Bubbles - The Goddess of the Main Induction


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Since 08-03-05



by Bob 'Dex' Armstrong


Once you got your dolphins and entered the Brotherhood of the Bubbleheads. you were given the inner secrets of the society. Bubbles, Main In­duction Goddess and Protector of the Homeless Boat Sailor, would listen to your prayers. answer embarrassing questions and grant your wishes... All except wishes involving early liberty, a hunk that was yours exclusively and any questions in­volving fat girls with big tits.

The Goddess was beautiful and would not appear to officers, shore duty personnel, skimmers or non-quals.

"Oh, great and beautiful one... Tell me why some nuke boats are called 'boomers"?"

"Oh, unworthy. good-for-nothing, exhaust-breathing sonuvabitch, they are called 'boomers' because they haul stuff that goes 'boom'! Same rationale behind the reason the craft you ride is called a 'pigboat'... You smell like gahdam pigs!"

"Thank you, your most elevated highness... Thank you for the enlightenment you have bestowed upon the lowly. trash-hauling, paint-chip­ping professional topside watch... But dearest one, another question. How come in nuke movies and in Tom Clancy 'know-it-all' novels, the milk never goes had? I low come? Why don't you ever hear some sonuvabitch come through the control room and mumble, 'Gahdam milk's clabbered... Its bug juice and panther piss from here to the pier.'... Huh, oh. wisest one'?"

"Oh. my simple-minded master of the wire brush and paint scraper... My paint-spattered idiot striker... Milk does not go had because the nukes carry a 40 cow dairy herd in the after farm compartment, just forward of the prairie compartment. This not only provides an uninterrupted supply of fresh dairy products but in addition, gives men tits to fondle a long way from home."

"In a series of research experiments performed on board the USS Patty Wayne (SSBFN-One Potato, Two Potato) it was found that a nuke boat could trim it self by moving the dairy herd fore and aft... Thus eliminating the need to expend precious electricity or require surfacing for windmill drill."

"Again, thank you. Oh generous one... Oh, source of enlightenment... The one true dispenser of subsurface truth and knowledge... Is it true that one called 'Cowboy,' your dust-covered, rattle­snake-eating Crown Prince of Shitkickerdom and dispenser of wisdom had intimate relations with orphan desert donkeys that became his handmaidens...?"

"Is it true that Ray Stone has been instructed by you to visit every hooter in North America to locate a temple to celebrate your holy days...? The birthdays of Mr. Fairbanks, Mr. Morse, Mr. Sperry, Mr. Rand, Mr. Portsmouth. Mr. Groton, and old aunt Manitowoc'?"

"Has Old Gringo been condemned for consorting and cavorting with known mental defectives via the cyber-electro orange juice cans and string...? Has he been condemned to wander the vast expanse of Baja, California eating nothing but horny toad washed down with two-ex... In search of Coronado's golden rivet?"

"Yes, my disciple... These things you have mentioned are true... Olgoat, Cowboy, RamJet, Torsk Doc, Old Gringo, and a recently surfaced airdale calling himself 'Crackerbox,' who is a self-admitted dabbler in unorthodox behavioral patterns with large numbers of pachyderms in lieu of additional commitment... These are true believers... They carry the doctrine of Smoke Boatology throughout the land. While O. J. visits all the known golf courses in search of the elusive fellow who dropped the bloody glove... My disciples visit all locations displaying neon Budweiser signs and tap handles, in search of wayward sheep that must be returned to the flock."

"You are wise as you are good-looking. Do you think you will be able to save Patty Wayne? Can he be salvaged? Can the wicked Hyman he exorcised from his soul? Can the evil influence that permeates his invective be banished and this most worthy individual returned to the fold?"

"Absolutely, it is written..." "Goddess... Thank you."

"Dex... I now must ask you a question..."

"Fire away. oh magnificent one... Keeper of the flame... High priestess of low-cost suds and locator of lost peacoats... Ask anything you wish."

"Did you say, if Ray Stone chewed cow shit it would improve his breath?"

"No dearest, Doc Beeghly entered the temple of my soul and screwed with my trim manifold... I love Ray... Not the 'light in the loafers. 'Tinkerbell' kind of love... The kind a submarine sailor feels for any sonuvabitch buying beer."

And thus she disappeared, leaving behind the telltale hint of diesel fuel and the aroma of the number two sanitary tank inboard vent.