Up-Dated! Added A Nerdy Science Vid–Ya’ll Hav’ta Scroll Down-Sorry. Earth’s Magnetic Field or ‘Full-Tilt Boogie’ “Rent–A–Sailor Part Duh: Topsy-Turvy”

Up is Down

Down is Up

Sideways is just… well, sideways

So Very Apropos For Today’s, Fuc*k’d-Up Times, Eh?

Jack Johnson – Upside Down

Old Age is a Cruel Snake-Headed MethuselahMedusa, ain’t she?

Turn you straightaway into stone

***

I still love you Diana

Always Shall.

We had three days steaming time to kill on our way to That–‘That Land Down Under’.

One night we were all sitting about, ‘cokin’ an’ smokin’ (shootin’-the-shit) in our little Gunner’s Mate ‘Office’ which was not much more than a walk-in closet with a couple of ‘make-shit’ chairs and a few Mae West life preservers for butt-comport composure.

There was GMG Me, GMG Rog, GMG Matt, GMG Eddie, and GMG Fish. Don’t know where was GMG-Geeky-Little-Maynard, nor ‘Bob-the-GMG-Body Builder.’ Probably Bob was in our ‘gym’. He pretty much lived in there. (Ed note: GMG–‘Gunner’s Mate Guns’–if you’ve read me, you’d already know this, btw.)

Speaking of things like gyms, weight-rooms, shitters, showers, berthing compartments, racks, …. Gunner’s Mate ‘offices’, et cetera:

On a U.S. naval war ship, space is always at a premium.

Ship’s Crew want a ‘weight room?’

Good luck. Find a machinery room with a little floor space available. Put your kit in there wherever you can find ‘space-to-no-avail-able’.

Want a quiet place to hang out? Good luck. Try the bilge compartment underneath the water line. (‘No thanks’)

Want peaceful, uninterrupted sleep? You should have joined the Air Force.

(I had some luck: I was the ship’s armorer—in charge of the… wait for it… the ship’s armory. All the small arms were stowed in there. You know, M14 rifles, grenade launchers, .50 cal Machine guns, riot shotguns, .45 cal pistols, grenades… Shit loads of ammo.)

And I WAS IN-CHARGE. Best Gig on The Fred! No Body, and I do mean nobody fucked with me. I had the key to all the guns. And my rep preceded me: I was known to be a ‘dead-eye-shot’. One shot/one kill.

Simple Mathematics

It was great!! As I did say, no one ever fucked with me. Fear is the greatest incentive for not fucking with a man.

A very ‘High – Security’ Space. I had one of the only two keys on board the Fred. My Department head, an 04 officer and third or fourth in command, had the only other one and he knew me from Nacogdoches back when I had my tropical fish store—yes! So he trusted me. I guess he thought we went ‘way back.’ We didn’t. But he was a good officer. And I usually don’t like officers, but I liked this one. Apparently we had a ‘history’ together…. I guess…

Moving on.

Yeah no shit. Small world. Supposedly  he had lived in Nacogdoches back when Janet and I did. We never really got to know each other. In fact, I do not recall him at all, but he remembered my store and I may have sold him a crud eater or two…

***

Anyway, the ship’s armory was my ‘go-to’ place when I did not wish to be talked-at, or just wanted a cat nap.

***

Back to our little Gunner’s Mate ‘Meeting’ in our ‘Office.’

The conversation had grown quiet.

Me, being me, I decided to have some fun with my shipmates. So I  broached a subject to mess with their heads.

As I mentioned, time to kill.

“Why do they call it ‘Down Under’ and not ‘Up Yonder’?” I asked the group.

Rog, always quick on the draw said, “Because it is down-the-fuck-under.”

“Down under what?” I shot back.

“Down under the regular world.”

“According to who Rog? And define ‘regular’” I said.

“According to everyone. And regular is, you know fucking regular,” he said back.

“That makes no sense.” I said. Then continued, “You mean because of ‘up and down’, ‘north and south’, ‘east or west’ bullshit?”

