The other day I posted what I did at TRH about 4 years ago.

I had a girl do the same thing to me once when I was still a teenager. It was the first time I had been $hit on by a date. Actually one of the very, very rare times.

He ordered everything on the menu, took a single bite and said she was full.

"Waiter, check please! Please box this up to go. Something has come up." We left as soon as everything was boxed up and I put the box in the trunk.

I didn't say a single word to her all the way home, dropped her off wordlessly and drove off. When she said "My daddy told me I'm worth it." When I dropped her off. I ignored her.

Looking back on this I have to bear some of the responsibility because when I asked her out I didn't feel her out beforehand and mainly I didn't trust my gut. I was probably mesmerized by her ample bust or something. After that I followed my gut.

From there I went to Scituate Harbor and gave Roxie a shout. Roxie was my non-girlfriend girlfriend. The relationship was she had met my mother and she thought Roxie was a good Catholic girl. It was a sham. Actually she was a gay Methodist. We were covering for each other. She was seen with me a lot and people assumed we were dating.

Roxie was also someone I could call if I needed a date for something or even just wanted someone to hang out with. I gave her a quick call and picked her up and it was off to the picnic table in the Harbor. When she saw the packaging she asked, "Dinner date gone bad?" I nodded. We ate and swapped notes and then sat there enjoying each other's company. 

There was no pressure with Roxie. She wasn't a real girlfriend, but a good friend. She sometimes guided me through the minefield of late teenage dating and dealing with the opposite sex. 

About a month later on I ran into my dinner date's father at the Welsh Company lumber section. He demanded for me to tell me what happened. I somewhat surprised myself because instead of kowtowing to someone's parents I simply said "I discovered you raised her poorly. Her manners are atrocious. She has no respect for anyone, including herself." I started to walk off.

"You can't talk to me that way!" he snapped.

"I just did and this conversation is over." and I walked off.

I was somewhat surprised he didn't pursue the matter. Maybe he thought I was one of those juvenile delinquents that was going to pull out a switchblade or something. Who knows? Then again, who cares?

Many years later long after I had left home and was wandering I dropped in to visit my mother who was on her last legs. I took a walk through the Harbor and ran into an old acquaintance. Somehow he mentioned her name and I asked what had happened to her. He laughed and said she was going through her third or fourth divorce.

If she's still alive she's probably comforted by boxed wine and 9 cats.

Roxie left for college a couple months later. I saw her a couple of times over Christmas break. Shortly after the new year her father retired from the Navy and the family moved down south somewhere.

 

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Yesterday I had a bright idea.

Someone used the term 'They're going to turn her into razor blades', meaning the Navy was scrapping another ship.

Someone else asked what that meant and where it came from.

I just got the bright idea of writing a book about the history of Navy ships and the razor blade industry and just making the whole damned thing up.

There would be interviews from fictitious veterans regarding the imaginary sought after razor blades that worked well for shaving in cold water in the field.

General Patton fining a GI $25 for no shave during the middle of the battle where the hapless GI had just performed a MOH winning feat of arms.

Imaginary facts, figures, numbers, purchase order numbers and statements, contracts between Gillette, Schick and other blade makers, the whole shooting match.

Privates William Longcloud and Joseph Schmidt (Think: Willie and Joe)wrote Gillette stating that they got excellent shaves using contaminated hot water from the radiators of running Jeeps and included a wrapper from one of the blades they had used. Gillette wrote back explaining that that particular lot had been made from construction scraps from destroyer escorts made in and salvaged from Hingham Shipyard during 1942.

The pair of them searched through the PX when they stood down and found blades from that lot number and bought dozens of packages of them. 

Or this:

Careful research of Gillette wartime records leads to the discovery Gillette had been planning carefully for the postwar period and that an agreement between Gillette and the Navy had worked out an agreement with with the Navy to inform them of which vessels were to be scrapped and who would scrap them and where they would be scrapped so Gillette could have an opportunity to purchase the steel for postwar razor blades.

Or maybe this. Construction samples of battleships built at Philadelphia Naval Shipyard, specifically the USS New Jersey (BB62)  and USS Wisconsin (BB64) showed that the underwater armor belt steel was entirely unsuitable for making razor blades with. The steel had characteristics that were somewhat softer than the steel needed for razor blades. This was due to the fact that brittle steel often shattered in freezing temperatures such as the steel used in Titanic. It was opined that Titanic's steel was too brittle and had the steel had more flex experts believe Titanic might have survived the iceberg.

After the war a Gillette executive almost got fired for bring up the idea of raising USS Samuel B. Roberts. He was promptly told that Gillette was not in the business of disturbing war graves. 

The fact that an executive even brought this up was a closely guarded secret for decades because Gillette was afraid of a possible public outrage. This didn't even cover the practical reason. Samuel B. Roberts, sunk during the Battle of Samar currently rests in over 22,500 feet of water and wasn't discovered until June, 2022.

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About 200 pages of this happy horse$hit, done right would probably keep WW2 history fanatics busy for a while.

