Axe Body Wash

By:  Garland Davis

I know you have all seen the commercials showing the dude being mobbed by sexy women after bathing with Axe Body Wash.  Let me tell you my experience or rather my dog’s experience with Axe.  While shopping at Wal-Mart, I saw a display of Axe and decided to try it.  I was thinking that I wouldn’t mind being mobbed by a horde of sexy cheerleaders.  I bought it and while unloading the car, sat it on the washer in the garage.   Putting away my other purchases, I noticed some oil drips on the concrete and decided to pressure wash the drive. I completely forgot the Axe.  My wife, not paying attention placed it in the cabinet with the window cleaner and dog shampoo.

Later in the week, I decided to shampoo my male dog.  I lifted him into the oversized utility sink, installed for the purpose of washing dogs. I wet him down, reached for the dog shampoo and found the bottle empty.  I saw the Axe and decided to use it since he was already wet.  I copiously applied the body wash to his fur and scrubbed him down.

Strange things began to happen.   My female dog started whining and scratching at the door acting like she does when in heat.  Very strange; she had just completed the active phase of her estrus cycle.   Other female dogs in the neighborhood were suddenly coming into heat.  Even some dogs that had been neutered were acting strangely.  Dogs were escaping their constraints and running to my house, whining and scratching at the door.  I was kept busy returning them to their homes. Even Bruce, the gay Labradoodle, who lives in the next block and wears the pink bandana, tried to move into my garage. He was a real pain in the ass, whining like a bitch dog and parading past the door shaking his ass.

Whenever we went for a walk, the girl dogs were backing up to my dog and shaking their booty under his nose. Every time he raised his leg to piss, Bruce tried to sniff his junk.  At first, he loved the attention and, especially, the frequent opportunities to beat up Bruce.  Bruce appeared to enjoy the abuse and was persistent.  In the end, being a celebrity proved nerve-wracking.  He could hardly get in the twelve daily naps that he was accustomed to because of all the barking and whining from his admirers.

Tiring of the celebrity lifestyle he took measures to return his life to normal.  He rolled on a dead cat and a dog turd to mask the odor of the Axe and to smell more like a dog.  Within hours, Bruce had moved back home and the females, either, barked, growled, tried to bite him, or just ignored him during his walks. He was catching up on his sleep. Life was back to normal. Life was good!

I gave the partial bottle of Axe to Bruce’s owner, who used it to shampoo him. Now Bruce is in love with himself and spends his time licking his private parts while ignoring the attentions of all the adoring girl dogs.

They really ought to put warning labels on that Axe stuff.

Well, I’ve got to go. Got to cut this short. I am going to shower and take a walk down by the University Sports Complex.  The girl’s cheerleading team is scheduled to practice this afternoon.

To follow Tales of an Asia Sailor and get e-mail notifications of new posts, click on the three white lines in the red rectangle above, then click on the follow button.

A native of North Carolina, Garland Davis has lived in Hawaii since 1987. He always had a penchant for writing but did not seriously pursue it until recently. He is a graduate of Hawaii Pacific University, where he majored in Business Management. Garland is a thirty-year Navy retiree and service-connected Disabled Veteran.

Differences

By:  Garland Davis

There are differences between old ships and the newer ones of today’s Navy.  Every generation of sailors…each crew of a ship creates memories, loyalty and love of the Navy based on their experiences.  It’s probably been that way since Noah put to sea with a shipload of animals in the great flood…probably always will be.

Sailors are linked…Each generation to the preceding and following one by uniforms we wore, the histories of battles and wars fought, and the pride in being a sailor that swells our chests.  We were members of a group that will forever set us apart…We were sailors in the United States Navy.

The way they are churning the seabag now, I doubt if an old sailor would recognize a modern sailor as a shipmate in the same Navy.

We each have our memories of the ships and stations, of shipmates and foreign shores.  Those memories, collectively, are our history… The history of the ships we rode, the friends we made, the wars we fought in service to the country we represented.

Today’s ships are wonders of modernization.  They have evolved into push button wonders that operate with a minimal crew.  There are gun mounts without crews and submarines without periscopes. With crews peopled by male and female.  Yep Shipmate, you heard that right, female sailors.  The Lesbians in the Women’ Rights organizations have finally succeeding in invading one of the last male sanctuaries; the United States Navy afloat.  With no more “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”, there are now Rump Rangers and Gap Lappers in the berthing compartments.

Today’s sailors live in a comfort that we couldn’t envision on the old haze gray steel that we crewed throughout endless deployments and gun line periods. They have abundant water, air conditioning, room to move around, closed circuit TV, up to date programming.  We were happy to get fresh milk, an occasional shower, and the James Bond flick with Ann Margaret for the fifteenth time during a WestPac.