“That’s what he means,” Matt said. “Everyone knows this.”

“Guys, you ever seen those photos from the Apollo missions? The ones of the Earth taken from the Moon?”

“Of course we all have,” Fish piped in.

“Well how do you know what is up and what is down?”

Rog said, “Because the North Pole is up and the South Pole is down. Easy enuff to see in the damn photos.”

“What if the astronauts had turned the camera a hundred and eighty degrees?”

“Why would they do that?” Eddie asked.

“Why not Eddie? You ever been in outer space?”

“Uh, nope, not lately.”

“Here’s the thing, why does the ‘northern’ hemisphere get to be ‘up’ and the ‘southern’ hemisphere have to be ‘down’? Seems real ‘hemisphere – centric’ to me.”

“Just because it makes sense,” Rog said.

“Bullshit,” I said. There is no up or down in space. It’s just all arbitrary from our perspective. Allow me to dial-you-in Rog: It’s because most of Western Civilization is in the ‘Northern’ hemisphere. That’s why.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Matt said.

“Think about it Matt. Who writes the history of war?”

“Uh… War? I thought we were talking about Australia.”

“Who writes the history of war?” I asked again. “Who draws the maps?”

Eddie gets a screwed-up look on his face, “The winning side!” He blurts out.

“Precisely, Young Eddie.”

Then Fish says. “No, it ain’t about that. It’s about the magnetic poles. They are north and south… ain’t they?”

“Fish, even if they were, which they ain’t, it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I continued. “Because ever’ fifty or sixty thousand years the magnetic poles do a one-eighty and swap places.”

Is It Happening Right Now?

The Poles of the Earth Are Tilting!

Recommended Only for Geeky Nerds

(Like Me)

Original Content Cred For Vid: TheSimplySpace

***

“You’re Bullshit,” Rog says.

“Nope,” I say. “Look it up. And here is the funny part: Earth is wayyy overdue for the next swap. Could happen at any moment. What if the ‘swap’ just so happens to happen right before we pull into Sydney?”

Matt says, somewhat exasperated, “Ok, I give. What?”

“We’d then be heading to New ‘Up Yonder’ and not old ‘Down Under’. The maps would all have to be reprinted. And we’d have to turn around to stay on course for all those broads who want to ‘Rent-A-Sailor’ in Sydney, New Up Yonder.”

*Collective Groans All Around…*

In unison: “Fuck You Marcom!”

***

Previously:

To be continued.

***

Author’s note: This post is in serious need of an enema edit.

I’ll administer it later.

Butt Busy now. (Some pun intended–caint lie)

Cheers.

And thanks for sailing this far…

Just call me Ismael.

***

P.S. I am not nearly as smart as I think I am.

Not even half as smart as I think I am.

Truth is, I am only about one-third as smart as I think I am.

But,

Batting 333 will get you into the Hall of Fame.

In Baseball.

“Lance! This ain’t baseball.”

“No shit?

Damn! I musta took a wrong turn at ‘Albequerky’

Just For Reference & Deference, And Yes, I Know I am an Obnoxious Asshole. It is Genetic–I Blame My Father And His Father, & All The Fathers That Came Before.

Yes, I am an Asshole–Not Proud Of It–

G’Damn Sure Not Ashamed Of It.

***

Pounding readers Over-the-Head With My Opinions. Sorry–Not Sorry! You Pay Your Money, You take Your Chances. “Rent – A – Sailor Part Two: Topsy-Turvy” No Worries. I did up-date it… a little bit–I Don’t Wanna COMPLETELY Waste Your Dime, nor Your Time

AUSTRALIA’S DEADLIEST ANIMALS

Cred: Van Vuuren Bros

******

Up is Down

Down is Up

Sideways is just… well, sideways

(Apropos For Now, Eh?)

Old Age is a Cruel Snake-Headed MethuselahMedusa, ain’t she? Turn you straightaway into stone

I still love you Diana

Always shall.

We had three days steaming time to kill on our way to That–‘That Land Down Under’.

