Monday, November 4, 2013

Yes Sir... May I Have Another... LoL





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Well, this is the last story
of my navy boot camp debacle.


And as you could imagine...
I went down in a muthafuckin'
ball of flames... LoLoLoLoL


I hope you enjoyed at least some
of the boot camp silliness!
1981 was a loooooooong
time ago wasn't it?


But yet...
it feels like yesterday!
It feels like the blink
of my bloodshot eye.


Cheers Orlando, FLA...
it was fun!







Yes Sir... May I Have Another

How many of you out there consider yourselves quick witted
under pressure?


I mean, someone standing right in front of you, screaming saliva-laced questions at'chor face,
kinda pressure?!


Not too many of you, I bet.


Well, don’t worry about a damn thing, because I’m right there with you in that same sinking boat. My mind just crumbles and folds up like that cheap card table you use during Christmas gatherings.


I don’t know what happens. I get myself all worked up trying to remember what it is I’m supposed to remember, and bang, the second I need to shout out my answer
it’s gone.


No, not just the answer, but my whole fuckin’ memory. I turn into the king of mayhem himself, Jerry Lewis, for goodness sake.




"I don’t know the answer... sir!"


It’s a pathetic sight to say the least.


This was definitely a problem, and my memory led to many a pushup during boot camp. It got so bad, that it actually became hilarious.


Well, now it’s hilarious.
Back then, it was only funny.


I hav’ta say that for the most part, throughout boot camp I considered myself to be like Dean Martin.


I kinda had my shit together. I was somewhat smooth, almost gliding through the day’s events. Having a few down days now and then, as we all did, but overall a slick character.


But then when inspection time rolled around I just lost it.
Enter, Jerry Lewis Mondello!


Fuckin’ Dean was nowhere to be found to help out with the questions thrown at my by the Petty Officer. Just the Nutty Professor was there
to answer for me.


It was so humiliating at times.
Funny, but humiliating
at the same time.


Now, just picture this.
All of us losers lined up on either side of the barracks, facing each other, standing there at attention in front of our perfectly made bunks.


Underwear was skid-less,
and folded!
Shirt sleeves with creases so sharp, they could even slice through your mother-in-law’s
Sunday roast!


I mean, standing tall, proud, and ready to take on anything that may come our way except maybe,
a question!


Imagine that, one fucking question can bring down this huge mass of proudness, like a house of cards.


(Wait, is proudness even a word?
Well fuck it, it is now!)


It happened every time the inspector got in my face. He found absolutely nothing wrong with my locker or bunk. He was especially impressed with the way my underwear was stacked so perfectly!


But then it was question and answer time. Look out!


Alright Mondello, recite for me the seventh command of a sentry!


Now, if we had this all on film and then played it back in slow motion, I’d bet that you could actually see the Dean Martin side of me begin to giggle and laugh as he peeled away from my body and run for cover.


While looking back as fuckin’ Jerry took center stage.


Uuuuhhh… Uuuuhhh… my seventh command of a sentry would have to be…… Well… Uuhh let’s see… Uuuhhhh...


As the sweat and disappointment were building, and the nutty professor was in fourth gear, I was focusing in on the guys on the other side of the room.


Oh fuck, it was so funny.


I was looking over the inspector’s shoulder, as about three or four of the guys began to mouth
the answer to me.


So, as Jerry was stalling for time, I was trying to figure out what the hell the guys were mouthing.


This was something straight out of a Martin and Lewis movie!


Jerry stalled long enough for me to figure out what it was
that they were mouthing.


Oh yeah… I remember now… Uuhhh… never leave your post! That’s it right? Never leave your post!……... Sir!


A rather disgusted inspector looked at Jerry, and myself, then said,


"Mondello…
do I look like an asshole
to you?


Uuhhh…… no…… Sir??
You do not look like
an asshole to me… sir!


THEN WHY THE HELL DOES IT FEEL AS THOUGH YOU’RE TRYING TO FUCK THE SHIT OUTTA ME?


Neither Jerry, nor myself, had an answer for that one!
But, we tried anyways.


Uuhhh………… what??


You heard me RECRUIT! Are you tryin’ ta fuck me? I’m gonna give you one more chance. You tell me what your fifth command as a sentry is!


He then quickly turned his head back to my conspirators, and growled,


And if I see one mouth move back there, some fuckin’ heads
are gonna roll!


Oh, man, he found us out.
I guess he wasn’t as dumb
as he looked.


I was all alone now.
He was eyeballin’ me like a muthafucka. I didn't dare look over his shoulder for help this time around. Man, I was screwed.


Even Jerry was scared shitless, because he couldn’t think of a damn thing to say either.


