Either I’M too drunk to bE drunk or too fi==ukkkin’g Stupid to bE Stupid, oR WP is STUPID! i AM GONNA GO W/OPTION “c” UP-PUP_Fuckin’ Dated! Profane Profanity! (With Special Guest Star Cordelia) I am So Far Away From “Give-a-Shit-Land” that even If I had Unlimited Access to the Hubble: It would Make as ’bout as Much and Concern to Me as a Cup of Warm Copenhagen Spit! I’d Just FLUSH IT Along with all the Other sUPER-dUPPER superfulious callifragile —-you know rhe resa=a=song—if you have a fucking brain! I am removin’ from MY Knife (and MY LIFe)! WP Brings OUT The Worst Liver WurtZ Parts of Me! I am trying to Be KIND! But WP is turning this into a fukkkin STRUGGLE! I MAY AS WELL BE BACK IN IRAQ! LIFE WAS SO MUCH EASIER THEN! WP is Pissin’ Me The FUK OFF! hAVE I failed to MENTION TODAY How MUCH I HATE WP??????

My Girl!

Dedicated

To

That

Bitch

I admire

for

Her

Courage

My Girl!

Cordelia!

I LOVE HER

I use a lot.

A lot of

Profanity

What can I say?

I am a Texan / Sailor

Or a Sailor / Texan

‘Tis my nature.

Never mean to offend.

Perhaps I should mend

My speech a little.

Naw!

Fuck that!

***

From ‘Lear’:

CORDELIA:

“Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave

My heart into my mouth. I love your majesty

According to my bond, no more nor less.”

LEAR:

“How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little,

Lest you may mar your fortunes.”

“Daddy! Me ”Fortunes’ Goy (Lil Lenny-Jew Humor there–if you don’t catch the ref—you need not be HERE!)

mY fukkin’g ‘fortunes never existed! marred long fukkin’ time ago!” Married some other

ASSHOLE!

NEVER CAUGHT Her NAME!

NOT THAT THAT WOULD MATTER! FUK Her1 FUK HER! FUCK THE WORLD!

STOP! THIS GREYhOUND!

i’M GETTIN’ OFF!

Just for FUCKIN’ FUN

Because

I’m

a

MORON!

Street Cred: Julie Nolke

I FUKKIN’ LOVE HER!

No One Ub=derstns

My

Sins-of-Humor

This makes me

Sad!

Why

Do

I wasste

MY

Finitte

Time?

Castin’

Pearls

At

Swime?

Swim’en”

With

Bow-legg’d

wimmens!

(I really need to be….put down! For The Sake of hUMANITY — OR at LEAST That FRAGILE Future of What Pipe Dreams it fkkin’ harbors for its lame-ass-self…. shit! Ninety-nine and some chge of all creatures who ever walked or swam on this fukkin’ planet have gone xe-fukkin’ stink! You tink Homo-Sapiens are “special? Well a wink ias as good as a nod to a bling fuckin’ horse!

Some

Asshole

Out

in

:”Radio-

Land

Needs

to “Hip”

Me!

Becuz

I am doin’

This

Shit

in

My

tireless

Effort

To

Fucking

“Entertaine

Yer

Dumb

Assesses!

Please

Believer

When

I

say,

I have

Better

shit

I

i Could do

To

Occupy

My

Fucking

MIND

But

I love

to

try

to

brighten

Your day!

In

My

Simp,ly

Way!

I fukkin’

work

REAL FUKKING

HARD

at

IT

goggamn it!

I work real hard for the money!

That money

I need so

desparately

Need

But

would

Never

Ever!

Ask

You

For!

I suppose

All I would love

Is a

Little

Simlple

“Fuckin’ Thank – You”

mAYBE JUST once per year!

What do that cost you?

A fucking

Mouse miss-fire?

It is not my desire to write in a fuckin’ vacuum!

I am here to try to make you laugh!

Spend the time!

Drop a

fukkin’ dime

But….

Honestly!

I don’t

Give a shit

I write for me

The rest of y’all

can

go get

wrecked!

I won’t miss

Y’all!

For

What you

are

Trying


To

Fucking

DO!

I do NOT

Fuck about!

I am

SMART!

i HAVE been

’round

The fuckin’

Whurl!

Three

Fukkin’

Times!

Do

Y’aa

Think

I

Cannot

Better Find

Ways

To

Waste

My

Fukking time?

And my MIND?

BUT I LOVE

MY READERS!

ALL FIVE OF YOU!!!!