On the last page it should read 'For further information contact the Gillette Historical Department and and post the address. Hopefully I could get them in cahoots and have them answer that the book they read was a complete fabrication...or even a crock of $hit.

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

One night at Texas Roadhouse

Where I am going soon to celebrate my birthday. I turn 75.

A couple of years age I went into TRH for a rare steak dinner. The place was crowded and I was offered the choice of waiting or eating at the bar. I chose the bar and found myself sitting next to a young woman that was sitting next to a young man. It was obviously a dinner date of some sort. They, too, had opted for the bar instead of waiting.

As I was starting to sit down their food arrived so I waited for a few seconds to be seated. She had obviously ordered the biggest steak on the menu plus a couple of sides. She took a single bite of one of the rolls and announced she was full. That caught my attention and I looked at the man. 

He was shocked, angry and hurt. He realized he's been played for a sucker. He was livid and rightfully so.That same thing had happened to me several decades before and I remembered it clearly.

I turned to the youngster and said, "You paid for that meal It's yours to do what you want with it. I'll give you ten bucks for her leftovers to help you recoup your losses."

"Mister, that's a done deal," he replied and slid her entire meal over in front of me.

The bartender that had come over for my drink order saw and heard the entire thing and broke out laughing as the diva threw a conniption and stormed off.

My newly found young friend looked at me sadly and commented that after this he wasn't likely to get another date on campus again. 

I corrected him. I told him he would never get another date with a DIVA again. They'd all be terrified of him because they knew he wouldn't take their shit. What WOULD happen if he told the rest of the story about ordering the entire menu and eating one bite that the decent women would get word. I told him that good women don't like that crap either. They would find him desirable because he had self-respect and handled himself with a quick wit and a sense of humor. Good women also respect the fact that while you're still in school you don't have a lot of disposable cash. They respect that something like this dinner takes a BIG chunk out of it.

 

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Great Falls Montana 1978 (IIRC)

Following a wild ride through Montana by a drunken Indian in a really beat up Olds 98 I found myself deposited in Great Falls in the middle of the street.

There was an army buddy in living there  that owed me big time because much of his TA-50 field gear had been stolen and I had managed to make up the shortages for him and save him a BIG chunk of change. He probably would have been discharged penniless had I not helped him out.

I had a standing invite to see him and there I stood completely wasted on the cheap wine the Indian had fed me along the way.

I managed to get out his number and dropped a coin in the phone booth and called him. He answered.

"Hello, it's Piccolo and I'm pretty wasted. Please pick me up. I'm across the street from this bit ink thing at the corner of Telephone and Telephone" and then hung up.

He was there in five minutes.

The corner of Telephone and Telephone.

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

I had to delete today's post for somehow breaking community guidelines.

It was a story about taking a train from Bridgeport, CT.

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Another memory.

Back in the army something got screwed up when we ordered something (I forgot what) and were delivered a deck plate for an 8 inch howitzer. At the same time the mess hall got another mistaken order for 300 pounds of pancake flour.

The battery commander asked rhetorically "What the hell are we going to do with a deck plate from an 8 inch SP howitzer?"

The battalion commander was there and gave me a withering look when I suggested we have the mechanics burn the paint off of it and wire wheel it so we can put it on cinder blocks build a fire under it and get the mess hall's pancake flour and invite the entire Divarty to a pancake breakfast.

I got off the hook (kinda) when a wide eyed not too bright private said, "That's a good idea!"

The battery commander (one of my supporters) said, "Sir, at least he's thinking. Most don't."

That ended that but when the BnCO left the BC looked at me, shook his head and said "You a$$hole."

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

It is said democracies generally last about 250 years.

That sounds about right.

I see this one collapsing over the next few years and it's the fault of the very people that live here for not paying attention.

In 10 or 15 years you won't recognize the country anymore.

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

An awful lot of people in this country have what I call splinter syndrome.

They get a splinter that aches and know it's going to hurt to have it pulled out. 

So they leave it and silently ache until it festers to the point where something has to be done and it's going to cost time, money and pain.

I learned my splinter lesson as a boy when one of my scout leaders pulled a huge splinter out of my ass on a camporee.

It was sore but I had enough sense to get it checked. My scout leader yanked it in a second and for that second it hurt like hell and immediately afterwards there was no pain.

It was well worth it. 

On the other hand there are an awful lot of people that put things off until it reaches a crisis and only then do they take action.

Incidentally when the splinter came out I bled like a stuck pig. The scout leader just put his thumb on the would and pushed for a few minutes. The bleeding stopped and he covered the wound with a folded was of Kleenex, taped it on as best he could with Band Aids and sent me on my way.

(He also told me to ditch the skids when I got home so my mother would not find out.)

The truth is that it's better to face things immediately than hope they will go away. 

Everyone seems to know this but a Godawful lot of people don't put it into practice.

This is why I believe Iran should have been taken out decades ago.

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

Unfortunately

A couple of days ago I called it.

We're headed on a downward spiral fast.

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY