Wait until he gets to the port calls.
Wait until he gets to the port calls.
hahaha nice... i like these stories.
"If you can't take the heat, keep f**kin dat chicken."
WARNING: Mine aren't as good as Loki's.
My first overseas port call was in The Philippines (what a way to get started)! I'd heard all the sea stories about The PI, but I was somewhat skeptical. At any rate, the one piece of advice I kept hearing from the old salts over and over, was; "Never go anywhere alone, for the first time."
There were 6 of us boots in my shop (boots: green, FNGs, fresh faces, noobs) and we found ourselves a guide from the Air Department, who had made a couple of stops there and swore he knew his way around. He told us the best thing was to head out to a place called The Barrio, instead of hanging out in the large town outside the gate, so as soon as we crossed Shit River Bridge (that's what it's called), he flagged down a jeepney (think a modified Army Jeep that'll seat 10 people in the back) and headed out towards The Barrio, about a 30 minute ride out of town.
As soon as we stopped, our guide made a beeline towards a particular bar. No bar-hopping (as we'd hoped), just straight to this dive bar (I know what a Dive Bar is).
He had us sit down at a table in the corner. We started to ask for beers, but he stopped us and told the Mamasan to bring us pitchers of "Bullfrog" (a fruit punch-type concoction) and guaranteed us we'd be happier with that. Almost immediately, a lithe brown girl sided up next to him, he said he'd be back and quickly disappeared.
We sat there, swallowing this koolaid, staring at the near-poverty surrounding us and being stared at by the remaining barflys and beggars, wondering how the fuck we got here.
Nearly an hour had gone by before our guide returned, freshly showered, by the way. During this time, we drank about 4 pitchers of this crappy koolaid and none of us felt a thing. We were pissed off. We weren't drunk, we were sweating our asses off, and our guide had left us alone for nearly an hour to go tear off a piece. We said we wanted to go and we all stood up.
And sat right back down.
And nearly passed out.
That Bullfrog shit... is sneaky. And packs a major fucking wallop.
By the time we hit the front door (an hour later, after another pitcher of Bullfrog), we were forgiving of our guide, we were laughin', jokin', and on the prowl.
We headed across the street to a big place, crowded with people, music thumpin', girls giggling, etc.
We sat around for awhile, talking up the ladies, throwin' darts, shooting pool... and drinking.
We were there for about an hour or so when the most irritating shit happened; we were seated on what was basically a padded bench that ran along the length of a wall with a few tables parked in front and no chairs on the other side. A waiter walked by and placed an empty glass on the very edge of our table. We didn't think anything of it. A moment or two later, the same waiter walked by again and purposely bumped the table, knocking the glass off and breaking it.
The next thing we know, the waiter and the manager are standing in front of us, the waiter clamoring that we dropped the glass and the manager demanding that we pay for it or he'll call the local cops, and us pleading our case that we didn't break it - the waiter did. The manager refused to listen to us and instead, was demanding payment.
I never realized glasses were so expensive in The Philippines.
After a few minutes of threats and whatnot, we knew the scam was on, so we told the manager that our 'sober' friend was hanging on to our money and that we'll go get him. We did. By the arm. And dragged him out of the bar as we ran out into the street, jumping on a jeepney headed out of town. We stood on the jeepney, waving a middle-finger goodbye to our new friend, the manager, as he and the waiter had run out after us and were now standing on the road watching us go.
The jeepney stopped in Subic City.
Now, if anyone had ever thought total depravity could not possibly be manifested in a small, jungle village... they've never been to Subic.
From the moment we stepped off the jeepney, we were in awe. It was unlike anything I had ever been exposed to, before. I won't go into the gory details, but it was all there and it was in full bloom.
We took seats at a roadside bar and started beating the heat with ice cold beers and some really odd... snacks.
We decided to eat there (alcohol will do that) and chowed down on cheeseburgers that tasted remarkably similar to Brillo pads. With cheese. The french fries were okay, but how can you fuck up a potato?
About half an hour later, one of my shipmates, Duane, got sick. I realized this when he'd been gone for 20 minutes and when I went to go take a piss, the door to the bathroom was locked. It didn't matter there was a dinner plate-sized hole in the wall that the door was hung on. What mattered was seeing my shipmate laying on the nasty-assed floor in front of the urinal trough. I yelled at him through the hole, but he just waved me away.
