Recently my family and friends had the opportunity to board the USS Nautilus, a historic submarine docked in New London, CT, to see what the merry Navy is up to these days. Billed as the world's first nuclear powered vessel, first ship to go to the North Pole, and first submarine to journey "20,000 Leagues under the sea," the Nautilus is a marvel of engineering from stem to stern. It also contains some of the most terrifying mannequins seen since the famous Crack Lady of SoNo New Ro.
Welcoming us aboard with a jaunty "Ahoy, sailors!" was this gentleman, with regulation Navy haircut. His sad eyes suggest a more poetic career would have been preferable, while he aimlessly but firmly drives the pen into his own thumb in an effort to finally feel something, dammit!
Clad in blue jeans, the ship's whipping boy, Stewie MacGruder, reflects on his last shore leave and the girls of the Mystic Marriott Residence Inn, who showed him a good time. But, uh oh! Note the steely black toe of the Admiral hoving into view. It's the brig for Stewie when the Admiral sees the sketches he's been drawing in that notebook!
Oh Lord, no. No nononono. Trying in vain to reach out and "cup" the last shreds of his manhood in his outstretched hand, Officer Dunthwaite enters one of his famous fugue states, which are always followed by wholesale murder of anyone in the vicinity. Pilates has done him a world of good, but he is still Very Angry.
Too late, the officer here realizes that his crewmates have pulled another fast one on him. Where did the coffee cup go? Whups! Awww, fuck.
Periscope, up! Oooofh, not...enough...Viagra. Must slump gently over controls.
I have lost all sense of my place on this earth, human decency, and the feel of a good woman's buttocks. Therefore, pass me that knife so that I may end it here, 20,000 leagues under the unforgiving ocean.
How does that feel? A little to the left? Yes, aah. That's it, baby. Look into my eyes and tell me I am not THE MAN.
McKinley used to work in a local pizza establishment. Then he joined the Navy! Excitement, adventure, and endless crank-turning have brightened his outlook and put a wan smile on his pasty, sallow face.
What's this, good sirs? A bit of tomfoolery in the downtime? Oh, what does that sign in your hand say? You want to kill, kill, kill us all? Please spare the children!
Sampiere, you poor sonofabitch.
In the officer's mess, the meals are a good deal more uplifting. The refreshing taste of a Coca-Cola gives this fellow's hair a small erection.
Cookie, as he was known in life, was a simple and decent fellow, fond of making poached eggs. Until the day that Sampiere questioned how his burger had been prepared (medium well, rather than medium rare), and Cookie finally and irretrievably snapped.
Oh yes, my invisible Master whom I spy in the steel cabinet reflection. I am ever your willing servant and humble slave, ready to do your murderous bidding. Yesss.
After a hard day on the USS Nautilus, the sailors relax in peaceful slumber, their giant and unsightly arms protruding from the bunks. When the Klaxon sounds, he will strike his head most forcefully on the bunk a mere three inches above, which will likely lead him to murder someone later that afternoon.