One night we were all sitting about, ‘cokin’ an’ smokin’ (shootin’-the-shit) in our little Gunner’s Mate ‘Office’ which was not much more than a walk-in closet with a couple of ‘make-shit’ chairs and a few Mae West life preservers for butt-comport composure.

There was GMG Me, GMG Rog, GMG Matt, GMG Eddie, and GMG Fish. Don’t know where was GMG-Geeky-Little-Maynard, nor ‘Bob-the-GMG-Body Builder.’ Probably Bob was in our ‘gym’. He pretty much lived in there. (Ed note: GMG–‘Gunner’s Mate Guns’–if you’ve read me, you’d already know this, btw.)

Speaking of things like gyms, weight-rooms, shitters, showers, berthing compartments, racks, …. Gunner’s Mate ‘offices’, et cetera:

On a U.S. naval war ship, space is always at a premium.

Ship’s Crew want a ‘weight room?’

Good luck. Find a machinery room with a little floor space available. Put your kit in there wherever you can find ‘space-to-no-avail-able’.

Want a quiet place to hang out? Good luck. Try the bilge compartment underneath the water line. (‘No thanks’)

Want peaceful, uninterrupted sleep? You should have joined the Air Force.

(I had some luck: I was the ship’s armorer—in charge of the… wait for it… the ship’s armory. All the small arms were stowed in there. You know, M14 rifles, grenade launchers, .50 cal Machine guns, riot shotguns, .45 cal pistols, grenades… Shit loads of ammo.)

And I WAS IN-CHARGE. Best Gig on The Fred! No Body, and I do mean nobody fucked with me. I had the key to all the guns. And my rep preceded me: I was known to be a ‘dead-eye-shot’. One shot/one kill. It was great!! As I did say, no one ever fucked with me. Fear is the greatest incentive for not fucking with a man.

A very ‘High – Security’ Space.

I had one of the only two keys on board the Fred. My Department head, an 04 officer and third or fourth in command, had the only other one and he knew me from Nacogdoches back when I had my tropical fish store—yes! So he trusted me.

I guess he thought we went ‘way back.’ We didn’t. But he was a good officer. And I usually don’t like officers, but I liked this one. Apparently we had a ‘history’ together…. I guess…

Moving on.

Yeah no shit. Small world. Supposedly  he had lived in Nacogdoches back when Janet and I did. We never really got to know each other. In fact, I do not recall him at all, but he remembered my store and I may have sold him a crud eater or two…

***

Anyway, the ship’s armory was my ‘go-to’ place when I did not wish to be talked-at, or just wanted a cat nap.

***

Back to our little Gunner’s Mate ‘Meeting’ in our ‘Office.’

The conversation had grown quiet.

Me, being me, I decided to have some fun with my shipmates. So I  broached a subject to mess with their heads.

As I mentioned, time to kill.

“Why do they call it ‘Down Under’ and not ‘Up Yonder’?” I asked the group.

Rog, always quick on the draw said, “Because it is down-the-fuck-under.”

“Down under what?” I shot back.

“Down under the regular world.”

“According to who Rog? And define ‘regular’” I said.

“According to everyone. And regular is, you know fucking regular,” he said back.

“That makes no sense.” I said. Then continued, “You mean because of ‘up and down’, ‘north and south’, ‘east or west’ bullshit?”

“That’s what he means,” Matt said. “Everyone knows this.”

“Guys, you ever seen those photos from the Apollo missions? The ones of the Earth taken from the Moon?”

“Of course we all have,” Fish piped in.

“Well how do you know what is up and what is down?”

Rog said, “Because the North Pole is up and the South Pole is down. Easy enuff to see in the damn photos.”

“What if the astronauts had turned the camera a hundred and eighty degrees?”

“Why would they do that?” Eddie asked.

“Why not Eddie? You ever been in outer space?”

“Uh, nope, not lately.”

“Here’s the thing, why does the ‘northern’ hemisphere get to be ‘up’ and the ‘southern’ hemisphere have to be ‘down’? Seems real ‘hemisphere – centric’ to me.”

