!!!!!!! AND LMFAO!!!!!!!!!! AS I MADE MY WAY TO AN IRISH PUB TO NOT DRINK A TOAST TO YU! FUCK YOU! YOU ASH=HOLES! HOPE YOU TURN TO ASH ‘FORE I DO! I WON’T GIVE A SINGLE SHIT! ‘THRUST’ ME! (BUT YOU’RE TOO FUKKIN’ STUPID TO REALIZE TH’ JOKE IS ON YOU!!!!!!!! YU MORONS! GO AHEAD! TRY ME! I ALMOST GRA-D-E-ATED FROM ‘TRAINED, LICENZE TO KILL MORON SCREW=YOU SCHOOL! FUKKIN’ TIMES TWO. I HAVE SEEN IT ALL! DO NOT PISS ME OFF ONCE MORE! TRUST ME! I’M FUKKING NUTS! HEY! HEY! NSA! BRING IT! I AM ‘BOUT TO B’COME A DOMESTCATED TERROR MOTHER-FUCKER!–IST! JUST-IST! YEAH! FUCKIN’ JUSTICE! GO AHEAD! PUSH THE RED BUTTON! SEE WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENS! YOU MAY NOT LIKE IT, BUT WHO KNOWS? YOUR MILEAGE AND BLOOD SPILLAGE… MAY TARRY OR VARY! ASK ME HOW MANY FUCKS I’M GONNA GIVE! I GOTS ME NOTHIN’ LEFT TO LOSE. THIS MAKES ME A VERY DANGEROUS SUMBITCH! DO NOT FUK WID ME! WORD TO ANYONE WHO MAY STILL BE WISE IN YER FUKKIN’ LAME=ASS ORI-FIZE! WHICH I AM QUITE CERTAIN IS OVER-SIZED (AND BLOATED BEYOND REPAIR!)

I still miss her.

“Maria” (And some guy)

Madelyn & Me!

Me & Madelyn!

On-The-Stage!

Stars!

She & Me!

Me & She!

We had to share The Spotlight, but

“The Play”

Was always about

HER

Not Me

As it should be.

*******

She ‘Maria’ to My ‘Cap’n Von Trapp’

“Sound of Music” HS Play: Circa 1975

(Every so often, Script demanded we ‘kiss’—We never did during rehearsals.)

During one rehearsal, when the script DEMANDED a kiss, and RIGHT NOW!

We didn’t. We did not kiss.

Some fellow ‘actor’ shouted, “Hey! Y’all didn’t do the kiss! How are Y’all gonna do a believable kiss on stage if you don’t rehearse?

Madelyn didn’t miss a beat and coolly replied,

“We rehearse our kisses every night.

When we are at home.

Alone.

So don’t worry.”

Opening night, we kissed, not unlike two horny teens. It was painful. (For her. Not for me! I had been waiting for years to kiss her!)

And right before we kissed, live on stage, in front of about three hundred audience, she whispered to me,

“You better not slip me no tongue.”

So… guess what I did?

Yep.

C’est Française, n’est-ce-pas?

She was NOT Amused, but she pulled it off, non·plussed

As if nothing untoward had just happened.

*********

OK. I am sober now. Slept off my drunk.

Easy.

I have Slept Off thousands of drunks in my day.

Got that routine down pat.

Could not sleep off my sorrow over losing my

MY

My Dear Madelyn:

New unchartered waters for me.

Never have I lost a sister.

My heart is broke, but this is not gonna be about me.

Lord knows I write too much about me and my narcissism.

This is about My Sister, My Madelyn.

My intent is to write and write and write about her for the next few days until I run out of virtual ink in my virtual pen.

Some of you out there in ‘Radio Land’ knew her.

If you have any memories to share, now would be the time.

This may come across as ‘sick’ to you, read in the harsh light of present day:

But, if I am being honest with my feelings, I must write them.

Since Madelyn and I were not actually ‘blood relations’ there were more than a few times when we were tempted.

Tempted to be much more than step-brother and step-sister.

There for damn sure was a mutual physical and cerebral attraction.

But… we were ‘mature’ enough, even back then, mature enough to understand that we could not go there, however much we, at times, desperately wanted to.

We wanted to ‘go there.’

Oh My God!

