I Stall. Uhaul. Shonnie, The Truest Sentiment You May Find Here From Me She, Shonnie reallllllly fucked me up. I am still struggling to recover and get over her. (Listen to the MTB song) And know this Y’all, I have found a new Shonnie. Only Problem I have: She hates me. Just a hurdle I shall O’re, over… jump over… leap over. (Nailed it!)

More Shonnie Here:

2021 UPDATE

One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine

I stall.

Why?

Because I am lazy.

And typing is hard.

Some of you may be waiting for the last few chapters of ‘Shonnie, The Biker’s Wife.” (I know, as I am awaiting them too). But that said, well what can I say? I tend to expose personal shit here. Sometimes it grows difficult, and I grow wary and weary. I have vowed to my Vizsla Dog

???????????????????????????????

that I will finish this tale tomorrow and get past it. (My dog tends to humour me. What choice does he have? I control the ‘soup bones’)

So, with that ‘sate-ment’, I leave you just one more clue to the outcome, by way of a song (There is always ‘A Song’ isn’t there?)

Cheers, Lance

Vid Credit:

Colt28683

 P.S. This is an ever-building story. If ya don’t watch the vid, well, ya gonna miss the best half of the denouement.

–Just sayin’…

“Caint you see?”

(Slightly Updated) Rent One, Part… Three, I think… Thanks Again to an Erstwhile Friend. I may be gored… bored, ignored, born again, and begin anew, again (with this stupid post series) Rent-a-Sailor

“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?

> Fuck it!

> I full-filled my promise.

> I never promised to fuck 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 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

***

“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!”

12 Reasons To Date An Australian Woman:

https://www.bustle.com/articles/93044-12-reasons-to-date-an-australian-woman-if-youre-lucky-enough-to-have-one-want-to

Rant One, Rent One, Part… Three, I think… Thanks Again to an Erstwhile Friend. I may be gored… bored, born again, and begin anew, again (with this stupid post series) Rent-a-Sailor

“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 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?

> Fuck it!

> I full-filled my promise.

> I never promised to fuck her.

> Now I am sounding like an  asshole.

> I invited a woman to see me in America.

> 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. Ever.”

> Sorry. This is stream of conscientious

> I will write 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

Here Comes a Rant: Stand By For Heavy Rolls As The Shit Comes About

And I claimed to hate The Eighties.

I lied.

To myself.

(Yup. I changed the Title. It’s My Blog After All,  Ain’t It?)

The Eighties SUCKED Music-Wise

(And Other-Wise)

Wow! What a Bold Statement!

“Yes, and I stand by it.”

Now… Y’all, fess up! The Eighties were devoid of decent music, save a few, (Damn few) exceptions.

Hey! We are talking ‘bout the decade of want here! The Decade of “We want shoes! Therefore we am!” Ya know what? Fuck The Eighties! I was still a young man during them yet, even I, even I… scratched my head and pondered The End of Western Civilization.

maddie

(But Damn! How I did love Madonna!)

I served my country during The Eighties.

I loved Reagan during The Eighties.

I grew prematurely old during the Eighties.

What the hell was there not to love?

About The Eighties?

Well…

For Starters,

The Eighties were not The Sixties, nor The Seventies.

The Eighties Had NO Moral Compass.

The Eighties had NO WAR to protest.

The Eighties had Nothing, save for ‘Michael Jackson’ and ‘Rambo’ and such jokes make not a decade to be proud of.

OK: Bet Yer Boots

There is more to come.

And Comments along the way: Encouraged

This Post Will Be Heavily slightly  Not Edited, but you will see all the edits (of which there will be none), as per my wont, and my promise in a  previous post. (Yeah: work in progress…)

Stay Tuned

Y’all

(Then again, I may probably won’t just delete this and move on)

So read fast; leisurely if you’re of a mind to…

And, if you have come this far:

I actually want  really desire this to be a ‘community post’. Now, what I mean by that is this: Throw in your comments/musings/rants/raves/loves/hates about The Eighties. I will mesh them into the post. (with credits to authors) This could be fun (if we allow it)

(And if y’all believe that shit, I have a bridge for sale–just kidding–I swear! I will fold any comments into the post)

Come on now! You know you have an opinion!

Cheers and Beers!

–Lancers

 

The eighties? what were we thinking????

Throw-Back: She’s Not Here

NAVY CLUB of the United State of America MILITARY EXCELLENCE Award

“Presented to the graduating recruit who best exemplifies the qualities of enthusiasm, devotion to duty, military appearance and behavior, self-discipline and teamwork.”

This was the highest honor any recruit could be awarded.

I won that sucker in ‘85.

Before I went to Boot Camp, aka in Naval Parlance, “Recruit Training” my recruiter told my wife:

Great mistakes“Hey, If Lance wins this award, The Navy will pay for your plane ticket and lodging at Great Lakes Naval Recruit Center so you may see Lance graduate. But of course, it is very unlikely he will win. I mean the odds are against it, but who knows? Lance has scored the best on his ASVAB and he looks to be squared-away.” Blah Blah Blah.

