Monday, 15 January 2018

An Ocean Voyage - Confusing Stories


A new port. Not much to be excited about, as there had been a new port of call about every five days for the last several weeks.

The hull was laden with silver and gold and extremely prone to attack - or to sinking altogether.

The ship's captain, Edward Parneux, was not to be dissuaded from his course, St. Petersburg, by the turn of Spring from the long grip of Winter.

His moustache was cold, but this was a little matter when compared with the logistics involved with sucking his own dick, which is precisely what he was about to succeed in doing when his first mate literally burst through the back door.

"What are you doing back there? I need some ale, and be quick about it."

"But, Captain. It seems unfair to bother about such a trivial thing at a moment like this."

"You think my thirst for that hot warm libation is trivial?"

"In so many words, Yes. Yes, sir. I do."

"Then come up here and try it yourself. Or, to put it another way, try it yourself and come up here."

At this the Captain gestured to his own mouth and grinned, a little bit of the juices from his own exertions still dripping from one corner. He wiped this away with the back of his finely embroidered jacket and demanded that Jacobson, his first mate, close the door and sit down.

He then said to him while pacing back and forth in his slightly unkempt britches,

"You have been a little off your game recently, my good man. Your pitch is off, you bat funny, and your jism has started to taste a bit scampy."

.... Fast forward one hundred and fifty years.

A submersible team of scientists are prowling about a sunken ship laden with silver and gold from the mid eighteenth century, a British Battleship converted for the purposes of carrying a heavy load.

What looks to be an advanced diver radios his boss: "Boss, I have found two skeletal remains entangled in some kind of romantic embrace."

"How do you mean?"

The radio crackles. Even with fiber optic cable thirty fathoms tends to make itself known as though not a single word, whistle or pop was beyond its ken.

"I mean that, all kidding aside, there is what looks to be an actual bone, ten inches in length, wedged in the skeletal remains of another man's jaw. They seem to have died in each other's debt."

"How do you know it is a man?"

"Well. I don't really. It is just that the one figure is hunched over on top of the bone and the other seems to. O. No. Wait. The other guy is sitting on it. I don't know how this is possible, sir, but it looks like somebody died sucking themselves off and another dude decided to help himself to a good ol necromantic fudge packing good time."

"Take pictures. Document the scene. Couple of sick horny bastards."

"No doubt, sir. No doubts at all. No sirrey bob."

"Do you see any of the cargo?"

"Excuse me, sir. That really is quite a big bone."

"Take it back for analysis. I want it in my hands by eight hundred hours zulu."

"Yes, sir. I will be giving you a huge bone by eight hundred hours zulu."

Eight Hundred Hours zulu, officer's quarters.

"That really is some bone."

"No kidding. Must have seen a few muddy ports in its day, if you know what I mean."

"How could I not? I never go out or in without a slick and galoshes."

"A little too much detail, my good man. Now turn out the light and be gentle. I only just recovered from your bungled attempt to improvise with a doorknob last Tuesday night."

"Hey. That wasn't my fault. The cat was not supposed to have claws."

"But you have to admit, I always take it like a man."

"That reminds me. Our friend down there.... [and here he pointed down at the many fathoms only just below them] knew how to give and how to receive."

"A credit to his country."

"If only the books of history could have dared chronicle the interminable loneliness of the sea and the feverish pitch of two men liberated by months of uninterrupted doldrums from all of the tired conventions of civilization. It almost makes me want to get pinned again."

"You know how you are after a large contribution. One more time and it'll start to get a wee bit testy. Then where will we be? I'll tell you where: in a roiling tempest and a piss pot that aint worth the twenty cents of useful wear it has left before blood and semen become indistinguishable."

"Best lubricant, that."

"Yeah. But the cleanup is a bitch."

"If only."







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