How we wanted to ‘Go There’!

But We didn’t.

It would have been so easy.

We had the entire third floor of Marcom Manor to ourselves.

The parents were often gone for days at a time.

Leaving us to ‘fend’ for ourselves.

For the sake of ‘The Family’… we didn’t.

Go there.

We didn’t go there.

Some small part of me wishes we had.

But if we had, this would be quite a different post than the one I am writing right now.

Over all the years there were so many things I wanted to say to Madelyn, but shit always seemed to get in the way.

Now, my mind is racing with all those words left unsaid.

Never to be said, at least not in this place, this alone place I find me in.

I suppose I can just cast this one out into the ether:

“Madelyn, I love/loved you!”

But she cannot hear me now, can she?

“How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?”

********

This Song very well, and very accurately, describes Madelyn.

She was always a ‘Problem.’

But!

She was SO Fucking charming!

Could NEVER be angry at her.

Never!

Not for a moment!

She could melt / play you with a smile.

(And she knew this power she had)

And trust me Folks,

She wielded it.

With reckless abandon.

(Much to my chagrin at times)

I could never get away with shit.

Madelyn did.

Every day!

Every-Fucking-Time!

**********

I cannot continue this.

At this moment.

But I will come back.

And sooner than later

***********

Gretchen:

“Madelyn had a horse once: a cross between a Shetland pony and a Welsh mare. Now, I really don’t know much about horses and during that time I knew even less, but I really did want to play cowboy, so I decided to make friends with the local “real cowboy” and have him teach me how to ride this animal. I was about twelve going on thirteen at the time.

The problem with this horse was that it was a pet. Madelyn had talked my father into buying it for her not long after she and her mom moved in (I was not yet on the scene; was still living with my grandparents.

I suppose I arrived some months after the horse). Anyway, she soon lost interest in Gretchen (is that a proper horse name?) hence, she (Gretchen) never ever got ridden; (I cannot speak for Madelyn.) This will become important later in my story.”

***

Leroy:

First he was taken by Kim. Kim got bored with him and gave him to my step-sister Madelyn. She thought he was just the coolest thing ever!

For about three days…

His coolness factor having for her it seems, a very short half-life, I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse for her coon: Cash Money. Money’s coolness factor has no half-life. She was only too happy to surrender Leroy to my care for the tidy sum of thirty-five bucks. Quite tidy indeed to an unemployed High School girl in 1974.

********

My heart is broken.

I miss you Madelyn!

You were so much more than my sister.

I was so forever in love

With

You

With You

OK. Now I am Drunk again.

Seems I have come ‘Full-Circle.’

I am gonna stop fucking around with this post and just wallow in my grief.

I miss My Sis

DO NOT READ THIS ONE EITHER! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! “More Dispatches From The Front Lines Of My Facebook Flame Wars”

Author’s Notes:

  1. My ‘War’ With Kent was better-natured than it may at first appear.
  2. No Gods were harmed during this war.
  3. Some mortal egos may have been bruised however.
  4. This post is a chocolate mess.

***

I once knew a Theist named Kent

Who told me his Joy Heaven Sent

But his mind slipped a gear

His faith fled in fear

So I gave up on Kent for Lent

***

What do you call a ‘Facebooker’ who accuses another ‘Facebooker’ of hacking his own post and then reports said ‘hacker’ to Facebook for hacking his own post and then posts on his timeline, in excruciating detail how he, using his stellar sleuth skillset, figured all this out?

Take your time…

OK, time’s up.

“A Self-Made Fool, Devoid of Logic, who plays the ‘Pity Me’ card because he wants to become a laughing stock for anyone who knows how Facebook actually works.” (And for some who don’t)

Or succinctly put, you call him “Kent”

But don’t take MY word for it; you can read some samples of his ‘piercing eloquence’ below:

***

To let everyone get a little good news or good thought or just bring a little happiness on Facebook. I try to be positive and enjoy getting in contact with others old and new friends.

Check my profile I want to share and be friendly with all post and maybe make a positive difference in as many peoples’ lives as I can. Try and let the good things in the world come to light. Every now and then I may post something negative but it is trying to make a positive difference.