My wife was an Army Reserve Vet, a Non-Com in the U.S. Army Reserve, and for her day job, a probation officer. She should have smelled bullshit. So should I. But neither one of us did. We were poor. I promised her before I left for Boot Camp:

“Janet, I am gonna win that award and you are gonna be so proud of me. The Navy will fly you to Chicago and we will be together before I ship out to SEAL training. Don’t worry: the Navy is an honorable service. They cannot make these claims if they are not true.”

She put me on the plane and I headed off to Great Lakes RTC (Recruit Training Center). I arrived at 0400hrs and somewhat scared shitless, even though I was twenty-seven and a veteran of one war zone already (see SFM). But I had seen too many movies and I knew my next nine weeks would ‘test’ me.

 

About 0500hrs, just after I had reached that REM status, some asshole threw a shit can (55 gal. trash can) down the middle of the barracks.

“Clang Clang! Bounce! Clang! Fucking CLANG!”

“Wake the fuck up Gentlemen! Welcome to the US Navy! Get your asses outta your racks! Spit and Shine! Fall the Fuck OUT! Do it! Do it now! Line the fuck up in front of yer racks!”

(Just like in the movies.)

******

Every morning for the next few weeks it was like this. Never enough time to piss, take a drink of water, take a shit, take a shower, eat, think, miss home. Never time for anything, except learning how to fold our skivvies.

This is what I signed on for? For Fuck sake. My CC (Company Commander) was twenty-four years old. I was twenty-seven. Do I really need this shit? Well, ‘Call me Ishmael’. You do what you must. I had to endure long enough to get to SEAL training: Then surely my REAL Naval Career could begin. (BUD/s)

Somewhere about week six of boot camp, my CC informed me that he had nominated me for the Naval Club of the U.S. Military Excellence Award.

“Sir! Yes Sir! Excuse me Sir! But Sir! What the fuck is that?”

(We were encouraged to use profanity—meant we were men—yes)

I feigned ignorance–not difficult to do, given my Rickie Recruit Status.

“Rick!” (All recruits are called ‘Rick’–‘Rickie Recruit’ in Naval Boot Camp) “Rick!” He continued, I have nominated you for this award. I have stuck my neck out for you. There are twelve companies of Ricks for this cycle. That means about eleven hundred recruits. Every division picks the one best recruit from their company to go head to head against the rest. You are my choice. Do not fuck this up!”

“Sir! What do I do?”

“You will be called to see the DIVO (Company Division Officer) and he will interview you to make sure you are qualified to represent our company and the division. He is a senior officer. You  better impress the hell outta him, or I am gonna look like an idiot.”

“Sir! Yes Sir! I will do my best!”

“Marcom! You better do better than your best! Dismissed!”

Wow! And I had been trying to fly/remain somewhere under the radar. Now I had to perform for an award I had decided I did not seek nor want. I figured/hoped Janet would find an alternate way to me for my Graduation. 

Few days later I was summoned to the DIVO’s office.

Standing outside his door, sweating my ass off, I waited to be ordered inside.

Another Rick came up to me and said, “You can go on in now. Just be sure to knock on the door like a MAN. Give the door a good loud knock and wait until he says ‘Enter’. Then God save you.”

“Thanks Asshole” I remember thinking.

I approached the door, took a breath and whacked the hell out of it.

“Enter!”

Manly, I threw the door open. Seated behind an oak desk was the DIVO, a full Commander. I had never spoken to an Officer at this point. I was scared shitless.

“Step Forward Son!” he commanded.

I took two steps into his office and remained at attention, no small feat—difficult to walk while maintaining the ‘at attention’ status.

“ABOUT FACE!” he yelled at me.

I had never learned to perform a proper About Face. Just did not seem important to me, as I was the Geek in the company, and no one had noticed or cared about my ‘Geekiness’.

I made an effort but got my feet tangled up and damn near fell on my face.

“What the Fuck Almighty is that shit Rick!?” He screamed, standing up and walking over to face me. I could feel his breath on me now and I was truly scared.

He took a step back and ordered again, “About FACE!”

I tried again and failed.

“Son, why the fuck are you here wasting my time?” he bellowed. “You have been nominated by your CC to represent the proud history and tradition of this Division for the Military Excellence award. And YOU CANNOT EVEN Do A PROPER ABOUT FACE?! Drop the fuck down! Push ups! Until I get tired.”

Unfortunately, My CC walked in at this time, expecting to meet with the DIVO and hear about what a great candidate he had submitted to represent The Division for The Award. What he discovered, to his horror, was me in the ‘Leaning Rest’ prostrate on the floor of his boss, obviously humiliated.

After some stuttering from my CC, and our being thrown out of the DIVO’s office, we made it back to the barracks.

CC took me aside and confided, “Marcom, I know you are a good recruit, but my ass is on the line here. You can succeed in this. All you have to do is learn how to do a proper about face. You have one week until they call everyone in front of The Board which decides the awardee. I suggest you practice… or kill yourself.”

I did. I practiced and practiced and practiced. I just could never get it down perfect. Everything else I had to offer was squared away, but if I could not do the simplest, most basic military step… well, I was fucked.