“Just because it makes sense,” Rog said.

“Bullshit,” I said. There is no up or down in space. It’s just all arbitrary from our perspective. Allow me to dial-you-in Rog: It’s because most of Western Civilization is in the ‘Northern’ hemisphere. That’s why.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Matt said.

“Think about it Matt. Who writes the history of war?”

“Uh… War? I thought we were talking about Australia.”

“Who writes the history of war?” I asked again. “Who draws the maps?”

Eddie gets a screwed-up look on his face, “The winning side!” He blurts out.

“Precisely, Young Eddie.”

Then Fish says. “No, it ain’t about that. It’s about the magnetic poles. They are north and south… ain’t they?”

“Fish, even if they were, which they ain’t, it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I continued. “Because ever’ fifty or sixty thousand years the magnetic poles do a one-eighty and swap places.”

“You’re bullshit,” Rog says.

“Nope,” I say. “Look it up. And here is the funny part: Earth is wayyy overdue for the next swap. Could happen at any moment. What if the ‘swap’ just so happens to happen right before we pull into Sydney?”

Matt says, somewhat exasperated, “Ok, I give. What?”

“We’d then be heading to New ‘Up Yonder’ and not old ‘Down Under’. The maps would all have to be reprinted. And we’d have to turn around to stay on course for all those broads who want to ‘Rent-A-Sailor’ in Sydney, New Up Yonder.”

*Collective Groans All Around…*

In unison: “Fuck You Marcom!”

***

Previously:

To be continued.

***

Author’s note: This post is in serious need of an edit enema.

I’ll administer it later.

Butt Busy now. (some pun intended–caint lie)

Cheers.

And thanks for sailing this far…

Just call me Ismael.

***

P.S. I am not nearly as smart as I think I am.

Not even half as smart as I think I am.

Truth is, I am only about one-third as smart as I think I am.

But,

Batting 333 will get you into the Hall of Fame.

In Baseball.

“Lance! This ain’t baseball.”

“No shit? Damn! I musta took a wrong turn at ‘Albequerky’.”

Up-Dated-Expanded–Rent – A – Sailor Part Two: ‘You Are Not Where You Think You Are’–Up-Side Down You May Be

*****

You Are Not Always Where You Think You Are:

Credit: Kurzgesagt – In a Nutshell

***

Up is Down

Down is Up

Sideways is just… well, sideways

(Apropos For Now, Eh?)

***

I still love you Diana

Always shall.

“Upside Down”

– Michael Jackson at Diana Ross Concert (1980)

******

We had three days steaming time to kill on our way to That–‘That Land Down Under’.

One night we were all sitting about, ‘cokin’ an’ smokin’ (shootin’-the-shit) in our little Gunner’s Mate ‘Office’ which was not much more than a walk-in closet with a couple of ‘make-shit’ chairs and a few Mae West life preservers for butt-comport composure.

There was GMG Me, GMG Rog, GMG Matt, GMG Eddie, and GMG Fish. Don’t know where was GMG-Geeky-Little-Maynard, nor ‘Bob-the-GMG-Body Builder.’ Probably Bob was in our ‘gym’. He pretty much lived in there. (Ed note: GMG–‘Gunner’s Mate Guns’–if you’ve read me, you’d already know this, btw.)

Speaking of things like gyms, weight-rooms, shitters, showers, berthing compartments, racks, …. Gunner’s Mate ‘offices’, et cetera:

On a U.S. naval war ship, space is always at a premium.

Ship’s Crew want a ‘weight room?’

Good luck. Find a machinery room with a little floor space available. Put your kit in there wherever you can find ‘space-to-no-avail-able’.

Want a quiet place to hang out? Good luck. Try the bilge compartment underneath the water line. (‘No thanks’)

Want peaceful, uninterrupted sleep? You should have joined the Air Force.

(I had some luck: I was the ship’s armorer—in charge of the… wait for it… the ship’s armory. All the small arms were stowed in there. You know, M14 rifles, grenade launchers, .50 cal Machine guns, riot shotguns, .45 cal pistols, grenades… Shit loads of ammo.)