This is as good of a world as you want it to be. I choose to try and stay away from the bad things in the world. There really is a lot of good going on out there. I want to enjoy and be as happy as I can. While sharing my happiness with all I can. Happy,happy,happy

–Kent

***

Dear Kent,

“While sharing my happiness with all I can. Happy,happy,happy”

Classic case of ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’

Who are you trying to convince of your “happy, happy, happy,” happiness?

You or ‘they’? All of ‘they’?

I think you, as do probably 99.99 percent of posters, just seek validation of your self-worth.

All are just ‘chasing likes’.

And this is fine—human nature, as it were.

I have read a lot of your posts on your timeline and your profile.

Sure.

And it seems to me your ‘happy happy happiness’ is primarily just a proselytizing form of sausage wrapped in a saccharine pancake smothered in syrup.

Once again, who are you trying to convince?

You?

Them?

Us?

Does your ‘faith’ require incessant posts requiring the great unwashed mass of the rest of us to “like, type ‘amen’, and share” if we too believe?

I’m actually not sure that I completely discount your sincerity, but it does tax credulity.

Marvelous much.

But you go Bro!

Keep posting your syrupy praises of God, Jesus, and whomever else gives you that happy,happy,happy.

Why the hell not?

Still a free country, eh?

Peace be unto you Kent.

Or perhaps that should have read,

‘Peace is onto you Kent.’

Cheers,     

Lance

***

My friend are you hell bent on trying to make people think you are an arrogant inconsiderate individual that places one under a microscope to disrespect their character coming to a narrow minded hypothesis attempting to destroy or manipulate their actions in such a manner that will somehow give you the feeling of superior intelligence that has no effect or the ability to change the individuals status or manner in which his goal to share and maybe bring a little faith and joy to their likes and beliefs.

Thank you.

I am only trying to stand strong by my spiritual beliefs. Sharing with those that I feel are doing the same. God bless you Lance. Thank you for two things. Bringing attention to others that my self worth and my ability to share my faith with others is of most importance to me.

I want nothing and I give God my Heavenly Father all the Praise and glory. For with out him I nor anyone or anything could be possible or exist. You should get what I have been blessed with.

Yes, you can be happy, happy,happy. Go for it it is a free Country. I truly believe you would have a different perspective on life in general and you can have topics that have a more sense of purpose. You are close what I think of my self is as important to me as what other think also.

I really appreciate your concern. At least you know the content of the majority of my post. This is my purpose to share with and post to my friends that enjoy and appreciate what I have to share. This is Facebook just as you shared your opinion you opened the door where I can share mine.

I hope you are not offended. This is not my intention and it will never be. God bless you Lance thank you for this humbling experience. Remember always give God all the praise and glory. Bless you once again.

–Kent

Dear Kent,

Your response is in serious need of an edit. Allow me to distill it down to the salient points:

  1. Lance is a pompous ass
  2. Lance believes (i.e., Lance has ‘Faith’—joke there for ya Kent) that he is the smartest person in the room.
  3. Kent is trying desperately to hang onto his faith by shit-posting endless memes over-expressing same, even though he freely admits that his intended audience already ‘believe’—preaching to the choir, as it were.
  4. Lance needs to ‘find’ God in order to be happy and have a sense of purpose.
  5. Lance needs to give an imaginary friend all the credit for everything Lance ever does. (I assume this includes both good and bad??)
  6. Lance needs to be blessed, and often, and by someone who knows how.
  7. That about cover it?
  8. You’re welcome

***

Dear Kent,

Lest I forget

I wrote these for you

Added a photo too

Share away!

Make someone’s day!

***

*Death Poetry Day*

He born

He torn

He die

He fry

*The End*

***

A post was once written

No one was smitten

I’d call that fittin’

Shit it was named

Its one claim to fame

Now that’s a damn shame

***

He once wrote a post

Lesser than most

Shit it was called

Comments were stalled

The content was trite

Just didn’t seem right

To waste all my time

Nor even a lime

To drop in my rum

Ho Hum! Ho Hum! Ho Hum!

(The lack of the lime was the least egregious of the sins)

***

A Cunt of a Man called Osteen

Built a Church so very Pristine

But he refused to let in

Those flooded in sin

“Fuck ‘em! They’re way too Unclean.”