The day of the Review Board came. I could not eat morning chow for my nerves. At 1000hrs I was summoned to The Building to stand in front of The Board. There were twelve of us nominees all nervously waiting our turn to be called in to the room to be tested. As I recall, my name came up tenth. No way was I going to have a chance at this. I had checked out my competition (Why did I feel like a contestant in some fucking beauty pageant?), and I had found me lacking and wanting.

I stepped up to the door and gave my hearty three knocks.

“Enter!”

“Don’t show fear,” I said to myself. “They will smell fear.”

I took my requisite three steps forward and faced the three officers seated behind a folding table, “Seaman Recruit Marcom reporting!” I shouted.

“Very well. About Face!”

(“Oh Shit!” I thought. “Please don’t let me fuck this up.”)

I executed a passable ‘About Face’.

“Have a seat Son” one of the officers instructed.

I took the lone chair which stood in the Spartan room, sat rigidly and waited for the rest of the ‘interview.’

Happily, I answered all their questions to their satisfaction, but after I had been dismissed and returned to my peers, I knew I had screwed the pooch with my lame-ass about face. The twelve of us stood outside the room at ‘Parade Rest’ for about twenty minutes before one of the officers came out and announced,

“Gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Seaman Recruit Marcom is our Military Excellence Award recipient. “Congratulations Seaman Recruit Marcom,” He said, handing me a sheet of paper, then standing in front of us, all lined up like martinets, he ordered, “About Face!”

We all executed the command, but I got my feet tangled once again. Another officer had come out of the room just in time to witness this. I saw a look of horror on his face. The officer who had just pronounced me the most ‘squared-away’ sailor out of the eleven hundred who had been eligible barked, “Dismissed!” And we got the hell out of there, smartly. I ran back to my CC with the documentation in hand, proving that I had, in fact won the award. He snatched it from me, no preamble. Read it, then went some kind of ape-shit happy.

While I was basking in the glow of the accolades of my shipmates in the barracks, CC came running out of his office and screamed, “Marcom! Front and Center! Double Time!”

“Oh shit!” I thought. “They done changed their mind.”

I ran up to CC and said, “Sir! Yes Sir!”

“Double time it down to the DIVO’s office! Do it now!”

I beat feet over to DIVO’s building and office. Walked up to his receptionist and announced, “Seaman Recruit Marcom here to see DIVO.”

“You may go in now Rick,” she said.

I gave his door the hearty whack.

“Enter!” came his booming voice.

I strode into his office, taking my three steps, then announced, “Seaman Recruit Marcom reporting Sir!”

He looked me up and down, paused, and then shouted, “ABOUT FACE!”

I proceeded to perform the only perfect ‘about face’ in the history of my naval career.

“Thank Fucking God!” He yelled. “Now get the hell outta my office!”

“Yes SIR!” I said and as I turned to depart, he said,

“Congratulations Marcom! You did the Division proud today.”

Tears welled as I left. I cannot recall a happier moment in my life.

*************

Three weeks later at graduation, I was presented my award. I had not had a chance to talk to my wife since the day I had been selected but I assured her that as soon as my recruiter had the official word of my award, she would have her plane ticket to Great Lakes Naval base and she would be escorted to the graduation ceremony.

During the entire three hour graduation ordeal, I kept my eyes searching the bleachers for my wife.

This Did Not Happen for Me

This Did Not Happen for Me

She was not there.

After the graduation I went looking for her.

She was not there.

She had not come.

She was NOT There.

Someone had lied.

She WAS NOT THERE.

I never forgot that day.

My Mother The Car

Slightly ‘dated’ photo of Honey Grove above.

Sometime shortly after I mustered out of the U.S. Navy…
I found me suddenly in need of a car, a vehicle, a mode of transport, fuckin’ wheels.
Never really havin’ given two shits ‘bout such, I found myself in front of a pawn shop in Honey Grove Texas early one morning. Too early, in fact.

But, I skip ahead (as is my wont)

Let us go back in time (just a few hours; be patient)
I had fallen ‘in love’ with a woman (It happens)
Got drunk one late night; decided I needed counsel (from Peanut—My Yoda—problem was, I was in Commerce, Texas and Yoda was in Honey Grove, miles and miles and styles away)
What to do?
Drive to see him on Endor.
Jumped into my chariot and almost made it.
Alas! A bar ditch jumped up in front of me.
The car did not survive.
Happily, I did, but now I had a real problem:
Yoda was still miles away.
Walked the two miles to HG and spied a vehicle “For Sale”
Walked in to the pawn shop and inquired:
“Yall take credit cards?”
“No Son; we do not.”
“Damn shame,” I said. “’Cause I wanna buy that car y’all got for sale out yonder. Well see ya.”
“Wait! Wait! We can make an exception!”
“OK, gas her up and get her ready.”

And the rest, as they say, was History.

P.S. This post was inspired by a memory my good friend Mark, over at

http://markbialczak.com/

brought out in my mind. Thanks Mark. Peace On!

PPS: The ‘Car’ Had a half-life about as long as a bottle of Jim Beam in my house.