We thought computers and ‘wrist radios’ were figments of the imaginations of science fiction authors and the artists of Dick Tracy. Now sailors can stroll topside if close inshore, pull a playing card sized implement from their pocket and call any place in the world.

After UNREP’s we waited impatiently for mail call hoping to get a piece of paper from someone we cared for or someone who cared for us.  Now there are no longer Postal Clerks. The modern day sailor goes to a computer, logs on and checks to see if anyone has cared enough to send an e-mail.  With FaceBook and other social sites, the modern day sailor has friends around the world.  Our closest friends usually slept in the same stack of racks.

As I sit here typing this, I wonder of what the memories of the modern sailor will consist.  Will he remember the chipping of paint…Will he remember the pride he had in his ship as it entered port squared away and ship shape?  Or will he have his mind on the Enginemangirl sleeping on the other side of the bulkhead, wondering if he has a chance of getting into her skivs?

Do Chiefs still cuss you like the demons of hell and then come by to see you in the hospital with a stack of magazines? Do they still offer to loan a broke sailor a few bucks for liberty?  Do they still ask if you have started shaving yet as a way of telling you that, you look like shit and ‘go shave?’

Do bargirls still remember a sailor’s name and ship?  Is it still impossible to get the smell of cheap perfume off a pea coat or dress canvas?  Does the neckerchief still dangle in your beer or chow?  Do sailors still wear liberty cuffs and sharkskin whites?  Do sailors still roll their white hats?

What has the world economy, inflation, the influx of the ‘gentler sex, political correctness, and sensitivity done to the price of beer and pussy in our favorite ports?

What do they use for navigation?  In our day, the Junior Officers were up taking morning sextant sights trying to figure where in hell they were.  I guess now you can do it with Google Earth and Maps.  Sleep in, no reason to get up so early.

Do the mid and four to eight watch standers still hang around the bake shop like buzzards waiting for the baker to pull the rolls or bread they have been smelling, from his ‘magic oven?’ Is giving the cooks a hard time still the best game in town?  Is that first cup of coffee and cigarette in the morning worth getting up for?  What, forget the cigarette, no fucking smoking in our modern Navy?

Are there still independent duty Corpsmen who can cure anything, fix anything, identify varieties of crotch crabs by liberty port, and make perfect stitches by the light of a battle lantern, in a state five sea, after the snipes lost the load?  And afterward, whip your ass at Acey Deucy and Cribbage?

Do Officers and Chiefs still wear steaming hats that look like they drew them from Noah’s Lucky Bag?  Do cats still try to cover up deck force foul weather jackets?

Are FNG’s still sent to find relative bearing grease, chow line, skyhooks, left-handed monkey wrenches, and fallopian tubes? Oh wait, fallopian tubes are now available aboard ship in this modern Navy. Just not in supply, unless, of course, there are female Storekeepers.  What, no more SK’s?  They are now Logistic Specialists.  Hell, I knew SK’s that couldn’t spell logistics. Are there still mail buoy watches?  Are impressionable FA’s still wondering around the bridge trying to find the main engine ignition key? Or have all these tricks played on the innocent been categorized as “hazing” and banned in our more diverse, gentler and kinder Navy.  “A Force for Good.”

Do the girls in the bars start prettying up when your ship is sighted abreast Grande Island?  Or is everyone mustering with the Chaplains Assistant preparing to go paint an orphanage?  Does the CO sometimes stick his head into a joint on Magsaysay and buy a round?  No wait, drinking is discouraged, he could get relieved for that.

Are you still a pussy if you can’t chug a picture of Mojo? Is the “Breakfast of Champions” still monkey-on-a-stick, peanuts, hard boiled eggs and pool cue dust in your beer?”

Memories… Collect them… Remember… Remember the little things. They will form the composite of your old man’s memories. They will connect you with whatever comes after you.

One day, you will be parked in your old recliner saying…

“These goddam sailors today have no idea how fuckin’ tough we had it.  We had to go all the way to town for pussy.  We didn’t bring it with us.”

To follow Tales of an Asia Sailor and get e-mail notifications of new posts, click on the three white lines in the red rectangle above, then click on the follow button.

A native of North Carolina, Garland Davis has lived in Hawaii since 1987. He always had a penchant for writing but did not seriously pursue it until recently. He is a graduate of Hawaii Pacific University, where he majored in Business Management. Garland is a thirty-year Navy retiree and service-connected Disabled Veteran.