Yeah! I know I’m an asshole!

Git over

That!

Or Git away from me!

I aint

lookin’ for your

fukkink’ smyan-me!

Go on!

Be a FUCKING

PHOTOGRAPH!

I’LL Frame you

And

HANG

You

On

My

“I love Me Wall”

Then

Everytime I see

I

See

you

I

will

Laugh

My

Fuckin’

Ass

Off!

Do you honestly

Wish

me

Dead?

Pretty

Sure

I can

fullfill

That

Vain

Fantasy you have!

Fuck all of this!

I AM SO

SICK

OF

LANCE!

HE AIN’T FIT TO LIVE

WITH!

JUST CALL ME

“HUD!”

gODDAMMMMMNIT!

And…..

In

closing

Let

Me

Say

This

About

This!!!!

“It ain’t

Easy

Bein’

Lance”

And that

is

All

I

got

To

say

About

That!

I do realize

I have

Lost

My fukkin’

Mind!

But

I will

Find it

Again

SometimeIt

Was here

Just a minute ago

Could not

Have

Strayed

Far!

Maybe

I

Just

miss-placed

In

My Pocket!

“Insaniity”

is

JUST

A

Scare

Word

For

Cowards!

God-Fuckin-Zilla

Crit Drinker!

I wish I Were Fukkin’ GAY!

(Don’t Worry–GIRLS–I ain’t!)

But I FUKKIN’; LOVE YOU Crit Drinker Man! I fukkin’ LOVE YOU!

MY MAN! YOU NAIL IT EVER’ FUKKIN’ TIME! GODDAMN FUKKIN’ DAMN!

My mind is FUKKIN’ GONE!

I’m REALLY sORRY

kids!

Just joshin’

I AIN’T SORRY

fer

SHIT!

i’M a cunt!

Love

That

‘Bout me!

****

i’LL GET TO THE Vid Creds Once I awake

FROM MY

Coma

‘Cause

I

NEVER

Fail

To

Give

Credit

When

Fukkin’ du du du

And

FU

Dice!

UP-PUP_Fuckin’ Dated! Profane Profanity! (With Special Guest Star Cordelia) I am So Far Away From “Give-a-shit Land” that even If I had Unlimited Access to the Hubble: It would Make as ’bout as Much and Concern to Me as a Cup of Warm Copenhagen Spit! I’d Just FLUSH IT Along with all the Other sUPER-dUPPER superfulious callifragile —-you know rhe resa=a=song—if you have a fucking brain! I am removin’ from MY Knife (and MY LIFe)!

My Girl!

Dedicated

To

That

Bitch

I admire

for

Her

Courage

My Girl!

Cordelia!

I LOVE HER

I use a lot.

A lot of

Profanity

What can I say?

I am a Texan / Sailor

Or a Sailor / Texan

‘Tis my nature.

Never mean to offend.

Perhaps I should mend

My speech a little.

Naw!

Fuck that!

***

From ‘Lear’:

CORDELIA:

“Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave

My heart into my mouth. I love your majesty

According to my bond, no more nor less.”

LEAR:

“How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little,

Lest you may mar your fortunes.”

“Daddy! Me ”Fortunes’ Goy (Lil Lenny-Jew Humor there–if you don’t catch the ref—you need not be HERE!)

mY fukkin’g ‘fortunes never existed! marred long fukkin’ time ago!” Married some other

ASSHOLE!

NEVER CAUGHT Her NAME!

NOT THAT THAT WOULD MATTER! FUK Her1 FUK HER! FUCK THE WORLD!

STOP! THIS GREYhOUND!

i’M GETTIN’ OFF!

Just for FUCKIN’ FUN

Because

I’m

a

MORON!

Street Cred: Julie Nolke

I FUKKIN’ LOVE HER!

No One Ub=derstns

My

Sins-of-Humor

This makes me

Sad!

Why

Do

I wasste

MY

Finitte

Time?

Castin’

Pearls

At

Swime?

Swim’en”

With

Bow-legg’d

wimmens!

(I really need to be….put down! For The Sake of hUMANITY — OR at LEAST That FRAGILE Future of What Pipe Dreams it fkkin’ harbors for its lame-ass-self…. shit! Ninety-nine and some chge of all creatures who ever walked or swam on this fukkin’ planet have gone xe-fukkin’ stink! You tink Homo-Sapiens are “special? Well a wink ias as good as a nod to a bling fuckin’ horse!

Some

Asshole

Out

in

:”Radio-

Land

Needs

to “Hip”

Me!