“I know y’all love me. You need to get on social media. But First give Harvey-TheHurricane the ol’ heave-ho! God Blesses you, but I don’t. Move along. We’re closed.”
–Joel Osteen

“My God, they killed them all!”

Here comes the story of the Hurricane.

Bob Dylan

“WoW! Who would’ve ever thought they’d find me doing God’s work?”
–Lance

***

“Lil Kim’s got the hydrogen bomb”
His news bitch announced in singsong
“He’ll mount it one day
“And launch it your way
“Then smartly fuck off to Hong Kong”
So rong!”

***

There once was a boy name of Kim
Who decided to act on a whim
He launched a big bomb
In the direction of Guam
And that was the ending of him!

***

In a Loon we call Kim Jong-Un
The World sees a silly buffoon
But he put up his Dukes
Oh Fuck me; They’re Nukes!
And The World is now singing new tunes!
(So soon?)

Cheers Kent,

–Lance

***

‘A Celestial North Korea’

Credit: Christopher Hitchens

***

A full week has passed

Since Jon GOT that ass

Even Dany GOT pleased

By Crow’s bended knees

And now we must fast for Season The Last

(And That’s The GOTcha)

Bonus Content Below:

The Most Lovely and Captivating and Charmingly Endearing Emilia

***

The Iron Throne – Game of Thrones’ AWFUL final episode

Vid Content Cred: Critical Drinker

***

Still in Sailor Mode! “Sea (Somewhat of a Stream of Almost Consciousness)”

The scariest thing to me…

Was at sea.

In the Indian Ocean, late one night

(That “IO” That Ho!)

Late at Night.

And the ship was tight.

And the waves were big.

Real big.

IO, She was angry.

And I was scared.

(No! HE Was scared).

I was never scared!

I was drinking coffee… And in between, walking on the bulkheads—all you sailors out there—can relate, and compare…

Never scared, but aside from my ‘coffee mates,” I knew, did, had done… the same drill… Too many times. (Fuckin’ Black-Shoe Navy!)

And if any of y’all find any of my  ‘Sea Stories” unbelievable…The preamble to any good sea story is “This is a no-shitter…”

And then there was Melville…I’ve been around the world and  once saw two white whales fuck.. I did. And there were dolphins… standing by… giggling.

 I have been to Australia.

Twice

And it follows, I have been to sea before:

And here, (for you purists) is the original, stolen from “Hejira”:

My Thanks to

“I’m just a simple soldier Son.

“With one more Year to Go.””

OH why Not!? ‘Lance! Lance! LANCE!!! Take a Fuckin’ Break! Get Over Yourself! Added More Navy SEAL SHIT! “Part Two of a Sailor’s Scholarly Series on U.S. Naval History in The South Pacific”

When last we left our Boys they had arrived at Viva Young not unlike victorious Roman Legionaries returning from Gaul—The Conquering Heroes—welcomed with gleeful squeals of joy and happiness by the Girls.

A little more detail on Viva Young The Establishment, and more than a little more detail on ‘Mama-San’ is in order here.

Upon first entering, immediately on the left was ‘Mama San’s ‘Office,’ which was simply an enclosed counter with an ancient cash register, a small table lamp, a perpetually over-flowing ashtray, and a counter sign which read: “No Credit.” Every bar or club had a ‘Mama San’—‘Manager’ to put it into Western Parlance. I had a bit of a history with this Mama San.

(Yes we were ‘Fuck Buddies’)

We were roughly the same age and found each other mutually attractive. She was tall for a Filipina, just a little bit chunky with shoulder length reddish brown hair which she kept in a semi-perm. Or perhaps it kept her; maybe that was its natural state. Dark brown eyes and the ‘Ornamental’ version of The ‘Shonnie’ Voice—semi-coarse and gruff.

She did volunteer work for the mayor of Olongapo and was quite well-read, savvy, and politically astute. She wanted a career in government. But first she had a bar to run and girls to manage. In this regard she was all cold business.

When on liberty in Olongapo I generally spent the night with Mama San. She lived with her mother and a sister and a brother and a few children in a fairly decent (though small) house about a mile from Viva Young. She was supporting the entire family and was never ‘hesitate’ to hit me up for contributions to her domicile.

“You gonna pay my bar fine?” Were some of the first ‘personal’ words she said to me on the night I ‘proposed’ to her, which was what seemed like eons before this particular port visit.