After kicking the hook-n-eye lock off the door, we dragged him outside. He was completely gone. Almost immediately, another shippy, Marty, began giving him shit, calling him a lightweight, a pussy, a wimp, a... you get the idea. Marty would keep this shit up for the rest of the night.
We were sitting at a picnic bench behind the bar, trying to get Duane to sober up and relax. A girl came over and said she could help. She pulled a doobie from her pocket. I said I would be back and went back inside the bar to tell everyone else we'd stick around for a bit, give Duane a chance to get back on his feet. Marty kept up with his ragging, but soon enough, Duane walked back in under his own power and in about 10 minutes was having another beer and ready to go.
So were we.
By this time, we'd had enough of Sin City and told our guide we wanted to head back to Olongapo (the big town outside the gate). So we flagged down a jeepney, which was empty. We negotiated a price with the driver and soon hired our private ride all the way back - nonstop.
Olongapo is immortal. At least in memory.
There are more bars on one street in this place than anywhere else I've ever been. And I've been to A LOT of places with bars. It's impossible to see them all. It's like going to Woodfield and saying you're going to spend 10 minutes in every single store.
You're gonna be there awhile.
So after hitting about... 10-12 bars (and having a beer in every one), we gave up on that notion and decided to settle in. We found a place called The Genesis. They had a live rock band that were pretty good. The place had killer air conditioning, respectful management, and the waitresses (wink, wink) were all friendly, cute and um... showered.
We were finally having a good time.
But Marty kept on ragging Duane for the falling out in Subic.
Around midnight, another shipmate, Duke, said he'd had enough and was going to head back to the ship. Marty starting giving him shit, but Duke would have none of it. He said he was too drunk, that he wasn't feeling too well himself, and that he'd fuck Marty up if he didn't shut up. But that didn't stop Marty, he kept right on talking smack about Duke.
Right after Duke left.
About 4 a.m., the bar started closing. If there were any sign that we should call it a night, this was it. So we walked on back to the ship, to crawl into our racks and to get an hour or two of sleep.
A 'rack' is a Navy bunk. Where you sleep. They're stacked 3-high, like bunk-beds. The first rack is about 6 inches off the floor. The second is at waist-level and the third is about 5 and a half feet off the floor and there's a small ladder you can use to get up into it.
We stumbled aboard about an hour later and hit the showers. I was standing at my rack when Marty came into the berthing. His rack was the next row over, a middle rack. He was still laughing and baiting both Duane and Duke about being lightweights, when he pushed open the curtains that give your rack some privacy, grabbed hold of the upper rack and swung his ass into his rack.
The next thing we heard was "WTF! WTF! WTF! OMG! AUGH!!!"
We stepped over to Marty's row, to see him standing there... covered in puke.
Apparently, Duke (whose rack was above Marty's) got sick while getting ready to crash. One of those immediate sicks where you've got no time to run to a toilet or garbage can. You're gonna puke - right then, right there. And there's nothing you can do about it. So Duke did. In Marty's rack.
Marty shook Duke and asked him if he puked in his rack. Duke said he did. Marty grabbed the handles on Duke's mattress and pulled it and Duke to the floor. We knew there was going to be a fight somewhere that night, just didn't think it would be in the berthing.
"Quarters" is a Navy term for a morning meeting. Everybody's got to be there and it's at 7 a.m. For us, about 3 hours after our last beer.
Everyone - not just us, but even the old salts assigned to the division- were down hard. People were sitting on the floor, nursing coffee cups, you name it. The LPO said we had work to do and we couldn't cut out until we got at least some of it done. We broke up after the meeting and headed to our shops.
We walked through the ship complaining to each other that last night was the worst idea we ever had, that our collective hangovers were killing us and that, as soon as we got off work, we were going to sleep until the next day.
By this time, even though I'd never gone on a cruise before, I was a petty officer and the supervisor of my shop. It was pretty far from the division office, so I had free reign.
As soon as we manned up, everyone crawled under their desk to get some sleep. We had spent the entire underway time (actually at sea) clearing out all our work so that we wouldn't have to work during the port call, but not all the shops did that, so we had to stick around (we're a team! Yeah, go fuck yourself). After about a half hour of trying to tough it out, I finally got up and shut off the lights.
Around noon, the phone rang. After fumbling around in the dark, I finally answered it. The LPO wanted all shop supervisors to come up to the division office and get a status report. I told the guys I was heading out and would be back with the news.
