It’s the Navy’s Birthday!

The Sidecar was in a Sideshow called the U.S. Navy for 10 years.

Happy Birthday Navy! October 13^th

Incidentally, the Navy and my first marriage share the same anniversary.  But I’m not talking about my first marriage—I don’t like to dwell on mistakes, especially ones plagued with assault, arson, and schizophrenia.

Grab your goggles and scarf.  Because it just so happens that The Sidecar was stationed on nuclear submarines for most of its naval career.  Before you start cheering and getting emotional about serving the country and so on, listen to this:

After week three on a submarine, as you’d expect, people get a little stir insane.  Of course, the lack of sunlight and the colors of grey or dark grey will make anyone mixed nuts.  (I’ve found myself hugging the torpedo I slept next to.) But what ups the insanity ante is the lack of women.  As evident by the amount of dudes who display their penises in creative positions such as “Squirrel on a Trampoline”. When a guy stretches his sac out and bounces his penis up and down.  Or the “Hot Dog in a Bowl” (I’m sure you can figure that one out.)

Two guys, one displaying the ‘Squirrel’, and the other the ‘Hot Dog’, are facing each other at opposite ends of an aisle, like a western showdown.  Some other sailors are cheering, “Awww, he’s got the squirrel, man. That’s hard to beat,” and so on. The guys began slowly hopping toward each other, switching dick positions with each hop, saying things like, “Take that, fag.”

The crowd follows with “Oooh!”

They continue to hop towards each other. The switching grows more frantic. Until finally…their penises touch each other.  No one says anything for at least a minute.  Mouths are hung open, eyes are wide.  The guy with the squirrel finally says, “Eww, you fuckin’ faggot.”

The crowd follows, “Ewww!” And then they chant, “Faggot, faggot!”

I decided to be a smart ass the next day because I’d rather not spend my time in the vicinity of dueling dicks. So I come up with a penis move to show how stupid it was: The Rumple Black Skin.  My plan backfired.  After being questioned everyday for the next two weeks about the Rumple Black Skin, the two dudes finally corner me in the bathroom, “C’mon man, show us the move. It sounds so bad-ass. Show it to us now!”  I fought my way out and never pretended to have a cool penis move ever again.  This is one of the best lessons I learned in the Navy.  Hoo-rah!

Thank you for serving…Happy Birthday Navy!

Libations!

The stars aligned my first blog with my favorite time of year: Fall & Winter

I’m not a fan of any of the conventional holidays, but I love to celebrate, therefore, I made my own holiday. And here in Denver, it should be here soon. First Snow! In which I always celebrate with a bottle of 12 year old Single Malt Scotch of the Highland Park variety. After donning my favorite sweater (which feels like I’m cuddling between two sheep), I sit on my second floor balcony, light up my favorite cigarettes, and pour a glass of soothing Scotch.  In the field across from my house, the coyotes prance through–and I throw snowballs at them.  And yes, I do hit them on occasion.

So this is my ode to nature. Smoking earthy tobacco, drinking Scotch that tastes like the nostalgia of leather books in a mahogany bookcase, and showering the local coyotes with snowflakes. There seems to be a direct correlation between my launching accuracy and level of intoxication. I’ve charted my success on a graph (see above graph)…the data shows that after 5 glasses of single malt, I will hit no coyotes.

Cheers to all my nature and winter lovers, Libations! Drink up and throw snowballs–if coyotes aren’t indigenous to your region, dogs, adults, or small children will suffice.

P.S. After your fifth drink this may seem like a grand idea, and although this technique can improve accuracy, please do not put rocks inside snowballs.