Christmas on the Isthmus

Written by Barry Stinson,  an old shipmate, about shipmates:

Isthmus - a relatively narrow strip of land with water on both sides connecting two larger land areas…sounds like the perfect site for a Patrol Gunboat.

It was Christmas on the isthmus,
The day dawned bright and clear.
The skipper said, “For crew morale
I’ll ration out some beer.
We’ll grill some steaks and chicken
And take the Whaler out.
We’ll have some fun on Christmas,
That’s what it’s all about.”

“Stew” brewed up some bug juice
To take out to the bash,
And spiked it with two bottles
Of his favorite sour mash.
Murphy drank a sample
And found it rather thin.
He added six more bottles
Of vodka, plus some gin.

Max topped it off with rotgut
He’d hidden in his shoe,
Took a taste, smiled and said,
“I guess this batch will do.”
The beer was gone in record time,
They started on the juice.
In ten or twenty minutes,
Things started to get loose.

Dietz was chugging every cup
He found within his reach.
Peters got buck naked
And chased nurses down the beach.
Gino crooned his favorite tune,
“Arrivederci, Roma.”
While Nosnits took one final drink
And slipped into a coma.


Pickard drank with speed and grace,
Pot was pissing red,
Corrigan went swimming
With his skivvies on his head.
Handcock didn’t seem insane
Like his shipmates looked to be
Till he was caught “romancing”
A eucalyptus tree.

Inman pounded bug juice
Till his sense of balance failed,
Then spoke of past sex partners
In lascivious detail.
The Base C.O. came by and said, 
“A double, if you please.”
Before too long he was observed
Walking on his knees.

It was Christmas on the isthmus,
The sun was going down.
The crew had gone through all the juice,
Surprised that no one drowned.
Upon arriving back on board
The skipper announced, “Men,
How about for New Year’s Eve,
We do it all again?”

"Memento mori"
(Me)