The meeting was pretty quick. Most of the shops were able to knock out the priority stuff fairly quick. Seeing the progress, the LPO said we could go on liberty.
I opened the door to the shop and switched on the lights. It was funny seeing these sleepy-eyed, hung-over faces all appearing above their desks. Somebody asked "what's the word!"
I said "Liberty call, liberty call."
Within an hour, we were all drinking beers again.
LOOOOKKIII! :36_11_6: That was awesome.
-MM In Rod we trust.
Port visits? Ok.... I can do some of those... Let's start with STRIP JOINT's...
There's a place in Australia called... well... it doesn't really matter. It's a strip joint. They have all sorts of nationalities represented there. Aussies, Asians, etc... I seem to remember an extremely hot, well stacked, Malaysian. But, that's a different story..
Any way... this place sold shirts. $15 and you got a black Tee-shirt with their logo on it. There was only one method to purchase:
1) Only the girls not "dancing" at the moment sold them.
2) You could buy as many as you want.
3) The girls WORE them. You want to buy? She puts on a shirt for ya!
4) And if you wanted to buy the shirt, you had to take the shirt off of her.
5) No hand usage allowed.
WOOT WOOT!!! You know how hard it is to undress someone with you teeth?
Guam has a place called VIKINGS. Wooden stage, etc.. the whole VIKING persona going on there. AT might like it because it has a pirately feel to it. This place really TREATS you special for your birthday. If it's NOT your birthday, but your friends tell the girls it is, you get the treat anyway.
Two girls come off stage and get you. Dancing around, boobs in the face, etc.. they get you on stage and up towards the very large ships wheel that is against the wall... the rub themselves all over you (you're still clothed) and before you know it... you've been handcuffed, spread-eagled to the ship's wheel with your back to the audience. Girls keep on rubbing you... you think life is FUCKING GREAT. They unbuckle your belt.... drop your drawers... lightly rub thier fingers over your ass. You can't wait to see what's next!!
Then they stop.
And pull your belt off your pants which are around your ankles. No belt? That's fine.. they have thier own...
And commence to whipping your ass. It's NOT erotic, it's NOT exotic, and it's NOT in "good fun". It's certainly hard enough to HURT, but not enough to do any lasting damage. Screaming "Oh.. you think it's like that, huh" or "Nope, none for you!!", this goes on for about 3 or 4 minutes. I've seen full grown men come down off that stage crying from the total and utter humiliation.
And nobody who has ever been in the place before ever falls for it, of course. On the other hand... it is the FIRST place you take the noob from your office for his "special birthday treat".
We did it with a noob girl once. She actually got the "treat" all the guys were hoping for.
America is at that awkward stage. It's too late to work within the system, but too early to shoot the bastards." - Claire Wolfe
"Possibly, but it's not to early to start loading ammo!" - Loki
2) I still have some.
3) And they looked good! (No bowsers in this place)
4) Australian strip clubs don't have a 'hands-off' policy like most U.S. strip clubs, so as long as she's okay with it...
5) This is true. Teeth, head, nose...
After what was it... the 3rd shit? I figured it out.
I think when it comes to strip clubs... well, at least strip clubs in the US... I must have this naive look about me where a stripper looks at the group and says "There's my sucker..." and tries to scam me. I have been in several arguments with strippers over them trying to scam me out of money. It's funny stuff. The most recent one was at my bachelor party. If I recall we were real close to an awesome "we got in a fight with all the bouncers at a strip club" type story before my buddy grabbed 60 bucks out of his wallet, threw it at the manager-type guy and said, "here, shove it up her ass! But we weren't planning on leaving for quite a while until this cunt trie dto scam us!" and then we left. My guess is they weren't too happy with this girl after we left. Becuse all the girls were hanging around us because we were throwing money around like it was nothing. lol
Mexico strip clubs... whole different story. As far as the clubs i've experienced, it seems so much more organized too... which I think is just friggin' strange. After this last trip to Mexico, my buddy looks at me and says "Well, this ruined strip clubs for me. I don't think i'll ever be able to enjoy an American strip club again!" haha
"If you can't take the heat, keep f**kin dat chicken."
It's pretty raw when they try scamming the bachelor at the bachelor party.
There aren't too many strip clubs on this side of the planet. Other than Australia and Japan, I can't recall any strip clubs anywhere.
But then again, who needs strip clubs when it's a free-for-all the moment you walk in the door?
~ Mats Portcall Photo Collection, 1999