Becuz

I am doin’

This

Shit

in

My

tireless

Effort

To

Fucking

“Entertaine

Yer

Dumb

Assesses!

Please

Believer

When

I

say,

I have

Better

shit

I

i Could do

To

Occupy

My

Fucking

MIND

But

I love

to

try

to

brighten

Your day!

In

My

Simp,ly

Way!

I fukkin’

work

REAL FUKKING

HARD

at

IT

goggamn it!

I work real hard for the money!

That money

I need so

desparately

Need

But

would

Never

Ever!

Ask

You

For!

I suppose

All I would love

Is a

Little

Simlple

“Fuckin’ Thank – You”

mAYBE JUST once per year!

What do that cost you?

A fucking

Mouse miss-fire?

It is not my desire to write in a fuckin’ vacuum!

I am here to try to make you laugh!

Spend the time!

Drop a

fukkin’ dime

But….

Honestly!

I don’t

Give a shit

I write for me

The rest of y’all

can

go get

wrecked!

I won’t miss

Y’all!

For

What you

are

Trying


To

Fucking

DO!

I do NOT

Fuck about!

I am

SMART!

i HAVE been

’round

The fuckin’

Whurl!

Three

Fukkin’

Times!

Do

Y’aa

Think

I

Cannot

Better Find

Ways

To

Waste

My

Fukking time?

And my MIND?

BUT I LOVE

MY READERS!

ALL FIVE OF YOU!!!!

Yeah! I know I’m an asshole!

Git over

That!

Or Git away from me!

I aint

lookin’ for your

fukkink’ smyan-me!

Go on!

Be a FUCKING

PHOTOGRAPH!

I’LL Frame you

And

HANG

You

On

My

“I love Me Wall”

Then

Everytime I see

I

See

you

I

will

Laugh

My

Fuckin’

Ass

Off!

Do you honestly

Wish

me

Dead?

Pretty

Sure

I can

fullfill

That

Vain

Fantasy you have!

Fuck all of this!

I AM SO

SICK

OF

LANCE!

HE AIN’T FIT TO LIVE

WITH!

JUST CALL ME

“HUD!”

gODDAMMMMMNIT!

And…..

In

closing

Let

Me

Say

This

About

This!!!!

“It ain’t

Easy

Bein’

Lance”

And that

is

All

I

got

To

say

About

That!

I do realize

I have

Lost

My fukkin’

Mind!

But

I will

Find it

Again

SometimeIt

Was here

Just a minute ago

Could not

Have

Strayed

Far!

Maybe

I

Just

miss-placed

In

My Pocket!

“Insaniity”

is

JUST

A

Scare

Word

For

Cowards!

God-Fuckin-Zilla

Crit Drinker!

I wish I Were Fukkin’ GAY!

(Don’t Worry–GIRLS–I ain’t!)

But I FUKKIN’; LOVE YOU Crit Drinker Man! I fukkin’ LOVE YOU!

MY MAN! YOU NAIL IT EVER’ FUKKIN’ TIME! GODDAMN FUKKIN’ DAMN!

My mind is FUKKIN’ GONE!

I’m REALLY sORRY

kids!

Just joshin’

I AIN’T SORRY

fer

SHIT!

i’M a cunt!

Love

That

‘Bout me!

****

i’LL GET TO THE Vid Creds Once I awake

FROM MY

Coma

‘Cause

I

NEVER

Fail

To

Give

Credit

When

Fukkin’ du du du

And

FU

Dice!

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.

Yeah! I am Re-Posting Up-Beat Shit Becuz I am Trying To Re-Enter My ‘Happy-Place” and Stop Being Deee-Pressed! “Part Three of a Sailor’s Scholarly Series on U.S. Naval History in The South Pacific” “HAPPY TALK!”

The Thunder-Bolt:

“You can’t hide the thunderbolt. When it hits you, everybody can see it. Christ Man! Don’t be ashamed of it, some men pray for the thunderbolt. You’re a very lucky fellow.”

 – Calo (‘The Godfather’)

***

Matt, Rogers, and I settled into the bar–after I had paid my respects to Mama-San.

“Mama! Where you been all my life?” I yelled, pulling her up from her chair and kissing her hard on the lips.

She managed to untangle herself from my affections and pushed me away. “You go to sit down and spend some money Sailor-Man,” she said gruffly, trying to conceal the smile that was betraying her true feeling.

Since it was still relatively early and the joint pretty much dead, Rog and I decided to shoot some pool.