And I WAS IN-CHARGE. Best Gig on The Fred! No Body, and I do mean nobody fucked with me. I had the key to all the guns. And my rep preceded me: I was known to be a ‘dead-eye-shot’. One shot/one kill. It was great!! As I did say, no one ever fucked with me. Fear is the greatest incentive for not fucking with a man.

A very ‘High – Security’ Space. I had one of the only two keys on board the Fred. My Department head, an 04 officer and third or fourth in command, had the only other one and he knew me from Nacogdoches back when I had my tropical fish store—yes! So he trusted me. I guess he thought we went ‘way back.’ We didn’t. But he was a good officer. And I usually don’t like officers, but I liked this one. Apparently we had a ‘history’ together…. I guess…

Moving on.

Yeah no shit. Small world. Supposedly  he had lived in Nacogdoches back when Janet and I did. We never really got to know each other. In fact, I do not recall him at all, but he remembered my store and I may have sold him a crud eater or two…

***

Anyway, the ship’s armory was my ‘go-to’ place when I did not wish to be talked-at, or just wanted a cat nap.

***

Back to our little Gunner’s Mate ‘Meeting’ in our ‘Office.’

The conversation had grown quiet.

Me, being me, I decided to have some fun with my shipmates. So I  broached a subject to mess with their heads.

As I mentioned, time to kill.

“Why do they call it ‘Down Under’ and not ‘Up Yonder’?” I asked the group.

Rog, always quick on the draw said, “Because it is down-the-fuck-under.”

“Down under what?” I shot back.

“Down under the regular world.”

“According to who Rog? And define ‘regular’” I said.

“According to everyone. And regular is, you know fucking regular,” he said back.

“That makes no sense.” I said. Then continued, “You mean because of ‘up and down’, ‘north and south’, ‘east or west’ bullshit?”

“That’s what he means,” Matt said. “Everyone knows this.”

“Guys, you ever seen those photos from the Apollo missions? The ones of the Earth taken from the Moon?”

“Of course we all have,” Fish piped in.

“Well how do you know what is up and what is down?”

Rog said, “Because the North Pole is up and the South Pole is down. Easy enuff to see in the damn photos.”

“What if the astronauts had turned the camera a hundred and eighty degrees?”

“Why would they do that?” Eddie asked.

“Why not Eddie? You ever been in outer space?”

“Uh, nope, not lately.”

“Here’s the thing, why does the ‘northern’ hemisphere get to be ‘up’ and the ‘southern’ hemisphere have to be ‘down’? Seems real ‘hemisphere – centric’ to me.”

“Just because it makes sense,” Rog said.

“Bullshit,” I said. There is no up or down in space. It’s just all arbitrary from our perspective. Allow me to dial-you-in Rog: It’s because most of Western Civilization is in the ‘Northern’ hemisphere. That’s why.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Matt said.

“Think about it Matt. Who writes the history of war?”

“Uh… War? I thought we were talking about Australia.”

“Who writes the history of war?” I asked again. “Who draws the maps?”

Eddie gets a screwed-up look on his face, “The winning side!” He blurts out.

“Precisely, Young Eddie.”

Then Fish says. “No, it ain’t about that. It’s about the magnetic poles. They are north and south… ain’t they?”

“Fish, even if they were, which they ain’t, it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I continued. “Because ever’ fifty or sixty thousand years the magnetic poles do a one-eighty and swap places.”

“You’re bullshit,” Rog says.

“Nope,” I say. “Look it up. And here is the funny part: Earth is wayyy overdue for the next swap. Could happen at any moment. What if the ‘swap’ just so happens to happen right before we pull into Sydney?”

Matt says, somewhat exasperated, “Ok, I give. What?”

“We’d then be heading to New ‘Up Yonder’ and not old ‘Down Under’. The maps would all have to be reprinted. And we’d have to turn around to stay on course for all those broads who want to ‘Rent-A-Sailor’ in Sydney, New Up Yonder.”

