Podcast: FTN

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Podcast off the microphones of Lucid Dreams and Monsta666

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Published on the Doomstead Diner on August 24, 2013

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Note: Due to a labelling error, the wrong Podcast was on this page. this has now been corrected.

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I remember how I felt on that god forsaken boat, in that sea where we stole Poseidon’s fury and hurled it at the nomadic desert people we didn’t know. Alexander the Great, the Russian’s, and now America go to that mountainous region to end their hegemony over the world. I was close to that physical location, but I remained at sea…the Arabian Sea. For 115 days I was at sea. I counted the days with each four hour rack visit, (sleep) the pinnacle of my day. If I didn’t have to go to sleep to the sound of some whimsical dumb ass USN sailor nuke whackin’ off, it was an even better end to a shittier day then the day before (every day at sea is shittier then the day before by default). I hated my life, and what I was being forced into, due to the nature of being at sea. There is no escape.

The days and nights melt, as do the months, when you are at sea, but they melt into a stinkin’ ooze that keeps coming from an abcess the size of a watermelon on your ass that you got because you worked, shit, bathed, and slept in boat funk. I went weeks without seeing the sunlight due to watch rotation. I went days without showering (I think I went 5 days once…my watch station ambient temp was 104 degrees…and my stink didn’t stick out beyond everybody else’s contribution to the boat funk…which is mostly recycled farts, engine room oil, and old moldy cum smell), not because I didn’t have the opportunity, but because it was time away from the rack…and I didn’t give a shit about my hygiene any longer. The only time I went outside was to smoke a cigarette. The five minute smoke break was considered sacrosanct in the navy and it always lasted about 15 minutes by the time you climbed all of the ladder wells out of the plant to arrive at the hanger bay smoke deck. There were two smoke decks the size of a standard bedroom on that ship to service all of the enlisted personnel (somewhere around 5000 people if I recall…6000 total on the boat) whom pretty much all smoked because, well, how else were you to get that five minute break. And the only other thing you had to look forward to was jacking yourself to sleep. We got our smokes from the vending machines in the galley. I remember for the Christmas of 2001 (I was at sea bombing Afghanistan…although I believe we may have stopped bombing on Christmas) I got a carton of Camel Special Lights, which were my favorite cigs. That’s what my mom bought me for Christmas that year (which sounds worse than it is…I was killing people for God’s sake…WTF I’m worried about cancer?…it’s what I asked her for…and they are the only smokes my mother ever bought me).

I seriously contemplated crawling into a bilge and refusing to come out until they swore they would fly me off the ship with the next cargo plan. When you stand five hour watches, where there are no bathrooms and you can’t leave the plant…well you piss into the bilge. You also spit your dip into the bilge (as well as make bilge wine…but that’s another story which I think I tell in this podcast). I’m pretty sure bored sailors probably whacked off into the bilge to (there was a lot of sea goin’ chicken chokin’ goin’ on on that boat, unless of course you paid for a boat ho, what the USN sailor prostitutes were called…yes there was a prostitution ring complete with pimps on the boat…which again…another story). So yeah…I was going to crawl into one of those disgusting ass bilges to stage my refusal to bomb brown people I didn’t know campaign.

Which, the Navy wasn’t one to not grant such disgusting realities. One day, we had a “steel beach picnic” which is where they fly beer and steaks onto the boat, stop launching jets for a day, and everybody on the boat has the day off and gets to wear civilian clothes and hang on the flight deck. This is a huge deal while at sea. Just to get to drink a beer was heaven enough…and I’m talking expired Budweiser here. We got two beer chits. A band that happened to be formed on the boat played an electric concert and we got to eat horse meat steaks.

Well…I didn’t. You see there are two nuclear power plants on a carrier. Because we were not launching jets our steam demand was way down so Reactor department decided they couldn’t waste the opportunity, and Reactor plant two got shut down. I worked in reactor plant two. I had only qualified one watch at that point, which placed me on the bottom of the totem pole. I wept as I had to give my beer tickets away and remain in my stickin’ ass coveralls. Because I was barely useful in the power plant I got to crawl my happy ass into that bilge to needle gun the spagma off the side and apply new paint (in case you weren’t paying attention the dip spit, piss, occasional turd, and probable sailor jizzum which is exceptionally nasty is mostly what bilge spagma is composed of). I got to crawl out of that nasty ass sailor excrement pit to hall ass up to the flight deck to woof down my horse steak sandwich. I got to fart it out back in that bull shit black hole of a bilge in the nuclear power plant, and it smelt better coming out my ass then it did going down my gullet. My skin was orange for two days after that. But that’s got nothing on the time I had to squeegy six inches of shit off of the head floor where some dumb ass hull tech turned the wrong valve in the shit tank flushing sequence causing hundreds of gallons of shit to explode out of the shitters. Good thing the head had water tight doors. That punishment was for being two minutes late for watch.

Then there was the restriction and the solitary confinement, bread and water, in the class charlie federal penitentiary in Bangor Washington that I got to stay at for being out of my rack past 2200 hrs while on restriction.

Fuck the Navy…I guess is my point.

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