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Nobody reads all the threads. Some posts are so great nearly everybody will love them. My hope is the very best posts will be cut and pasted here by readers who want to share.

 

Here's one from Crew Anarchy I think belongs in any SA hall of fame>>

 

Competitive J22 looking for a 4th for the mid-winters in Rockwall, Tx, March 14-16, 2008. “Competitve” in this sense means that we have actually brought home hardware at major regattas in the past. How should I say this…we’re kind of a big deal. People know us. (Not necessarily in a good way…but still, it’s something.)

 

Requirements:

• Be between 110-120lbs. Please note that this means no fat chicks. Fat midgets are also unacceptable, even if they meet the weight requirement.

• Must drink, or at least be OK with the fact that everyone else on the boat will be drinking. (Yes, we drink while racing. One of your main duties as the 4th will be to hand beers to the rest of the crew on downwind legs. You may partake if you wish.)

• Know how to tail a spinnaker halyard, hoist a jib, and perform spinnaker takedowns, hike going upwind, roll tack, and cross the boat without any serious issues.

• Act as the skipper’s sexual advisor (This means that if he wants your fucking opinion, he’ll ask for it).

• Not be offended by obscene language (including the use of cocksucker, mother fucker, bitch, cunt, whore, pussy, dipshit, asswipe, asshat, dickhead, etc.) unless it is expressly directed at you. In this case, you are allowed to retaliate in kind.

• Have at least one story that starts with “I was sooooo wasted that ___________.” Extra points if the story involves midgets, explosives, or midgets and explosives.

• Points will be deducted if the above story has the words “I screwed a (insert farm animal)."

• If you are a woman, you must be able to fend off the sexual advances of our bowman. You may use pepper spray, bear mace, stun guns, or any other non-lethal weapon that you prefer…unless he’s coming on to you at a mark rounding. Then you just need to deal with it until the chute is down/up.

 

Travel costs to and from the regatta are on your own. We will provide lodging via the standard practice of paying for a single room for 2 people and having everyone crash there anyway.

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Measured by the thread that followed, this post started the 1000 days cruise thread perhaps the most influential Newbie's first post of all time and certainly teh longest thread with the most time wasted posting in it.

 

 

I don't know if anyone else saw this article:

 

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070422/ap_on_.../longest_cruise

 

Apparently all you need to sail around the world is (1) a life raft donated by your ex-wife and (2) a tiny girlfriend who is going to freak the fuck out as soon as the north atlantic starts and the hudson ends.

 

Good scam tho'. They did get the shits donated, and can just roll to the islands and fake the logs for the trip...

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the r'cutters bay hardstand posse are all things to all people

 

destined for the hall of fame so it might as well get started here. yo

 

chk chk BOOM!

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Nobody reads all the threads. Some posts are so great nearly everybody will love them. My hope is the very best posts will be cut and pasted here by readers who want to share.

 

Here's one from Crew Anarchy I think belongs in any SA hall of fame>>

 

Competitive J22 looking for a 4th for the mid-winters in Rockwall, Tx, March 14-16, 2008. "Competitve" in this sense means that we have actually brought home hardware at major regattas in the past. How should I say this…we're kind of a big deal. People know us. (Not necessarily in a good way…but still, it's something.)

 

Requirements:

• Be between 110-120lbs. Please note that this means no fat chicks. Fat midgets are also unacceptable, even if they meet the weight requirement.

• Must drink, or at least be OK with the fact that everyone else on the boat will be drinking. (Yes, we drink while racing. One of your main duties as the 4th will be to hand beers to the rest of the crew on downwind legs. You may partake if you wish.)

• Know how to tail a spinnaker halyard, hoist a jib, and perform spinnaker takedowns, hike going upwind, roll tack, and cross the boat without any serious issues.

• Act as the skipper's sexual advisor (This means that if he wants your fucking opinion, he'll ask for it).

• Not be offended by obscene language (including the use of cocksucker, mother fucker, bitch, cunt, whore, pussy, dipshit, asswipe, asshat, dickhead, etc.) unless it is expressly directed at you. In this case, you are allowed to retaliate in kind.

• Have at least one story that starts with "I was sooooo wasted that ___________." Extra points if the story involves midgets, explosives, or midgets and explosives.

• Points will be deducted if the above story has the words "I screwed a (insert farm animal)."

