Marty: Rolling Radical Scientology Rats

Discussion in 'MartyWorld' started by Zhongjianren, May 24, 2011.

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  1. Zhongjianren

    Zhongjianren Patron with Honors

    Marty: Rolling Radical Scientology Rats

  2. paradox

    paradox ab intra silentio vera


    Of your 4 posts 3 of them have been complete dups of blog postings from MR's blog site. Not to speak for ESMB but, personally, this is probably not the best way to go about things here. If you want to make a point about something you've run across then I'd suggest you quote the relevant material, link to the source, and then provide us with your own commentary, say what's on your mind about the quoted material. ESMB is a discussion board. Blogs are not. Technically, as well, most blogs are actually copyrighted material. Usually not a problem, but one could be created by the wholesale duplication of blogged material. Know what I mean, jellybean?

    Oh, and welcome to ESMB.
  3. When I was in the army we had a drill whereby you stood with a group of guys in front of a chainlink fence. On the otherside of the fence was a camouflaged 'enemy' drawing a bead on you. When you perceived him you left the fence. Invariably I was always the last guy at the fence, and the enemy finally walked up to me with his rifle pointed at me. I could see but I couldn't perceive. There's a difference. And so, when I was sent to the Excalibur in October of 1973 for diciplinary reasons from CCLA, I knew I would have trouble if I was given the deck watch especially at night. Well it happened. I was assigned the watch. It had some nautical sounding name but my guardian angel has blanked them all out. I was supposed to report anything odd to the bridge. It was a murky night. Just the sort of atmospheric state where I could see all and perceive nothing. I was walking back and forth in the bow, doing my Long John Silver impersonation, which amused me, under my breath to be sure. "Avast there, ya fresh water swab! One move and I'll cleave yer to the brisket, ya cowardly son of a rum puncheon!" As I was going on, I noticed something in front of us. It looked like an enormous towering smudgepot. I thought there must be a spit of land ahead, and this was some sort of LARGE industrial piece of bric-a-brac. It looked to be moving...toward us. Impossible. Smudgepots don't float. After a while I stepped into the passage way, and lifted the phone from it's hook. The bridge answered. It was some other greenhorn nebbach like me who didn't know what end was up. He was at the HELM. "Hi," I began in a most unprofessional way. "You know, there looks to be something ahead of us slightly on the port bow, that's moving a little in..." Suddenly there came a scream "AAAAAAAAGH" then lots of footsteps, and the booming voice of the first mate, a big burly bearded bear of a man named Kupchuk, (whom of course we all called Up Chuck) "You f**cking jackass!" he roared. I walked back to my post. The smudgepot turned out to be the giant P & O liner ORONSAY, and she was baring down on us. Her ship's horn blasted, molting every seagull within five miles. And by some miracle we got out of her way in time. Compared to the ORONSAY, the Excalibur looked like a rubber duck. The poor kid who was at the helm was reamed out: and the next day could be seen tottering on a make shift boatswain's chair, hang:nervous:ing over the side of the vessel. He was chipping paint. I meanwhile was called into the captain's office. The captain was a New Zealander named Bob Young. I'm sure he was perfectly normal before he agreed to be part of Ron's project. But now was as mad as Bedlam. I was ordered in. My mind was racing, and I soon came up with a solution. Capt. Young used to love to talk on and on about the days when he commanded a dory in the British navy, patroling the Arabian sea. "You know why you're here" he asked ominously. "Yes, sir. And I wish I could have remembered that time when you were commanding your dory in the Arabian sea, I think you had just such an occurance happend to you..." He brightened up immediately. "Yes! I did." and for the next twenty minutes he droned on about a story he'd bored us all with ten times already, but he was off in his dream time, and I knew I'd be unpunished. While he droned, I tuned him out and went on with Long John in my head..."There we was, at the sinking of the Viceroy of the Indies, off the coast of Mally bar. What a ship. Fit to sink with gold, jew-els, and precious salves and ernments. That's where a round shot took off me leg and left me with this here timber. It were a genywine college doctor as was sawbones. Latin and Greek by the bucket....etc." I timed my nonsense to end when his did. He was now in a good mood and dismissed me only with "look livilier next time, lad."
  4. guanoloco

    guanoloco As-Wased

    I used to think Nisbet was way cool...

    ...course, I used to think the Sourcerer was way cool, too...