Thank goodness Deano came strollin’ back into the picture to save the day. Or so I thought.


But even he didn’t know
what the command was.


So the three of us, Dean, Jerry, and myself, just looked at one another and began to laugh. And laugh hard. Internally of course at this point.


I was such a loser.
I had to get Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis as fantasy sidekicks. Why couldn’t it have been that Mega Memory guy from the infomercial I saw on TV all the time?


I got myself so worked up, that the only thing I could possibly do at this point was one of two things.


Number 1, was to start to cry and maybe vomit a little. That’s always a good sympathy grabber! But, just like the football to the head incident from a few stories back, I don’t think the guys would approve.


Number 2, was to just burst out into laughter which is always a no no!
But fun.


The cryin’ thing probably would’ve worked, but then the guys would have thought that I was a dick. And no one wants to buy sentimental poems from a dick.


Especially, a dick that cries!


So, that only left one thing to do. Which was to ignite that internal combustible laughter right in the face of my attacker.


And, no sooner had my cheeks creased and my teeth begin to show, when……


WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM MONDELLO? IS THIS FUCKIN’ FUNNY TO YOU?


Deano pushed Jerry and myself aside, and said that he would handle things from here. So, I just kept my mouth shut and let him steer
the boat for awhile.


I DON’T KNOW MY GODDAMN ORDERS TO THE GODDAMN SENTRY…… SIR!


I was laughin’ hysterically the whole time, mind you!


AND THIS IS FUNNY TO YOU RECRUIT?


Deano replied...
Well… yeah?


OH YOU DO!
MR. MONDELLO THINKS THAT IT’S FUNNY! WELL I DON’T ASSHOLE! I THINK IT’S TIME THAT YOU LEARN THESE COMMANDS, DON’T YOU?

WHY DON’T YOU GET YOUR BUTT BUDDIES ON THE OTHER SIDE TO HELP YOU OUT! THEY DON’T SEEM TO HAVE ANY PROBLEM REMEMBERING THEM!

NOW DROP, AND GIMMIE A HUNDRED, RECRUIT!… AND YOU COUNT THEM OFF SO WE ALL CAN HEAR!


Dean softly responded
Uhh… don’t you mean drop, and gimmie TWENTY, recruit?


The Petty Officer calmly answeredDid you hear me say TWENTY?

No sir.

He then finished up with
Then how ‘bout this. Drop and give me twenty pushups, FIVE TIMES! YOU UNDERSTAND THAT RECRUIT?

YEAH!

WHAT WAS THAT RECRUIT?
I DIDN’T HEAR YOU!

YEAH SIR!
YES SIR!


My fuckin' eyes began bleeding with tears, as I nearly burst an artery from the laughter.


I then slowly snaked my way towards the cold tile floor and began my well-deserved punishment.


One… two… three…


I would stop every so often to look up at the guys. We would share some laughter, and then from the distance roared……


IS THEIR SOMETHIN’ FUNNY DOWN THERE BOY’S? IF SO, I’D LIKE TO HEAR IT TOO!


No Sir… nuthin’ funny down here. Just a bunch a pushups! … Sir!


A disgusted voice answered back……I didn’t think so!
I DON’T HEAR YOU
COUNTING RECRUIT!


Ten… eleven… twelve...


Well, I made it through the hundred. I took my time about it though. I didn’t wanna leave any chance for him to come back to me
with another question.


Who knows what the hell
Dean would say next time.


And this was pretty much the routine every other day of my
boot camp stay.


Until it finally got to the point that when the inspector would get to me. He’d stop and move in face to face, and I would already be engulfed within a gigantic, Gomer Pyle smile, that was staring out into the eyes of the red-faced asshole.


And, even before he began to ask his stupid question, I’d just burst out into laughter, and yell outYES SIR!”. Then just drop to the floor and start counting off pushups.


This was usually the highlight
of the inspection.


The inspector usually just shook his head and moved on
to his next victim.


So, as you can see, this pressure stuff wasn’t an easy thing to overcome. Either you have it,
or you don’t I guess.


Some of the guys rattled answers off without even breaking a sweat. I mean I'm pretty sure that some of these guys couldn’t add two plus two for crap sake, but yet they weren’t shaken under the pressure.


They were like fuckin’ Rain Man!
Then there was me,
fuckin’ eggshells!


We tried the over-the-shoulder routine several more times whenever we had a different inspector. And fuck, we actually got away with it a few times. I was getting better
at reading lips.


You would think that maybe I would just study the stupid commands.


Naahh… not me,
I had poems to write!


Remember,
I had a thriving business to tend to! (Ralph Kramden 101)