Now I must tell you, gentle readers, I am a pool hustler, and Rog was a gambler.

Good for me.

Bad for him.

After about an hour of eight ball, Rog owned me all the beer in Olongapo and his First Born. Wasn’t really interested in the First Born (I had seen the baby pictures and the baby dipped snuff just like his daddy)

So I told him to keep the First Born, but get busy with the beers. We sat back down at the bar next to Matt who was in some kind of deep philosophical discussion with a very petite young bar girl who appeared to have a glass eye.

Matt is a gentleman and this girl had warmed up to him.

Rog and I were not gentlemen so we interrupted their conversation.

“Hey Matt! Rog here’s buyin’ the beer for the next ten years. Name your poison.”

“I’d like a glass of wine,” Matt said softly.

“What?!” Rog and I both exclaimed in unison.

Matt was The Artist. So I suppose this was to be expected: This Un-Naval-Like Bullshit Talk would come out the side of his neck from time to time.

“Mama-San!” I yelled over my shoulder. “Ya got any Pinto Greegee-oh?”

“Goddamn chew!” she yelled back. “Go to fuck you!”
I turned to Matt, “Sorry Buddy. Fresh out. How ‘bout a beer? On Rog here. He be buyin’”.

“Sure,” he said softly, not even looking at us.

“Oh shit Rog,” I said. “Matt here done gone off into ‘That Place’ again.”

“Doan worry none,” Rog replied. “He’ll snap outta it.”

I glanced over at Matt, now busily drawing on a cocktail napkin what appeared to be a rather flattering portrait of the girl. She had placed her head on his shoulder and her arm around his waist.

“Yeah, Rog. I suppose yer right.”

Rogers and I traded wolf tickets for an hour or so, and then aimed our affections at some Marines who had recently shown up. Things were about to grow unpleasant when the regular shift of girls came strolling in. This stopped the impending war between the Navy and the Marine Corps as the music got loud and the girls took to the runway.

I knew all the girls on the evening shift. They were my friends. But I spotted a girl I did not know. ‘Spotted’ is probably not the right word. ‘Witnessed’ (Think ‘Baptist Revival’ here) might be more appropriate. She was the spitting image of my high school sweetheart. (No, I wasn’t really that drunk).

OK, not exactly the spitting image but let us say the Ornamental Version of a spitting image.

Thunderbolt!

Boom!

I just had to have some ‘chat’ with her.

And By God, I would.

Or die.

I became useless for the rest of the evening.

***

I have spent far too much time in the Far East.

This will be continued…

Right here: Scroll to the Below:

A girl walks into a bar.

***

I went over to Mama-San, “Hey who’s the new girl?”

“What new girl?”

“The one with the long brown hair,” I said.

“Goddam-chew! They all have long brown hair. Where you think you are Sailor-Boy, Malibu?”

“No. I mean that girl,” I said, pointing.

“Oh ‘That Girl’” she said. “She’s new, and don’t bother her.”

“Yes, I know she’s new. That’s my point, for fuck sake.”

“Leave her alone. She off-you-limits.”

“Bullshit off-limits. She reminds me of someone,” I said.

“Don’t we all? That’s what we do here. We sell the memories. We in the ‘She-reminds-me-of-someone’ sellin’ memory business. But she, that one, she off-you-limits. No for sale.”

“I don’t want to buy her; I just wanna talk to her.”

“Go-to-Fuk-Chew! You want talk? Talk me! You butterfly.” She huffed back toward her desk.

“Butterfly?” I yelled at her back.

She turned on her heel, “You butterfly. You float from flower to flower.”

I stared at ‘New Girl’ while wondering how I was going to get around Mama-San… So I could have my

Happy Talk

From the 1958 film version of SOUTH PACIFIC

***

Previously:

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:

Rerun, But Fits in Nicely With My Current Kennedy-Bashing Rants: “Why Ruby Did It”

Jack Ruby (born Jacob Leon Rubenstein; MAR 25, 1911 – JAN 3, 1967)

Why Jack? Oh Why?!

Of course if you want the answer to that

Burning Behind the Grassy Knoll

question, all you need do is listen to Lenny.

Look no further.

Lenny Has This One Covered Y’all:

Before We Proceed, here is a ‘Disclaimer’ by way of an Author’s Note:

‘Slightly’ re-worked, but I left in all theIncoherent Bullshit’

(For ‘Hysterical / Historical Purposes of Course.)

