I am the American Sailor.

Pat Flannery wrote:
Rhonda Lea Kirk wrote:

shrugs Wanna bet my applause can drown out your
heckler, Pat?

You want to know what he missed?

You wanna know what you missed, Pat? giggles I still
have the remote. You want it back?

Anyway, I loved the whole piece, including Greg's
addition.

Where the Hell have you been of late, Rhonda? Good to
see you back!

It's always good to see you too, Pat.

I've never been gone. I read this group every day. But
to misuse an old saw, discretion is the better part of
valor...

....particularly when a group is being flooded with
forged posts...and most particularly when I have been a
lightning rod for such posts in the not-so-distant
past.

rl

Peter Skelton wrote:

Didn't you get that from the indians for glass beads?


Glass beads my ass, lad!
We traded them decent firewater for it!
Drunken Irishmen invade Canada:
http://www.bivouacbooks.com/bbv2i3s6.htm

Pat




Peter Skelton

Here the voice of the fudgepacking sailor. He cut his teeth on his
boyfriends cock. Clothed in whips and chains. Injects his love
muscle in his brothers arse. Semen...I mean seaman
extroadinaire....he gets hard when his shipmates bend over. His eyes
filled with tears when he left his brother's behind and his heart
rejoiced when he shot his rocket into his buddies mouth. He was there
on the tip of his spear when he shot his payload. I serve
poultry....I mean proudly. Ever **** a chicken? Tell your children
about this, so they can run in panic from a sailor with an erection.

(Derek Lyons) wrote in message ...
I am the American Sailor;

Hear my voice, America! Though I speak through the mist of 200 years,
my shout for freedom will echo through liberty's halls for many
centuries to come. Hear me speak, for my words are of truth and
justice, and the rights of man. For those ideals I have spilled my
blood upon the world's troubled waters. Listen well, for my time is
eternal - yours is but a moment.

I am the spirit of heroes past and future. I am the American Sailor. I
was born upon the icy shores at Plymouth, rocked upon the waves of the
Atlantic, and nursed in the wilderness of Virginia. I cut my teeth on
New England codfish, and I was clothed in southern cotton. I built
muscle at the halyards of New Bedford whalers, and I gained my sea
legs high atop mizzen of Yankee clipper ships.

Yes, I am the American Sailor, one of the greatest seamen the world
has ever known. The sea is my home and my words are tempered by the
sound of paddle wheels on the Mississippi and the song of whales off
Greenland's barren shore. My eyes have grown dim from the glare of
sunshine on blue water, and my heart is full of star-strewn nights
under the Southern Cross.

My hands are raw from winter storms while sailing down round the Horn,
and they are blistered from the heat of cannon broadside while
defending our nation. I am the American Sailor, and I have seen the
sunset of a thousand distant, lonely lands. I am the American Sailor.
It was I who stood tall beside John Paul Jones as he shouted, "I have
not yet begun to fight!" I fought upon the Lake Erie with Perry, and I
rode with Stephen Decatur into Tripoli harbor to burn Philadelphia.

I met Guerriere aboard Constitution, and I was lashed to the mast with
Admiral Farragut at Mobile Bay. I have heard the clang of Confederate
shot against the sides of Monitor. I have suffered the cold with Peary
at the North Pole, and I responded when Dewey said, "You may fire when
ready Gridley," at Manila Bay. It was I who transported supplies
through submarine infested waters when our soldier's were called "over
there." I was there as Admiral Byrd crossed the South Pole. It was I
who went down with the Arizona at Pearl Harbor, who supported our
troops at Inchon, and patrolled dark deadly waters of the Mekong
Delta.

I am the American Sailor and I wear many faces. I am a pilot soaring
across God's blue canopy and I am a Seabee atop a dusty bulldozer in
the South Pacific. I am a corpsman nursing the wounded in the jungle,
and I am a torpedoman in the Nautilus deep beneath the North Pole. I
am hard and I am strong.

But it was my eyes that filled with tears when my brothers went down
with the Thresher, and it was my heart that rejoiced when Commander
Shepherd rocketed into orbit above the earth. It was I who lanquished
in a Viet Cong prison camp, and it was I who walked upon the moon. It
was I who saved the Stark and the Samuel B. Roberts in the mine
infested waters of the Persian Gulf. It was I who pulled my brothers
from the smoke filled compartments of the Bonefish and wept when my
shipmates died on the Iowa and White Plains. When called again, I was
there, on the tip of the spear for Operations Desert Shield and Desert
Storm.