Some clarification: Subic Bay is a ‘working port’ not a ‘liberty port’. It is just like being in San Dog, only ‘with benefits.’

But still a working port.

Hence, during this particular Westpac deployment, we would find ourselves in Subic Bay every month or so ostensibly for resupply, but mainly because we were schlepping about six hundred US Marines around the South Pacific.

The Frederick LST 1184 is what is known as a ‘Gator Freighter.’ The ‘LST’ stands for ‘Tank Landing Ship.’ And yes I know the acronym is ass-backwards—‘Landing Ship, Tank’—My Navy is kind of Dyslexic.

Anyway, our primary purpose, our only purpose, our whole raison d’être is to ferry Marines about, dropping them and their AAV’s ‘Amphibious Assault Vehicles’ off at various beaches throughout the region.

“You call. We haul.”

That is the mantra of the Amphib Navy.

So we’d drop off the kids, head back out to sea and return a few days later to pick up all the ones who had not drown in the surf-zone. And sadly, I am not joking. We lost a half-dozen or so during that deployment.

Marines really cannot swim for shit and are not benefitted by the ‘Drown-Proofing’ training they teach at BUD/s (SEAL Boot-Camp, which if you recall, your humble author had been through.)

Twice.

“Drown Proofing”

It’s Great Fun!

HELL WEEK!

HELL YEAH

HOOYAH!!

I Did All this Shit!

Twice!

No Brag!

Just Fact!

“The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday”

–SEAL saying

***

Back to Mama:

Upon our first meeting, we were working on our mutual attraction. Using all my debonair wily Texan/Sailor charms, I broached the subject of “Let me take you away from all this.” (After closing time of course)

“You pay my bar fine. OK?”

“But you’re Mama-San. How can you have a bar fine?”

“You pay bar fine.”

I paid.

For the uninitiated, if one wishes the solitary company and undivided attention of a working bar girl, one must make payment to the Mama-San: the girl’s ‘bar fine.’ Call it a ‘handling fee’ if you must be so callous.

And while I am on THAT subject, allow me to inform you, I never paid any bar fines of any young girls for sex. I did not believe in it. There is much I will explain in future installments regarding this, but for now, suffice it to say that this sailor is an Honorable Man.

Fancy

Bobbie Gentry – (1969)

Street Cred for Vid: kelly heisler

***

But Mama-San is a different matter because she was a woman, not a girl.

I knew ‘the score’ and she kept the score. I happily donated to her cause to keep her score card to the positive and in the black.

What did I need money for anyway? We had a convenient relationship and we were genuinely fond of each other as far as it went. And to my mind, she was doing good work. She was ‘Mother’ to her girls and sincerely looked out for their wellbeing. She could spot a potentially abusive sailor or marine in an instant and would never allow same to leave the bar with one of her girls.

Ever.

And if by some chance she needed help with showing some asshole the door, there were the three of us Fast Freddy Sailors and the regular marines to provide assistance, not that Mama-San ever really needed it.

***

Running the length of the bar was the ‘stage’ or ‘cat walk’. Or picture a runway, similar to what one might find in a very low-rent fashion show.

***

Bordering this runway on three sides was a narrow counter top: narrow-minded and horse-shoe-shaped. The open end faced the door and Mama San’s watchful eye. Strings of lights hung precariously from the ceiling. Bar stools (ancient and uncomfortable) finished the Spartan scene.

The bar girls would line up on the runway and dance to the music from the equally ancient jukebox. Yes, this was best unflatteringly described as a ‘Meat Market’. But then, that was Olongapo in ‘89.

Matt, Rogers, and I knew all the girls. (Just not in the Biblical Sense). I suspect knew some were under age. If you’d ask one hundred bar girls in Olongapo where they were from, you’d get one hundred same pat answers:

“I from da Pra’bince (Province). I make money so go to college.”

I never met a single lil gal (see how easily I throw in some Texan Bullshit Vernacular to gloss over the horrible reality?) who told me she wasn’t actually from Olongapo. Nope, these were all ‘country gals’ with aspirations for higher education brought from ‘The Province’. Their true aspiration was to marry a U.S. Serviceman and get the hell out of the Philippines.