*Collective Groans All Around…*

In unison: “Fuck You Marcom!”

***

Previously:

To be continued.

***

Author’s note: This post is in serious need of an edit enema.

I’ll administer it later.

Butt Busy now. (some pun intended–caint lie)

Cheers.

And thanks for sailing this far…

Just call me Ismael.

***

P.S. I am not nearly as smart as I think I am.

Not even half as smart as I think I am.

Truth is, I am only about one-third as smart as I think I am.

But,

Batting 333 will get you into the Hall of Fame.

In Baseball.

“Lance! This ain’t baseball.”

“No shit?

Damn! I musta took a wrong turn at ‘Albequerky’.”

Rent – A – Sailor Part Two: Topsy-Turvy

Up is Down

Down is Up

Sideways is just… well, sideways

(Apropos For Now, Eh?)

Old Age is a Cruel Snake-Headed MethuselahMedusa, ain’t she? Turn you straightaway into stone

I still love you Diana

Always shall.

We had three days steaming time to kill on our way to That–‘That Land Down Under’.

One night we were all sitting about, ‘cokin’ an’ smokin’ (shootin’-the-shit) in our little Gunner’s Mate ‘Office’ which was not much more than a walk-in closet with a couple of ‘make-shit’ chairs and a few Mae West life preservers for butt-comport composure.

There was GMG Me, GMG Rog, GMG Matt, GMG Eddie, and GMG Fish. Don’t know where was GMG-Geeky-Little-Maynard, nor ‘Bob-the-GMG-Body Builder.’ Probably Bob was in our ‘gym’. He pretty much lived in there. (Ed note: GMG–‘Gunner’s Mate Guns’–if you’ve read me, you’d already know this, btw.)

Speaking of things like gyms, weight-rooms, shitters, showers, berthing compartments, racks, …. Gunner’s Mate ‘offices’, et cetera:

On a U.S. naval war ship, space is always at a premium.

Ship’s Crew want a ‘weight room?’

Good luck. Find a machinery room with a little floor space available. Put your kit in there wherever you can find ‘space-to-no-avail-able’.

Want a quiet place to hang out? Good luck. Try the bilge compartment underneath the water line. (‘No thanks’)

Want peaceful, uninterrupted sleep? You should have joined the Air Force.

(I had some luck: I was the ship’s armorer—in charge of the… wait for it… the ship’s armory. All the small arms were stowed in there. You know, M14 rifles, grenade launchers, .50 cal Machine guns, riot shotguns, .45 cal pistols, grenades… Shit loads of ammo.)

And I WAS IN-CHARGE. Best Gig on The Fred! No Body, and I do mean nobody fucked with me. I had the key to all the guns. And my rep preceded me: I was known to be a ‘dead-eye-shot’. One shot/one kill. It was great!! As I did say, no one ever fucked with me. Fear is the greatest incentive for not fucking with a man.

A very ‘High – Security’ Space. I had one of the only two keys on board the Fred. My Department head, an 04 officer and third or fourth in command, had the only other one and he knew me from Nacogdoches back when I had my tropical fish store—yes! So he trusted me. I guess he thought we went ‘way back.’ We didn’t. But he was a good officer. And I usually don’t like officers, but I liked this one. Apparently we had a ‘history’ together…. I guess…

Moving on.

Yeah no shit. Small world. Supposedly  he had lived in Nacogdoches back when Janet and I did. We never really got to know each other. In fact, I do not recall him at all, but he remembered my store and I may have sold him a crud eater or two…

***

Anyway, the ship’s armory was my ‘go-to’ place when I did not wish to be talked-at, or just wanted a cat nap.

***

Back to our little Gunner’s Mate ‘Meeting’ in our ‘Office.’

The conversation had grown quiet.

Me, being me, I decided to have some fun with my shipmates. So I  broached a subject to mess with their heads.

As I mentioned, time to kill.

“Why do they call it ‘Down Under’ and not ‘Up Yonder’?” I asked the group.

Rog, always quick on the draw said, “Because it is down-the-fuck-under.”

