Thursday, June 27, 2013

Sailors...gotta love 'em.

Back in the day, people used to wonder why sailors cut up so much when they got into a liberty port. Here's my explanation:

Take a bunch of America's finest young men and women with raging hormones, little if any common sense, most of whom have never been off their block much less outside of their state, who don't have a clue about which end is up, send them off to a God-forsaken base in Northern Iliinois for eight weeks. Deny them even the simplest pleasures that civilians take for granted, like a radio, or nudie magazines. Yell at them constantly, run them ragged, teach them a crash course in an entirely new language and vocabulary, and make them wear funky uniforms with a confusing litany of insignia. 

Then send them to another God-forsaken base somewhere in these United States where they will learn just enough about their job to be dangerous, stuff them on board a ship that's cramped, smelly, packed to the gills with guns, missiles, planes and other fun toys designed to blow stuff up and kill people, pay them less than minimum wage, put them out to sea and work them 12-20 hours a day for seven days a week for seven and eight months at a time. 

Tell them that despite the presence of the opposite sex being on board, they are only allowed to look, but don't touch. Repeat the whole shipboard thing about 4 or 5 times in ten years, and then expect them to act like Rebecca of frickin' Sunnybrook Farm once they finally hit the beach? Really???

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