And who could blame them? Many a young Sailor or Marine, after having his first sexual encounter fell in love with a Filipina and did fulfill her dream. They would marry and the new bride would move to San Diego. Within a few months the rest of the family would be sent for: Mama, Daddy, Baby Sis, Baby Bro, Big Sis, Big Bro, real cousins, faux cousins, best friends, et cetera. This was known as the ‘Filipino Pipeline’.

Sadly, more often than not, once secured with U.S. Citizenship and the rescue of her family, the new bride would divorce her Sailor or Marine and make her way headlong into The American Dream, never once looking back and leaving the husband wondering what the hell had gone wrong.

I never felt sorry for the cuckolds. I was a cruel son of a bitch back then and secretly, as a perpetual con and huckster, I was always for the Filipinas anyway.

Actually everything always went wrong with such arrangements.

Well wrong for the sailor/marine.

But right for the ‘Girl-from-da-Pra’bince.’

The Girl from Ipanema

Artists: Astrud Gilberto, João Gilberto and Stan Getz

Street Cred for Vid: catman916

“If you hold sand too tightly in your hand it will run through your fingers.”

–Joni Mitchell (Telegram she sent from Crete to Graham Nash in CA, 1970)

***

Part One Here:

Part Three coming soon.

I know this is a ‘Recent Post’ But I am Still in My Lance “Sailor Mode” and In “South Pacific Self-Pity Mode–Mode! Ignore me! Ignore This Post, But When I Wrote it, The Memories Broke My Fucking Heart! “Part Five of a Sailor’s Scholarly Series on U.S. Naval History in The South Pacific: ‘The Beautiful Girl With The Red Balloon’



Vid Cred: I’ll get to that Later

After a good night’s sleep and an uneventful day at ‘work’, Matt and I hit the beach at 1600hrs. Rog was not to accompany us because he had ‘The Duty’ and could not leave the ship.

That is the little part of The Naval Service Experience the recruiters never tell you about:

“The Duty”

No escaping

“The Duty”

Briefly explained:

A war ship must be ever-ready to put to sea.

Or put out a fire.

Or counter a terrorism threat.

Or clean the shitters.

Or Worst of All: Standing Watch!

Hence, a percentage of the Ship’s Crew must remain on board at-all-times.

AT ALL TIMES

Call it a ‘skeleton crew’ if you will.

This is fitting since while stuck on board, unable to leave, one feels as if better off dead than…

Suffer the dread

Of Duty.

Because Having The Duty Sucks!

AT ALL TIMES!

“Navy: It’s Not Just a Job. It’s A Pain-In-The-Ass.”

***

Magsaysay was a little more frenetic than usual for a hot, humid sunny day.

Or maybe it was my imagination.

“Matt,” I remarked as we sauntered down the street heading for Viva Young, “Seem a little busy today?”

“It’s a Filipino holiday,” he said.

“No shit? What’s the occasion?”

“Magellan Day.”

“I thought the Filipinos despised him.”

“They do. This holiday commemorates that poison arrow they embedded in his ass back in Fifteen Twenty-One.”

I laughed. “You’re bull-shittin’ me Matt!”

“Yeah, I am.” And he laughed. “I have no idea what, if anything special’s going on today.”

“How do you remember?”

“What? Remember what?” he said, while wistfully gazing at a Filipina standing in a barroom doorway.

Matt was easily distracted and had already lost the train of our conversation.

“The year of the untimely death of ‘Ferdinand-The-Fucked’”

(“Don’t know much about History. Don’t know much Biology. Don’t know much about a Science book. Don’t know much about the French I took …” But this sailor knows just enough to get him into trouble.)

“You remember who I married right?”

“Oh yeah. Of course. But I didn’t take Josie for a Philippines’ history buff.”

“I married her for her brain, not for her big tits and tight ass.”

“Now I KNOW you’re bull-shit.”

We laughed some more and continued down the street dodging the ubiquitous  Jeepneys and Trikes and street vendors and sailors and marines and… You get the picture.

As we were making our descent toward Viva Young, we passed a balloon vendor who was struggling with an armload of bright balloons.

A light-bulb idea lit up in my brain (This sometimes happens, not often, but sometimes)

and I stopped dead in my tracks. Matt did not notice and kept on walking.