“Down under what?” I shot back.

“Down under the regular world.”

“According to who Rog? And define ‘regular’” I said.

“According to everyone. And regular is, you know fucking regular,” he said back.

“That makes no sense.” I said. Then continued, “You mean because of ‘up and down’, ‘north and south’, ‘east or west’ bullshit?”

“That’s what he means,” Matt said. “Everyone knows this.”

“Guys, you ever seen those photos from the Apollo missions? The ones of the Earth taken from the Moon?”

“Of course we all have,” Fish piped in.

“Well how do you know what is up and what is down?”

Rog said, “Because the North Pole is up and the South Pole is down. Easy enuff to see in the damn photos.”

“What if the astronauts had turned the camera a hundred and eighty degrees?”

“Why would they do that?” Eddie asked.

“Why not Eddie? You ever been in outer space?”

“Uh, nope, not lately.”

“Here’s the thing, why does the ‘northern’ hemisphere get to be ‘up’ and the ‘southern’ hemisphere have to be ‘down’? Seems real ‘hemisphere – centric’ to me.”

“Just because it makes sense,” Rog said.

“Bullshit,” I said. There is no up or down in space. It’s just all arbitrary from our perspective. Allow me to dial-you-in Rog: It’s because most of Western Civilization is in the ‘Northern’ hemisphere. That’s why.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Matt said.

“Think about it Matt. Who writes the history of war?”

“Uh… War? I thought we were talking about Australia.”

“Who writes the history of war?” I asked again. “Who draws the maps?”

Eddie gets a screwed-up look on his face, “The winning side!” He blurts out.

“Precisely, Young Eddie.”

Then Fish says. “No, it ain’t about that. It’s about the magnetic poles. They are north and south… ain’t they?”

“Fish, even if they were, which they ain’t, it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I continued. “Because ever’ fifty or sixty thousand years the magnetic poles do a one-eighty and swap places.”

“You’re bullshit,” Rog says.

“Nope,” I say. “Look it up. And here is the funny part: Earth is wayyy overdue for the next swap. Could happen at any moment. What if the ‘swap’ just so happens to happen right before we pull into Sydney?”

Matt says, somewhat exasperated, “Ok, I give. What?”

“We’d then be heading to New ‘Up Yonder’ and not old ‘Down Under’. The maps would all have to be reprinted. And we’d have to turn around to stay on course for all those broads who want to ‘Rent-A-Sailor’ in Sydney, New Up Yonder.”

*Collective Groans All Around…*

In unison: “Fuck You Marcom!”

***

Previously:

To be continued.

***

Author’s note: This post is in serious need of an edit enema.

I’ll administer it later.

Butt Busy now. (some pun intended–caint lie)

Cheers.

And thanks for sailing this far…

Just call me Ismael.

***

P.S. I am not nearly as smart as I think I am.

Not even half as smart as I think I am.

Truth is, I am only about one-third as smart as I think I am.

But,

Batting 333 will get you into the Hall of Fame.

In Baseball.

“Lance! This ain’t baseball.”

“No shit?

Damn! I musta took a wrong turn at ‘Albequerky’.”

Yes. I Have Been To Australia–Twice. “Rent-One, Buy-One Part Three,” (I Think) Thanks Again to an Erstwhile Friend–For Reminding Me Of This Moldy Old One.

I may be Gored…

Bored,

And Completely Ignored

Born again,

and

Begin Anew

Again

(with this stupid post series)

“Rent-a-Sailor”

***

10 Reasons Why Australian Women Are Better Than American Women:

Cred: Charismatics

***

You Know You Are Dating an Australian Woman When:

***

“Rent-A-Sailor”

Yes

Yes

Yes

Fuckkng yes!

I am skipping/slipping ahead. And Justen – Case…. yu have not figgered it out, the below is the email. Un edited. Not ‘polished’ As if I ever ‘polish’ any fucking thing…. Well. I polished some Naconas once…

****

I have lots of ink to spill on Australia, even though I was only there for a couple of weeks.

