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The Richard Pryor Commemorative Edition...

...man, thought I'd heard it all. Don't wear vinyl parachute pants when riding your sporty.

Pshhahahhhah
 

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Reminds me of the time my squadron went to Rosie Roads PR for a misslex. Some of us bikers in the squadron rented Honda Passport mopeds one weekend, and after ingesting several kilos of purple mushrooms that grew all over the base, we ended up on some mud flats, next to the officers beach, chasing land crabs. This was great fun, sliding around, trying to catch the crabs that scurried all over the mud flats, and soon I had my moped up to terminal speed, and was just about to nail one of the blue crabs when it made a hard left, and sent me lowsiding through some bushes that lined the officers beach. Some zeros were having a kids birthday party, and were startled to see me crash through the bushes, laughing, as the moped went on top of me. My laughter turned to horror though, as the cork-type gas cap popped off, and spilled about a gallon of premix on my nads. The burning sensation was immediate, and in a state of panic, I threw the moped off me, pulled my swim trunks down around my ankles, and ran into the ocean, screaming OW! OW! OW! The mothers at the party covered their children's eyes, as I proceeded to splash cooling ocean water on my fornisqued nuts. The male members of the party were not amused, however, and proceeded to grab me, and throw me back through the bushes I just exited from, my swim suit still down around my ankles. That was hard to live down.
 

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Pambopino?

We were in Brindizi Italy (remember that one?) and my shop boss was this 2nd class Philippino guy named Tony Luna. Tony was a gun nut, and everything he ate, drank, smoked and talked about, had to do with guns.

One time, we were way out in the north-east part of Brindisi, where the sand dunes are, at some NATO airbase's officer's club. The night before I had been to this place, and got a free meal after some drunk zero barfed all over my table (the place was packed, so the waiter asked if they could sit at my table, as I was with with three people). It was a real bytch to get to, had to take a 1 hour bus ride.

Anyway, that next night, they wouldn't let us in, as we had enlisted ID cards. How I got in the night before was a mystery (maybe it was because I had three fine American girls on my arm, but that's another story).

Tony got so pissed off (because of the long ride), he said to the Italian guy at the door: "If this was America, I would take my 9mm, put it here in my belt, then I would take my .45, put it here on the other side, then I would gey my M14, and strap it to my back, and put my .357 in my fanny pack, and then do you know what I would do? I would kill you and everybody in this town, and then burn it to the ground with gasoline!"

The Italian guy at the door just smiled, and said in broken English: "Thank You!" Didn't speak a word of English...hahhahha

Then there was the time I was at this railroad station...
 

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Way too many...

"How many shrooms did y'all eat out there Cuddy? Shoot, a small handful of our Florida cowpie specials will have you trippin for 48 hours! I've heard, I mean, some guy told me and stuff."

Since most of us on the Moped expedition were from the West Coast, we knew not the quantity to consume of the mighty psylocyben (sic) schroom, so we picked about a whole 20 gallon garbage bag full, and scoffed them ALL down with luke warm Budwisers.

I personally halucinated for about 4 days, everything seemed real funny, and my face hurt from smiling too much. Fueling A7's were a real bytch, as they seemed to want to eat you, and somethines talked, what with that big intake/mouth deal.

After a few days of that, we all piled in a rented Honda Car Wagon and drove to San Juan, where we got arrested for driving down a one way street the wrong way. The cops let us go, and we crashed the Civic at speed up into some weeds off the interstate in a town called Umagao, on the way back to the base. Somehow we got the badly bent and twisted Hondacar back to the rental place at the base, and turned it in without any one noticing the front window was popped out, and held in with Scotch tape. The rest of the car looked like a beer can that had been twisted by a giant pair of hands. The hands of Mescalito, perhaps?
 

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Stoners? On the flight deck?

Flight deck crew stoners, on the Indy? Nah, even though when I became a new brown shirt, after getting "greased" with molly b, someone dumped a couple hits of acid in my coffee. Made oiling and tieing down them F4's real "trippy" to say the least.

Then there was the time I stole that bus in Carni park. Got XO's mast, and they were all laughing so hard at my boot camp glasses (BCD's) all I got was a couple weeks restriction. "Restricted mens muster on the hanger deck..."
 

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Ah Catania, must have been at the same cat house, with the giant overstuffed furniture. They'd parade the girls out, in formation, and you'd get to pick one. There was one with a giant brow ridge, we all nicknamed "cave woman". Ring any bells the SN2 Thomas?
 

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Ah, Naples, I was pretty much the same way, only hung out in the squid bars when I had to. The No.1 Piano Bar was the most infamous for that stuff (getting into fights with jarheads, etc).

I'd usually get a few shipmates together from corrosion control (the crud crew) and we'd take a train, or bus to parts not well visited by the average squid.

Me too about looking for exotic cars/bikes. About the most exotic bike I saw, was the Moto Gizzu Falcone that the Carabeneri rode. Exposed flywheel and all.

I remember that place built under the aquaduct. Ah, the sea stories could just go on and on...
 
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