 “Hey Matt!” I hollered, “Wait a sec. I wanna buy a balloon.”

Since Matt is a sentimental artist, he thought nothing of it.

Now if Rog had been with us, there probably definitely would have been some unhappy words exchanged.

But Rog was stuck on the Freddy. And I smiled inside, imagining him stewing over doing his ‘Duty.’

I walked over to the kid selling balloons. He must have had no less than a baker’s dozen and a-half all trying to escape into the sky. Since I am such a prince of a guy, I decided to relieve him of his burden so he could call it an early day.

“How much for all?” I asked.

“Whaaa?”

“How much for all?” I repeated. “I wanna buy all your balloons.”

“Uh, Pive Hundred Peso” (This is roughly ten dollars)

“Sold!”

I gave him the money.

He gave me the balloons.

Matt shook his head.

We walked into Viva Young.

And all Hell and Pandemonium broke loose.

The girls squealed with delight as they, en masse, stampeded over almost knocking us down in the doorway.

‘Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! Gimmie Balloon!” fifteen voices yelled in unison as thirty arms reached out from bouncing girls.

“That’s what they’re for Little Darlings” I said as I untied the bundle and passed them out.

The girls dispersed back deep into the bar with their new prizes.

I felt some cold blue steel penetrating my head. I glanced in the direction of the source.

“Where MY Balloon? Goddam Chew!”

“Uh, Mama-San… You don’t want no balloon. I have something way more special for you that I picked up in Hong Kong.”

During our last Hong Kong port visit, anticipating such an emergency, I had purchased a semi-cheap but nice, lovely locket on a gold chain. I fished the little box out of my pocket and handed it to her.

She opened it, smiled a sweet smile at me, then caught herself and said, “Why you no gimme this before?”

“I was waiting for a ‘special’ occasion.”

“What special occasion?”

“I was waiting for the ‘special’ occasion of you being in a good mood.”

“I no in good mood now,” she said.

“Yeah, I know, but I got tired of waiting.”

“Well, ‘salamat’” (Filipino for ‘thank you’), she said. “It nice.”

“Walang anuman,” (You’re welcome) I said back. Two can play at this game.

Thinking this was the only opportune chance I would have, I broached the subject:

“I didn’t see New Girl. She here today?”

Instant frown: Just add Lance-the-Butterfly-Sailor and stir the shit.

“I told you! She off you limit!”

“Ah, come on Mama-San. I just want to talk to her. You know you have my heart.”

“Chew bull-chit-man! Yeah, she here. Go to look around you-self asshole.”

“What’s her name?”

“Lourdes.”

“Thanks.” And I went off on my quest before Mama could say anything else.

I discovered ‘Lourdes’ at the back of the bar. Why she had not claimed her balloon, I have no idea. But I theorized she was still very new to this ‘business’ and quite shy.

There was an extra balloon bouncing off one of the hanging light fixtures. I rescued it and walked up to Lourdes.

“Hi. My name’s Lance,” I said as I handed her the red balloon.

She looked up at me through beautiful dark Filipina eyes, took the balloon tether from my hand and said quietly, “Tank you por balloon. Red my pav’rit color. My namb ‘Lourdes’.”

“Yes, I know. Nice to meet you Lourdes.”

“How you know my namb?”

“Mama-San told me.”

The mention of ‘Mama-San’ seemed to make her nervous, so I quickly changed the subject.

“Come sit with me at the bar, okay?”

“Uh… Okay” she said as I led her to the part of the bar furthest away from the prying eyes of Mama.

We sat down and I must have gotten lost in her for a moment. She fidgeted a bit. I finally found my voice and asked,

“Aren’t you supposed to say it?”

“Say what?” she asked.

“Say, ‘You buy me drink’?”

“Oh yeah. I por’git. You buy me drink?”

“Of course I will.”

***

Some things are universal.

In these ‘types’ of establishments, no matter what town, city, county, country, or continent, the ‘game’ never waivers:

The girls hustle way over-priced drinks which more often than not, especially in Olongapo, consist of weak tea—no booze—but cost three times as much as top-shelf scotch.

It’s just the little dance we all must do and I have always been just fine with the arrangement, never being one intent on breaking the rules nor upsetting the balance of power in the universe.