> Was one week in Sydney

> One week in Cairns

> Met a girl in Sydney.

> (TMI?)

> Naw!

> This is rated PG.

> Anyway, she came to San Dog ’bout six months after my deployment ended. I showed her the town.

> She was uglier than a home-made mud fence, but me, being ever gracious, when I had met her and she had told me she was coming to America, specifically San Diego, well.

> I told her to keep in touch and I would show her around once she arrived.

She did.

I did.

> I did. I showed her around, but not to my shipmates…. I had already been mocked enuff by them….

> I just could bring myself to sleep with her.

> Even I have standards.

> I may be a slut.

> But I am slut with standards.

> I did show her a good time though.

> I think she appreciated it, even yet, she never said so.

> And I spent an entire paycheck showing her around town.

> Not that money means anything to me,

> Took her everywhere.

> Seaport Village

> La Jolla

> Coronado

> The Zoo (which was a risk–for her— because she looked like….nevermind)

> but

> Goddamn it!

> She had that “I am entitled air’

> In California, with all the beach babes…. this woman was lucky the Coast Guard did not mistake her for a beached whale and harpoon her in….

> What am I saying?

> Fu*k it!

> I full-filled my promise.

> I never promised to fu*k her.

> Now I am sounding like an  asshole.

> I invited a woman to see me in America. I showed her around. I showed her a good time. I spent all my dimes.

> That was all there was to it.

Ed. Note: She could eat corn off the cob thru a picket fence.

Yeah. Her teeth defied all the laws of physics. I (sober then, said to my self… I said

“Self, this bitch ain’t getting them choppers anywhere near my jewels. Nope. Not today. No way. Not Ever Fuckin’ Ever.”

> Sorry. This is stream of conscientious

> I will write More on Australia.

> And if, BIG IF, I put her in, make her famous, I will write her a new face and a new disposition.

> I will use some creative license. I will be a gentleman.

In some other words: I will lie.

> Not too difficult, since it comes so natch to me.

> LOL

Sailor For Sale or Rent:

Fifty Cents

Fun Fact: My BEST, MOST BEAUTIFUL High School sweetheart was remotely related to Roger Miller: Fifth Cousin, Eight Removed. But I was impressed. (She knows who she is and if she reads this, I am Fifth Fucked and Eight times removed from life)


Vid Cred: Leanne Albillar

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“General Facts and Tips on Dating Australian Women
Australian Girls
Have you ever thought about visiting the land of down under and dating a chick from Australia? If not, you should definitely consider this as an option. Aussie girls are known to be laid back, friendly, into sports, ambitious, and accepting. Here are a couple of tips on dating girls from Australia and general facts about Aussie chicks.”

Lance Sez: “Don’t do it. They Will Wreck you and Break Your heart!”

Still? Nav Mode? Bullshit! Always in Sailor Mode! “Sea–Somewhat of a Stream of Almost Consciousness” And Somewhat Of A “Confession” RE: My Previous Post. Don’t Grow Too ‘Comfortable’ With This Side Of Me Cannot Properly Edit This. (Thanks Wanker WordPress!) Sorry Y’all for Some Redundancies. I Can’t Fix STUPID–wORDpRESS

For ALL NAVIES–ALL SAILORS–ALL COUNTRIES

Sailors of The World–All The World Over

SHARE A

Special

Brother-Hood

&

Sister-Hood

Race, Class,

Don’t Matter

****

“For Those In Peril On The Sea”

Well, there’s so many sinking now
You gotta keep thinking
You can make it through these waves
Acid, booze, and ass
Needles, guns, and grass
Lots of laughs

Joni

Blue songs are like tattoos
You know I’ve been to sea before
Crown and anchor me
Or let me sail away
Hey, blue, there is a song for you
Ink on a pin
Underneath the skin
An empty space to fill in

OK

Once

Maybe

Twice

I Have Been Scared At Sea

Ship Hits The Fan!

“The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”

Creds: Gordon Lightfoot — Artist & Zeezy — Vid Share

******

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.””