And the Hits Just Keep on Coming

My crew change was scheduled for the 23rd of March, the date that for the last 7 weeks has marked the last day of my maritime adventure upon this sturdy Russian boat. My time on the Shatskiy has been fun and strengthening. Spiritually and physically. You ever tried to do push-ups on a boat in eight foot seas? Brother, it ain’t easy. I made a lot of friends out here and earned the respect of the Russians by out drinking the lot of them. Hell yeah! The ol’ bionic liver is in rare form. Perhaps it’s my unparalleled patriotism and the fact that I refuse to show weakness in front of the Russians but it was an incredible Battle Royalcoholic. Sure, I’ll probably succumb to cirrhosis by the time I’m 30 but for now there’s a half dozen Russians that are more than a little impressed and the friendships we forged will last a lifetime. Sure life out here is tough, and you’re isolated from all of which you are familiar with and love but to be honest, I’m gonna miss these guys and this sparse, rusting boat.

Well I would miss it. If it weren’t the 24th of March and I wasn’t still sitting in the same cabin of the same God Damn boat I was supposed to be getting off of YESTERDAY!! Yep, that’s right. They extended the date of the crew change. I’m stuck on this boat another damn week until the 30th. It never ends. First, it’s dealing with the militant fisherman who aren’t too pleased with this boat’s presence near their fishing grounds (not in their fishing grounds mind you, just near them), then the hitch gets extended from one month to 7 weeks, then we start running out of food, and now when I’m all ready to head back on to land to reunite with family and friends…and virtuous, nice women that have sex in exchange for legal tender (because I’ll never love again)…and they tell me that due to a scheduling conflict we have to push back the date of the crew change. Damn you fate!! Why do you mock me so!!

So I’m still on this boat, once again counting down the days. Sure I could have let the frustration and disappointment get the best of me but that would be selfish. After all, there are crewmen from Russia who have been on this boat for 4 or 5 months. What’s another week for me who’s only been on board for 2 months? And you can’t show weakness in front of the Russians…ever. So I did the only healthy thing I could…I had two Russians shave me a Mohawk. That’s right. I’ve now got a kick-ass Mohawk. Not one of those stylish faux-hawks the scenesters doff (a trend I started by the way…with Elijiah Wood), but a proper, straight out of Mad Max, Mohawk. Add to that the wicked dark tan I got and I look like an extra from Last of Mohicans. I got to hand it to those Russians. For having nothing but a comb and electric clippers on a moving ship they did a great job. I couldn’t be happier. Well I could be. I could be back home. But what’s back home but pain?

So anyway, I’m stuck out here another week. 6 more days and counting and then I’ll be home. Of course, the way things have been going it could easily be six more weeks. I shall wait and see…because I have no choice. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go work my Mohawk into varying styles of awesome.

Corrections, Retractions and Apologies:

In an earlier post I went on a tirade about a certain type of cookie that really sucks. ROYAL DANSK. In that missive I wrote that they were from Holland because people from Holland are Dutch, which I confused with Danish, which are people from Denmark. I really didn’t think anything of it until a friend of mine sent me a comment I received on my site (once again if anyone feels like contacting me you have to email, I cannot access my site in any way, shape, or form… I can’t access the Internet for that matter, in any way, shape, or form.) Here is that comment:

“hey, if you stopped spanking for a few minutes and looked at the tin, you’d realize that ROYAL DANSK is not from holland.” (posted by some Danish guy)

First and foremost allow me to apologize. I’m usually not that culturally insensitive. It was an innocent mistake. Honestly, I have no idea what I was thinking. I mean for Christ’s sake it is right there in the name, ROYAL DANSK (Danish). So, anonymous Danish guy, please except my most sincere apologies. I didn’t mean to spread falsities as to the origin of your shitty ass cookies. So everyone listen up: The chalky, gag inducing, choke discs known as ROYAL DANSK are from Denmark, NOT HOLLAND. I also apologize for “spanking” it as much as this Great Dane so politely implies. But you see I have this problem. Every time I think about how grateful I am that I’m not some snarky, stuck-up Danish man I get this huge throbbing erection. I mean really, I made a mistake. You didn’t have to be so mean about it. You could have been a little nicer. Just because you’re a citizen of the country with the highest standard of living in the world (for like 10 years running) doesn’t give you carte blanche to be an uppity jerk.