UPDATED / Expanded! Turned Into A Bit Of A Mini-Rant, But Y’all Know How I Tend To Roll… “Should I Continue This Series? Fishin’ for Encouragement Here. or Maybe I am Just Lonely… Who knows? No One, I suppose … “Rent – A – Sailor: Part One”

P.S. This Post Has Become A Long-Ass-Long-Winded–Verbosity-Laden–Monstrosity– –If You Manage To Slog Through It, Send Me A Bill. I Promise To Reimburse Your Purse For Lost Time.

Hahaha!

“The Line Forms To The Right”

Credit: Bobby Darin

Just Take A Number & Have A Seat.

I’ll Get To You. By And Bye

*****

Aussie Wu-Flu Photo Below:

Really Upsets Me, Because Last Time I Visited There,

The Mates & the Shelia’s Had NO Fear!

Not A Care

In This World

(Unless The Foster’s Ran Dry)

My Kind-Of-People:

Mostly Perpetually Happy & Up-Beat

Or…

In The Aussie Vernacular:

“No Worries Mate.”

Pretty Sure This “Aussie-Attitude”

Still Rings True–

At Least I Hopes It Do

Its Just

Their Fukk’Up Government.

But We Americans Cannot ‘Honestly’ Throw Stones

Can We?

*****

Aussie Gals Are FEARLESS

This Has Been My Experience

(Much Like Texan Gals)

Just For Ref:

***********

You Know You Are Dating an Australian Woman When…

Cred: Dating Beyond Borders

Aussie Sheilas:

****

I No Longer Wish to Return To Australia

I’m Stayin’ In Texas Where

The Government Ain’t Insane!

Nor

Gone Bat-Shit Crazy!

***

Aussie Covid-19:

Cred: WION

I Used To Love Australia

(Still Do Actually)

Crocodile Dundee:
“That’s not a knife: this is a Knife.”

Cred For Vid Share: Tomas Tree

*****
I love Australia
As I Want To remember Her
And All
The Shelia’s:

25 Great Crocodile Dundee Quotes:

Cred For Vid Compilation: PonAdidas

But Until They Get Over Their

Stupid WuFlu Panic,

I Ain’t Gonna Go Back

Australia Geography/Australia Country Song:

Cred: Kids Learning Tube

Land Down Yonder

Vid/Music Cred: Men at Work

*****

Olivia Neutron Bomb

“Magical”

Easy-Greasy. Got A Long Way to Slide:

*****

Screw It!

****

If My Wander-Lust Evah Return’eth,

I’m Goin’ To Ireland!

Irish Rovers-Drunken Sailor:

^^^^

Related:

“Rescue Mission”

–Kris:

Perhaps I’ll Run Into Erin Burnett While There.

Or Mayhaps

Even Ygritte.

As She(s) Is Passing Through Oh Her Way Back To Scotland

Yeah, Right.

I Could NEVER Get THAT Lucky!

Cred For Vid: Sara Cardoso

But Stranger Things Have Been Known To Happen… In My Life

Back in ’89 halfway into my last WestPAC (Western Pacific Deployment) bobbing about in the Pacific, onboard the USS Frederick LST 1184, we had already spent much time in Subic Bay, Hong Kong, Guam, Korea, Fuk-Ya-Mama Japan, and possible some other ‘Ornamental’ ports I do not recall.

USS Fred: LST 1184:

Well, we were steaming along in the South Pacific one day when word came down the pike that we had new orders to sail to Sydney.

What?

What?!

Hell Yes!

“But why?” I asked the first ‘Old-Salty-Squiddy’ I could find.

“Some idiots from a tin can (destroyer) dropped a pallet of high explosives on top of the Great Barrier Reef. We have to go retrieve it before shit jumps off. That reef is some kind of fuckin’ national park or something.”

“Why us?”

“Who the fuck knows? Who the fuck cares? We get to go to Australia! Australia! In Australia, they still LOVE us. There is this thing they do. It’s called ‘Rent-A-Sailor’ and you’ll see.”

“Hell you talking about? ‘Rent-A-Sailor’?”

“When we dock, there will be tons of women on the pier to greet us. They will all have paid real money to ‘host’ us while we are there. They love us. Maybe ‘cause we saved them from the Japs back in doubya doubya two.”

Hostesses for the Most of Us

“I see your point. Sounds great!”

“Just wait. You’ll see,” he said again breathlessly. I must admit, his excitement was contagious.

***

Now, do not get me wong (wrong). I love Southern Pacific Eastern ‘Ornamental’ Women and this is well-documented, but I, we, all of us, were in the mood for a female change of scenery. We wanted to see some ‘Round-Eyes.’ And before anyone accuses me of being ‘racist’ you may want to do some research on my blog—this one—and then get back to me.

All that shit spake…

We turned the Freddy Southbound-and-Down toward Sydney. Estimated steaming time to Australia: three days.

We were all very excited.

I Went looking for the ship’s barber to get me gussied up…

To be continued… Here. Y’all hear??

UPDATED! Turned Into A Bit Of A Mini-Rant, But Y’all Know How I Am “Should I Continue This Series? (There is… There ACTUALLY Is, A Lot More to the Story) Fishin’ for Encouragement Here. or, Maybe I am Just Lonely… Who knows? No One, I suppose … “Rent – A – Sailor: Part One”

****

I No Longer Wish to Return To Australia

I’m Stayin’ In Texas Where

The Government Ain’t Insane!