***

We chatted for an hour or so over several beers for me and several ‘scotch’s’ for her.

Eventually, she began to relax having come to the conclusion, I surmised, that I was not a monster and actually a decent guy to hang out with.

Sad to have to say, but most sailors and marines have a ‘I buy you one drink baby, then it’s I-pay-your-bar-fine and we go to the show.’ standing policy.

Your humble sailor is not such a man.

Wasn’t then.

Isn’t now.

***

“’Lourdes’ is a lovely name.” I said, gently brushing her hair back from her cheek.

“Tank you. I like it.”

“Not your real name, is it Honey?”

“No,” she admitted. “I pic it outta book.”

“Kind of a ‘stage name’ eh?”

“’Stay… namb’?”

“At-work name.”

“Oh, yeah… Kinda. Yes.”

“Would you tell me your real name?”

“Mary-Lou. Mary-Lou Perucho.”

“I like that better,” I said. “May I call you ‘Mary-Lou’ from now on?”

“Yes, but not in pront of Mama-San.”

“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. Where you from Mary-Lou?”

“I prom da prob’ence.”

“Of course.”

***

To be continued…

Part Six here:

***

Previously:

Come On YA’LL! READ THIS ONE! I spent at Least Five Minute(s) Writing IT! yA! I mis-Spiel for The Effect! Hahahahahaa! “I am Re-Re Posting This Expanded Version Because I am Wallowing in Self-Pity For not ‘Making’ A Daughter. Don’t Bother Reading. It is Just For The Record of My Self-Pity. “Every (Rare) Once In A While I See Something On TV That ‘Moves’ Me. This Commercial Moved Me–Gave Me Hope–Made Me Misty-Eyed. Almost Cried.” That’s a Lie. I did cry.”

I have been re-watching “Mad Men”–Most are familiar with the show.

For those who have been living under a rock for the past two decades:

The series is all about Madison Avenue.

Advertising in The Sixties.

Anyway,

This ‘commercial’

is

Brilliant!

It actually brought a tear to my eye

(See below about how sorry I feel for myself for not taking the time to have a daughter)

Credit: Vanguard

***

One More “Daughter-Related” Brilliantly done Commercial

“Roots and Wings”

Vid Cred: Entertainment Marketing

Longer Version (Audio Only—Full Vid has been flushed down the memory hole. Shit!)

Artist:  Miranda Lambert

***

Rosanne

Vid Cred: I don’t Know, (I am too drunk to be bothered to look but thak you!

Whoever the fuck you are!)

***

More of Rosanne!

“You know that life don’t hold no glamour anymore”

Let’s break this down, shall we?

It all hinges on the word ‘that’

And how you intrepret the usage of it

“You know ‘that life’ don’t hold no glamor anymore.”

Could mean potential sucicide

or…

You know ‘that’ life, could mean “I am fucking tired of being a performing artist and I want a ‘real life’

What do Y’all think?

Which is it?

Could be both

This is the genius of the song

I think the “answer” lies in the last Line:

“Maybe I’ll just go away to stay”

Now that that mystery is solved I can move on

Hey Johnny!

Best “Thing” You Ever “Created!”

I am so Fuckin’ Jealous!

You Asshole!

You Lucky Asshole!

“Guess I Could Never Do Nothin’ Right!”

Orig Song Cred: Jerry Jeff Walker

***

An aside:

Damnit! I wish I had a daughter!

(Fuckin’ ‘DUH!)

***

The Commercial Copywriters were obviously inspired by this classic Ben E. King:

Spanish Harlem

And Yes It is Not Lost On Me That

“Rose” is Metaphor for a Woman

Just like “The Yellow Rose of Texas”

I have a little left of my brain

Y’all

Cred for Vid: John1948OneD

***

I should have worked in advertising.

Pretty sure I would have been good / great at it.

I understand how it ‘works’

***

P. T. Barnum:

“There’s a Sucker Born Every Minute”:

Content Creator Cred: Professor Buzzkill

***

Lance in an alternate life/universe:

***

Bonus Material For Reference:

Yellow Rose of Texas

(Originally Written Circa 1850)

(Which was actually about a very beautiful half-black slave girl–put that in yer pipe)

Smoke it!

Vid Cred: Lane Brody

Artists: Johnny Lee & Lane Brody