Nautical But Nice

Young lads these days look different, must be the fluoride in the water. 

Last Thursday was a beautiful day. I mention this because the Northern Ireland summer has been cancelled due to government cuts but Thursday was a fine spring like day .... for summer. 

The water on Belfast lough was sparkling silver with just a hint of a breeze to cool you down. I spent the afternoon on the deck of a 32 foot sailing sloop drinking wine and singing sea shanties much like I did back during my whaling days though then it was rum .... and coke, sometimes crack, you know us semen. 

I was through me third bottle of wine and halfway through the song Hieland Laddie, you know the one, 'Was you ever in Merashee, where you stayed fast to tree, was you ever in Baltimore, dancin' on that sanded floor' and this fella was just staring at me. I can't sing when someone is staring at me, just like how Benedict Cumberbatch can't act when people record it on their phones .... we're fucking sensitive.

I says the traditional, "do you have a fucking problem mate?" and he says, "Marina security, we notified the owner of this yacht and he didn't give you permission to be on it, you are upsetting the other members and their children with your songs and foul language, you are also trespassing and the police have been called."

I thought Old Knudsen was a party pooper ... no seriously I take a big dump at a party to break the ice and to give people something to talk about. Old Knuden's poop can actually break ice, it hurts coming out but handy when yer ice fishing in the Artic.  

"I suppose the owner didn't give me permission to drink his wine and go through his cabin."

He looked a little shaken at that and said that if the negligee wasn't mine I was going to have to take it off. 

Is this what Old Knudsen fought for? Are these his freedoms? Surely there must be a maritime law about salvage, there was no one on board when Old Knudsen climbed on and no one said anything about trespassing when Old Knudsen creeped walked past the reception. Feels a little like entrapment to me. 

      

Turns out that the marina security guard was stronger than he looks and that Old Knudsen still can't swim. It's lucky I suppose that the police don't bother to show up for misunderstandings like this or I'd never be out of prison. 

Ach the way I see it is that if yer man can afford a nice boat like that then he can afford a good stain remover, not my fault it was probably yon bottles of Red Bordeaux I was drinking, the date on them was 1999, I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure that they were well out of date. If me tummy doesn't settle doon soon I may take the fucker to court. 

Learn from Old Knudsen's experiences.    

 

Semen Memories

Wha? I'm not gonna keep this smile on all day, just take the picture there's nothing behind me. 

When Old Knudsen wakes up in the morning he goes to the window and greets the dawn in all his naked glory, he also greets the local school kids too but recently there has been a still fog in the morning air. For very valid reasons this sends Old Knudsen into a panic and it isn't just flashbacks to bad 80's music videos. 

Everyone knows that Old Knudsen is a salty semen dog who has caught crabs in more ports than you have brain cells ... aye about five. 

Some years back we'd just out of the roaring forties and hit the Doldrums in the south China sea, from crashing waves to still calm weather in which you get the feeling that anything can happen if you turn yer back or drop yer guard. 

One day just didn't bother to show up, all day was as dark as night with a fog so thick you could reach out and grab a handful to chew on, tasted fishy, thicker than a Haar on the Firth of Forth.

The sun was up there but was giving less light than a full moon, it was a if a dark veil of evil had been placed over our boat. 

The others said that it was Old Knudsen who was the Jonah and that he had to be thrown overboard, it's not his fault that he survives ship wreaks and can even put on weight being stranded in a lifeboat with his tasty shipmates. 

A trick to surviving at sea, do not eat nutritious foods, beer has enough nutrients and so yer poop becomes like cork and you float better at sea, like an internal floatation device. To keep yer strength bring a young stowaway to drain the blood from, they also can be used as a floatation device once they stop struggling.      

An evil far worse than Old Knudsen boarded the Marie Claire that day, the ghosts of sailors past whose souls ended up in the locker of Davy Jones right beside his durty jock strap and socks. To gain their freedom they had to take more souls and me crew were cut doon in front of me.

When my time came the spectre of evil drew his sword, I stood in the corner, me fist raised ready to go out swinging as screaming and running is way too Scooby Doo for Old Knudsen ... he doesn't do running.  

I know a guy who ran every day, he dropped dead in the queue at the bank, I don't do banks either, a stretch in San Quentin cured me of that.  

The salty semen demon stopped in his tracks and said, "shit it's him" .... "It's the great devourer."

It's always good to meet a fan, I am indeed Davy Jones, I used that name when I was in a pop group called the chimps, Hey hey we're the chimps was one of me well known flops. Wake up sleepy Gene was written when I worked on a movie with Gene Hackman who suffered from Narcolepsy ... ah good times.

The demons turned out to be pretty sound blokes and even told me where me locker was as I had misplaced it years ago. 

The only problem was that Demons only work in a dark fog which made it difficult to catch those big fish, or whales as some folk call them. 

 Does anyone have any objections why these two should not be wed? speak up cos I can't see shit.   

I met me 12th wife on that cruise but soon broke up when we reached a sunny port. We just drifted apart .... then there was an unearthly scream and she vanished from my life for good leaving me with the children who I sold on eBay, the usual tale of love gone sour.