Gone Bat-Shit Crazy!

Aussie Covid-19:

Cred: WION

I Used To Love Australia

(Still Do) But Until They Don’t get Over Their Stupid WuFlu Panic,

I Ain’t Gonna Back

Australia Geography/Australia Country Song:

Cred: Kids Learning Tube

Land Down Yonder

Vid/Music Cred: Men at Work

*****

Olivia Neutron Bomb

*****

Back in ’89 halfway into my last WestPAC (Western Pacific Deployment) bobbing about in the Pacific, onboard the USS Frederick LST 1184, we had already spent much time in Subic Bay, Hong Kong, Guam, Korea, Fuk-Ya-Mama Japan, and possible some other ‘Ornamental’ ports I do not recall.

USS Fred: LST 1184:

Well, we were steaming along in the South Pacific one day when word came down the pike that we had new orders to sail to Sydney.

What?

What?!

Hell Yes!

“But why?” I asked the first ‘Old-Salty-Squiddy’ I could find.

“Some idiots from a tin can (destroyer) dropped a pallet of high explosives on top of the Great Barrier Reef. We have to go retrieve it before shit jumps off. That reef is some kind of fuckin’ national park or something.”

“Why us?”

“Who the fuck knows? Who the fuck cares? We get to go to Australia! Australia! In Australia, they still LOVE us. There is this thing they do. It’s called ‘Rent-A-Sailor’ and you’ll see.”

“Hell you talking about? ‘Rent-A-Sailor’?”

“When we dock, there will be tons of women on the pier to greet us. They will all have paid real money to ‘host’ us while we are there. They love us. Maybe ‘cause we saved them from the Japs back in doubya doubya two.”

Hostesses for the Most of Us

“I see your point. Sounds great!”

“Just wait. You’ll see,” he said again breathlessly. I must admit, his excitement was contagious.

***

Now, do not get me wong (wrong). I love Southern Pacific Eastern ‘Ornamental’ Women and this is well-documented, but I, we, all of us, were in the mood for a female change of scenery. We wanted to see some ‘Round-Eyes.’ And before anyone accuses me of being ‘racist’ you may want to do some research on my blog—this one—and then get back to me.

All that shit spake…

We turned the Freddy Southbound-and-Down toward Sydney. Estimated steaming time to Australia: three days.

We were all very excited.

I Went looking for the ship’s barber to get me gussied up…

To be continued… Here. Y’all hear??

Try This Older Version. “Part Three of a Sailor’s Scholarly Series on U.S. Naval History in The South Pacific.” I Hate Hate Hate! WordPress!

I Hate WordPress!

I Hate WordPress!

I Hate WordPress!

I Hate WordPress!

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

Bloody Mary! Is The One I Love!

***

Previously:

WP Screwed This One Up As well! Damnit! Fuk it! I Give UP! YuP! Thunder – Bolt! “Part Three of a Sailor’s Scholarly Series on U.S. Naval History in The South Pacific”

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.

This was Janet’s (My First) Favorite Clip. I miss Her

***

Previously:

YuP! Thunder – Bolt! “Part Three of a Sailor’s Scholarly Series on U.S. Naval History in The South Pacific”

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.

This was Janet’s (My First) Favorite Clip. I miss Her

***

Previously:

Updated! C’mon Y’all! It Is Not All THAT OFFENSIVE! There is Embedded FUNNY & It Has Some UPBEAT Stuff Toward The End. “I HAVE BOARDED THE “LET’S GO BRANDON!” TRAIN! ALL ABOARD!”

SURPRIZED?

DIDN’T THINK SO!

HOOK ‘EM HORNS!

THE EYES OF TEXAS ARE UPON YOU!

Vid Cred: chipperz18




MY AWESOME TEXAS!

Vid Cred: Fran Hart

********

TEXANS DON’T COTTON TO NO BIDEN BULLSHIT!

Credit: Liberal Hivemind

SLEEPY JOE BEAVIS:

Street Cred for Vid: Lisa Li

***

More From Salt Man:

“Crowds in Stadiums Across America Are Chanting F-CK Joe Biden”

******

Added Late Entry

Somewhat Redundant, but longer, fuller version:

CORNHOLIO from ‘Beavis & Butthead Do America’

Vid Share Cred: iDiedOfLaughter Inc.

MORE! MORE MORE! CORNHOLIO!

(YEAH. I AM SICK IN MY HEAD!)

Vid Share Cred: 47Berkut

*****

Cornholio Let’s Go Baldwin

Vid Cred: The United Spot




********

#1 Rap Song In America:

“Lets Go Brandon”

Vid Share Cred: Benny Johnson

“BETTER POP A RED PILL”

Vid Cred: Forgiato Blow

*****

BONUS(S) JUST FOR FUN:

Social Engineering in TV Commercials

Street Cred: Paul Joseph Watson

Credit: AwakenWithJP

AWESOME LAWN SCULPTURE!

Cred: https://www.skynews.com.au/

******

But Keep It Real Y’all

We Are All Americans!

And

‘Others’

Just Kidding!

We are

ALL

Citizens of The Earth

Together!

**********

Lance Marcom:

Always The Cock-Eyed Optimist!

You’ve Got To Be Carefully Taught

I absolutely LOVE You Barbara