Written by Morse
Rating:

Share/Bookmark
Print this

Monday, 1 November 2010

image for Below Decks: Legends In our Own Minds Revisited. Chapter 24 Morse's View From Where The Saga Continues.....

The heretofore unedited, unpublished chapter 23 of Below Decks written by the uncircumcised Cook, Skoob, suddenly appearing in Twitter Space, has created an unprecedented demand for "MORE" and presented a huge dilemma for me, Morse, Captain of the Buggerall, now retired on half pension and declared redundant.

"More tits, more booty, more blood, groping , grogging, lashes & keel hauling, that's what the public wants today,' said the rollicking Romance Editor CJ Bolivar III of "Whips & Chains" the Bog Mag for locked away serial killers of Broadmoor Hospital.

Well, you can see my dilemma. No class, no character, no sense of chivalry in today's tabloid world....in our day it was doubloons, duels, duets, duplicity & diddling, today it's all about dildos, douches, dirt bags and double dealing....a dichotomy of distain and a reflection of society. D-D-Did you get all that....excuse me, when I get emotional I tend to stutter...it will pass.

This evening as the tropical sun set in the west over the tranquil splendour of
"Buggerall Bay" here in the Virgins (sic), I too smell the salt air over the languid breeze, remember tender moments and the rustling of lilac scented petticoats, the turn of a slender ankle and my thoughts turn to THE CREW and I have decided, THE REST OF THE STORY must be told.

Adding to my determination is the distressing news that the flag we fought for, The Union Jack, is now under threat. Imagine Britain without a fighting fleet, her brave proud men sent ashore to languish as Britain and THE QUEEN are left defenseless. Not since WWII has the realm been so threatened.

My hopes are that despite all the financial success of the Beloved Crew of the Buggerall, they will come out of retirement for one last "Huzzah" to raise the fighting spirit of those in Britain that still have the fire in their belly that made men like Nelson, Churchill, Hornblower & Wellington rise above themselves and rally their nation. While we are now too old to fight, we will support and cheer on the next generation who will carry our swords into the future!

Before I let the crew tell you of their lives, I will bring you up to date since that fateful day when we landed and disbanded:

I have my own notes, and a collection of narratives sent to me over the years from some of the crew that have drifted away to find new adventure, some leading to more wealth, others to a sad, lonely death. They shall live in my heart and in the log of the Buggerall for Time Eternal.

Sometimes the Cook, Skoob be his name, doth tend to exaggerate. He was put ashore for his own good, his hard head having survived being used as a torpedo and subsequently rescued and cut loose by the Skip's carpenter, Fergus McCarthy, who also acted as Orlop assistant to Doctor Victor.

Truth be told, the crew, mostly good natured, except when 'on the rag', had eaten just about enough of Skoob's "Monkey Meat Stew." The final straw came one night after a fierce engagement when we lost several members of the crew in a bloody, but victorious encounter.

Grog was set out in triple rations, served along with the appetizers before the main course. Everything was going well until one of the men spit out a meaty bone from his stew exclaiming, "that bone I've been chewing on his Billy Blouts middle finger, I'd recognize that swollen knuckle anywhere....we were bunkmates! Skoob you F******cannibal...how could you treat a shipmate like that?"

Well, that settled that. Skoob had to go. The men were getting jumpy, Skoob with that boning knife stuck in his boot, always going around pinching thighs, poking them in the ribs, patting them on the arse even when we wer playing soccer on the deck....it was right tense I'll tell ya.

It wasn't easy, but a Captain's got to do what a Captain's got to do...for the good of the ship and the survival of others. He also forgets he got his equal share of the loot, enough food and stout to make it to the Hebrides to start a new life...and he ain't done bad I bin tolt....a chain of chip shops, the only Bookmaker on the Island, and the Coroner to boot...not bad for a rowdy cook.

As for the rest. Well, it took time with all the distractions of those Virgins.
But eventually the lads worked through them all and settled down to commerce and responsibilities.

I'm proud to say Birbee set up a string of Ministries and now has a lock on religion in the region what with his internet site, the tv ministry, and 7 accountants counting the offerings. He calls his brand of religion 'a blend of all known religions including paganism encompassing all manner of human and physical love designed to gratify and satisfy the soul." His followers seem to love him and his message, as there are no divorces ever recorded, no need for drugs, as everyone is satiated and content with their lot in life.

Roy and Not Roy Turse left the island soon after landing upon hearing of a great opportunity on a Norwegian cruise ship where the women outnumbered the men 4-1 and were in need of able bodied semen. A brief note later confirmed that the pair had all they could handle and were looking forward to shore leave in San Francisco to get away from women.

The Pissgums, after paying for an operation by a Swedish Doctor who sailed over for the experiment, were finally dis-conjoined and required extensive rehab operating independently as they never did anything alone. There were several lapses of comic variety when they both ran for the crapper at the same time, each fighting for the seat before they realized they lived in a 7 bedroom house with 6 bathrooms.

Eventually they sold out their BMW Auto Max franchises, and took off for India where they pioneered the use of cell phones, own all the cell phone towers, and operate 231,672 call centers. Naturally, they always keep in touch with countless text messages and such....they're really quite anally orientated in a techie kind of way.

Madame Bitters didn't last long. She found religion as an altar girl in Birbee's church, hooked up with a rich Republican politician with a big ranch in Texas, and the last we heard, the last cake she baked was for the birthday of her 12th child. She sends Valentine's cards every year with the old Polaroid picture of her nude jumping out of the cake she cooked to celebrate crossing the equator and losing her virginity. They say you never forget your first time, and she is living proof!

Doc Vic still has his clinics in the islands, but has imported a herd of foreign doctors who speak English and has built his fortune based on the infamous NHS so famously inept in the UK....by having his system working, treating all patients with concern, understanding and efficiency. He has several competent staff, and he now spends most of his time in Canada on remote fishing adventures when he's not off to deepest Africa on exciting journey's with fellow adventurer Erskin Quint who's he's put in charge of writing easy to understand insurance disclaimers at the clinics.

The Monkey and Bollocks the Parrot are still inseparable, and are often joined in drunken song by Fergus when he takes time off from his condo/hotel/strip mall building empire. The three of them are quite the stitch, drinking and singing through the night, and are crowd favorites at the "Below Decks" Cocktail and Luau Bar replacing the recently deceased Don Ho, Frank Sinatra,
Dean Martin, and Janice Joplin who were known to drop by and sit in.

The J-Man has semi-retired to New Mexico where he runs a successful
"Remember the Alamo" souvenir mail order business, teaches ethics, religion & Journalism as Professor Emeritus at UCLA Berkley and lives comfortably after investing his loot in McDonalds, Taco Bell, KFC and Wal Mart stock when they were first introduced.

The last we heard, he remembers the journey fondly, except for the heartburn from the bad peppers he picked in Borneo.

So, it's time to head bare foot down to the bar to meet new and old friends as we toast the setting sun just one more day in paradise, and for old time's sake gather round the old phonograph to hear Vera Lynn and the haunting lyrics one more time:


We'll meet again
Don't know where
Don't know when
But I know we'll meet again some sunny day

Keep smilin' through
Just like you always do
Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away

So will you please say hello
To the folks that I know
Tell them I won't be long
They'll be happy to know
That as you saw me go
I was singing this song

We'll meet again
Don't know where
Don't know when
But I know we'll meet again some sunny day


Carry On!

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

If you fancy trying your hand at comedy spoof news writing, click here to join!
Print this

More by this writer

View Story
View Story
View Story
View Story
View Story
View Story

Share/Bookmark

67 readers are online right now!

Go to top