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Sailing: the Coast Guard

Bored? ... I am. Every Saturday it's the same thing. Start when they tell you. Politely curse because one of the Chicago rich kids cut you off. Sail up the lake, turn at the buoys. Tack back and forth into the wind. It's always the same ... over and over.

What happens if you win? Is there money in your pocket? A trophy for the shelf? No? Your crew picks you up and throws you in the water. Never race with your wallet in your pocket ... if you win it's sure to get soaking wet.

This is supposed to teach you sportsmanship? Train your crew to a fine pitch and they toss you in the water? And that's just the beginning. You're soaking wet but you won so it's your turn to buy dinner! They tossed you in that foul, stinking and polluted lake and you're expected to feed them dinner?

Every Saturday, it's the same. Soaking wet helmsmen dripping on the pine boards of the Antler Bar drinking soda or beer while your crew stuffs themselves ... at your expense ... with Frank and Ernie's marvelous hamburgers and best vinegar soaked fries ... and you're trying to get the taste of the lake water out of your mouth.

It could be worse.

The lake was a sawmill pond for nearly a hundred years. Logs sank and the town sewage dumped in the lake for those hundred years. The turds reacted with the water and the logs and every once in a while one of those logs raised it's huge head and collided with something in the water ... like a hull or a skull.

Yes, indeed ... three summers ago a visiting crew rammed one of those underwater obstructions and Anderson's Salvage spent three days removing the wreck ... so the course would be ready for next Saturday!!

The parents ... and their multitude of kin left for the Milwaukee bars and stores. The husbands will go to a Brewers baseball game, swill Milwaukee's finest and eat polish sausage and 'karut sandwiches until they puke and call it a great day. They will yell themselves hoarse and shout dire warnings to the blind umpire ... and they really don't care who wins. None of them are from Milwaukee.

The women will shop until they drop. Store clerks will imagine commission checks of triple digits when the nine ladies invade their shop. A ruckus raising platoon of seven military wives and one lawyers wife ... and Carol (Harry Junior's latest 'lady friend') will descend like Attila and his minions on a walled town and leave nothing but rubble in their wake. The best part of the shopping is the reaction the 'girls' make on the men of the town.

My mother's sisters make buxom high school cheerleaders look like flat chested sixth graders. The 'girls' are unbelievably beautiful. Tall, poised, and busty ... Generals and Admirals wives ... and Carol. Carol is the only one who is younger than 30 ... but she's not a wife.

These nine women and their bags take up most of a sidewalk and they leave no store untouched or shelf untrammeled. Locust ravaged fields have more to harvest than an exclusive shop invaded by mother and sisters. Oh ... not my sisters ... my mother's sisters ... and Carol.

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Brother Samuel here. Your favorite big and tall, openly bisexual black male writer and urban adventurer. Currently residing in Brockton’s West Side. Sometimes, I think black women are their own worst enemies. More than anything else, they’re the ones who drive black men to dating and marrying women of other races. Black women are uncompromisingly problematic. More so than females of other races, it seems. It’s like they got a bone to pick with the entire world. Male or female, black or white,...

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Tim watched a bit helplessly as Abby practically ran from the room. Looking down at the man at their feet, he asked Tony, "What now?" The guy was stirring and Tony nudged him with the tip of a foot. "Get up." He motioned to Tim to hold his weapon at the ready as the guy stirred while Tony drifted into the corridor in case the guy had backup. Abbs should have been covering it, but she'd disappeared, heading for the sanctuary she'd find with Mike and Ziva. He didn't blame her, had told...

Farm Boy Buddy Experience a Real Story

I grow up in the country on a small family farm. The closest neighborhood kids were about a mile away through the woods. There was this one boy that I became friends with he was 14 and I was 16, his mom and dad both worked and he was left home with his two older brothers often. His brothers were wild and never stayed home they used to wander all over town, he was left to defend for himself. I guess I was wild also. Anyhow one day at the beginning of the spring vacation from school I was hanging...

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Magic Ink V The Third RealityChapter 18

I reappeared near another large warehouse. On the side of the building, a large Sergeant was busy kicking a younger man on the ground. The one on the ground was the one with the Talent. "That will be enough of that, Sergeant," I growled to get his attention. The Sergeant who was in the process of drawing his foot back for another kick instantly whirled around on one foot to see who was behind him. What he saw was not a young Mark O'Connell. No, what he saw was the grizzled face and...

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