***

Or, if you ain’t ‘into’ Lenny, I suppose you could just ask Lance, as his erstwhile step-mom, Gloria, had worked for Jack during the Sixties in his

‘Carousel Club’.

Carousel Club, Dallas; owned and managed by Jack Ruby, 11/24/1963

According to Gloria, Jack was very, very proud of his Club and always referred to it as, wait for it…

“A Real First Class Joint.”

She never told me precisely what it was that she did there for Jack, by way of gainful employment. And in truth, I really didn’t wanna know.

Whatever it was that she did do for Jack, it was probably not what these girls did.

(For ‘Their Jack’)

She, Gloria… er… was not ‘qualified’

The ‘REAL Gloria

She prob’ly sold cigarettes or sumthin’.

The ‘Fake’ Gloria

(Sorry. But there never was any love lost between me and Gloria. This paralyzed fact is well-documented and may easily be discovered in the pages of my blog.)

And if you, any of you, breath, yeah ‘breath’. A single word of this to my also erstwhile step-sister…Whom I love dearly, well, that breath, will, yes will, be your last…

***

Sadly, Very Sadly, I must update this for 2021:

***

(And, as always, Most Everything I just typo’d, said, thought… well, it’s all bullshit.)

(NOT THE PARTS REGARDING MADELYN. THAT IS NOT BULLSHIT)

***

I was born’d, rear’d an’ raised in California. Northern California. I have never even SEEN Texas. (Just read about it is all.)

In books an’ shit.

And on some old pirate maps.

Just funnin’… I’m only Half-Crazy.

Just tryin’ to make up for all those “Thursday Throwbacks” I missed out cashing in on during my recent

‘Sabbatical’

Yeah, I always considered ‘Throwback Thursdays’ somewhat of a ‘gift.’ I mean, if I had nothing to write I could always dig down into those old archives, et voila! There ya go! Instant Post! Keep Feedin’ Them Fishes! Yada, Yada, Yaaaa Duh!

(In Some Truth: I just wanted to put up some Lenny Bruce–for ‘Old Time’s Sake’)

And it kind of goes along with that Brother Dave post from a day or two ago.

(See? There is some continuity to my mind)

Believe that? Really? Wanna buy a bridge? Cheap? Real Cheap!

I generally spend about ten minutes ‘writing a post’. Then three minutes waiting on ‘spell check’ to remind me that I cannot spell ‘cat.’ Then two minutes (except for the upload wait) to upload photos/videos. One minute at the ‘final’ look.

Then: Click that ‘sucker’.

That ‘Publish’ button.

And pray.

Done!

Rinse and repeat the next day. This bothers me. Why? Because, as all of us (may) feel, we can write so much better.

Alas, I am lazy. I just want to get it out there… Catch the likes; catch the comments. Fuck the quality! “They” know what I mean… Don’t they? I mean, they read me! Not too much need for exposition, ya? ‘They git it, eh?’

(Lance removes tongue-from-cheek)

Just some musings from an amusing, dazed and confusing, wanna-be writer/blogger. Take with however many grains of salt you require.

(And Comment),

If you’re of a mind to, and/or have an opinion on the ‘writing/blogging’ process.

Cheers, Lancers

***

Well, I do not seem capable of shutting the hell up…

“I had the right to remain silent, but I didn’t have the ability.”

Credit: Ron White (Texan!)

“I have never had an original thought; I don’t live in a vacuum.”

–Lenny Bruce

And if this ain’t poignant for today… Well then. I do not know what is, or could be ‘is.’

Take a listen: All ‘Policemans’ in NYC might even appreciate. If they can read, that is…

(Just Kidding!)

And I wanna be ‘Your Lenny

There is a vid credit, but I lost it. His lawyers will surely contact mine…Right here on TT&H

****

Moving on…

Now, this is some strange form of Serendipitous Bullshit. But I didn’t look it in the mouth; I appreciated my opportunity.

I actually shook his hand.

This Great Man’s Hand was ‘Shook’ by My Hand.

Only in America!

“Hail Cesar!”

“Oh Hail Yes!”

Specifically In San’ Dog, California.

He weren’t none of that.

He was some, most, but not all.

Yet he was a great and actually humble man.

He was merely a man with a plan.

And He was The Real Deal!

I loved him for that.

Just like I loved Woody

And His Son

And as I respect and admire and love all the Great Americans who struggle for Equality and Freedom and Justice for all.

***

This concludes our regularly un-scheduled broadcast.

***

*Lance climbs down off his Soapbox*

*Resumes primary vocation with his co-workers*