I am the American Sailor. I am woman, I am man, I am white and black,
yellow, red and brown. I am Jew, Muslim, Christian and Buddhist. I am
Irish, Filipino, African, French, Chinese, and Indian. And my standard
is the outstretched hand of Liberty. Today, I serve around the world,
on land, in air, on and under the sea. I serve proudly, at peace once
again, but with the fervent prayer that I need not be called again.

Tell your children of me. Tell them of my sacrifice, and how my spirit
soars above their country. I have spread the mantle of my nation over
the ocean and I will guard her forever. I am her heritage and yours.

Pat Flannery wrote:

You want to know what he missed? He missed the submariners that went
into the Soviet harbors in the Barent's Sea and the Sea of Okhotsk and
laid down the cable taps...

At the time the original was written, those ops were not widely and
publically known.

D.
--
Touch-twice life. Eat. Drink. Laugh.

-Resolved: To be more temperate in my postings.
Oct 5th, 2004 JDL

On Fri, 12 Nov 2004 08:49:22 -0600, Pat Flannery
wrote:



Peter Skelton wrote:

Didn't you get that from the indians for glass beads?


Glass beads my ass, lad!

That sounds painful.

We traded them decent firewater for it!

Then you lost

Drunken Irishmen invade Canada:
http://www.bivouacbooks.com/bbv2i3s6.htm


They were just looking for decent beer.

Peter Skelton

On Fri, 12 Nov 2004 08:49:22 -0600, Pat Flannery
wrote:

Glass beads my ass, lad!

....Please, Pat, let's keep the really kinky stuff to a dull roar.

OM

--

"No ******* ever won a war by dying for | http://www.io.com/~o_m
his country. He won it by making the other | Sergeant-At-Arms
poor dumb ******* die for his country." | Human O-Ring Society

- General George S. Patton, Jr

In article ,
OM om@our_blessed_lady_mary_of_the_holy_NASA_researc h_facility.org
wrote:

On Fri, 12 Nov 2004 08:49:22 -0600, Pat Flannery
wrote:

Glass beads my ass, lad!

...Please, Pat, let's keep the really kinky stuff to a dull roar.

OM

Glass beads are kinky, OM. Glass BEAKERS are REALLY kinky . . . ;-)

--
Herb Schaltegger, B.S., J.D.
"Never underestimate the power of human stupidity."
~ Robert A. Heinlein
http://www.angryherb.net

On 12 Nov 2004 09:02:44 -0800, (Larry H.)
wrote:

Here the voice of the fudgepacking sailor.

....You know, if it weren't for ****heads like you, Hell wouldn't be
needed.

PLONK

OM

--

"No ******* ever won a war by dying for | http://www.io.com/~o_m
his country. He won it by making the other | Sergeant-At-Arms
poor dumb ******* die for his country." | Human O-Ring Society

- General George S. Patton, Jr

On Fri, 12 Nov 2004 19:34:03 GMT, (Derek Lyons)
wrote:

Pat Flannery wrote:

You want to know what he missed? He missed the submariners that went
into the Soviet harbors in the Barent's Sea and the Sea of Okhotsk and
laid down the cable taps...

At the time the original was written, those ops were not widely and
publically known.

....True. He didn't even mention Nelson's Folly, it's polar mission,
it's launching of that special missile in the Van Halen belt, or even
it's cute little Flying Sub.

But then again, "High Flight" hasn't been updated to include
additional deities, so...

OM

--

"No ******* ever won a war by dying for | http://www.io.com/~o_m
his country. He won it by making the other | Sergeant-At-Arms
poor dumb ******* die for his country." | Human O-Ring Society

- General George S. Patton, Jr

Peter Skelton wrote:



We traded them decent firewater for it!



Then you lost


"Yellow Hair come.....beautiful, smooth, long, Yellow Hair. Crazy Horse
go to meat him..."
-from my edgy new play "They Died With Their Hard Ons- Custer's Last
Cockstand" :-)