• If you are a woman, you must be able to fend off the sexual advances of our bowman. You may use pepper spray, bear mace, stun guns, or any other non-lethal weapon that you prefer…unless he's coming on to you at a mark rounding. Then you just need to deal with it until the chute is down/up.

 

Travel costs to and from the regatta are on your own. We will provide lodging via the standard practice of paying for a single room for 2 people and having everyone crash there anyway.

 

I remember when I could approach you as an individual, instead of a crowd of pink fucknuts.

 

Those were the days.

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I still remember this classic from Lesbian Robot.

 

 

"Let me begin by saying that this message was clearly written by a bitter, sexually frustrated, marshmallow of a sailor. How do I know this? Well first of all, I can tell you that NYYC is one of the highest concentrations of wealth in the sailing community. Rich guys marry hot women. They then breed hot daughters who love to go to Daddy's club, get drunk on Daddy's tab, and fuck Daddy's bowman. You were too busy being pissed off about the drink prices to realize the potential. In fact, the guy who didn't respond when you said, "excuse me" was probably in the process of looking for his daughter. Mean while, the mast man is balls deep in this little cooz, and the irony is the she's calling HIM Daddy! So this father is picturing his little princess getting broken in two by some guy from Detroit, and you are pissed off because he didn't acknowledge you properly? Now who's being inconsiderate?

 

The next item is the lawn. One of the nicest lawns I have ever been on. They have waitresses on the lawn. And they wear tight black pants. And these waitresses all get off work and go party in Newport. And where are you? You are too hung up on the leather couch in the pisser to ask them what their plans are. If you played your cards right, those tight black pants could be hanging from the mirror of the team van, and the two of you could leave a puddle of pleasure on the .6 runner. But you didn't.

 

At any rate, either of the aformentioned girls can go get you drinks for free, be it on Daddy's tab or the house's. Instead, you are sitting in the corner, counting out your last few wet dollars, and getting pissed because you can't get drunk enough to make a total ass of yourself.

 

The New York Yacht Club puts on good regattas. Sure, their a bunch of elitist assholes, but at least they don't try to hide it. They celebrate it. Who cares. They buy big boats, and let young hard-ons like you sail on them. I figure an extra buck per beer is worth at least a few hours of hanging out on the lawn and hitting on top quality stinky.

 

God, I miss Newport.

 

Usually by the time the owner has a daughter old enough to chug seed, the wife toast. The insurance company has totaled her. Usually. The owner has already moved on to some naughty little thing that, just a few years back, was an owner's daughter herself. The pit girl for example. Yes, the daughter loved the bowman. But the ideas that the wife have are much bigger. To compare a woman over 40 to a fine wine would be a cliche. I prefer a dry aged steak. On the outside it is a thing of beauty, though the grill has clearly left its mark. But once you bite into it, the experience is one to remember. The kind of thing where, when you get back home you high-five your dad.

 

Now here's the thing that the young guys miss. They are so caught up in the daughter, and her stares, that they don't even notice the wife. She hasn't had sex with her husband in years, and even then the guy's circulatory system is only good for about five pumps, thinking about the babysitter he just dropped off. So there she sits, bored. Then her husband buys a boat to feed his ego, and gets a bunch of strong young lads to crew it. As the boat pulls into the dock, she is standing there with her daughter and a cooler full of beer. You are thinking about the daughter; the daughter is thinking about the beer; and the wife is thinking about you. To revisit an earlier point, the owner is thinking about the daughter, the beer, and you.

 

So here's the play. When the owner gives his, "I want everyone sharp tomorrow" speech, and heads home, you take her to some bar and treat her like she's one of the crew. She'll get off on the novelty. After a few Kamikazis, she'll take you somewhere for sex that's so good you'll wish you had filmed it. Nobody gives head like a woman over 40.

 

Of course you can't tell anyone. But the next day, when you are hooking up the bag, you can look back at the owner with a little smirk. And he doesn't even notice that you have a hard on."

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Guy always cherished this first post by a loved member of our community:

 

"WOW, my site has been discovered. Be aware that I am not a dealer nor do I sell any kind of boat related gear or boats. I am a converted power boater (twin screw 62 foot aviation resque boat); for that crime you may dismiss all that is said on my web pages. Or you can pay attention to movable water ballast and movable solid ballast (canting keel) monohulls. As is stated in Sail's March edition - we will be seeing some real improvements in monohulls in the next few years. Very little more can be done to improve multi-hulls. These Mac26x boats are the fore runner to what we will be seeing. Check out the Schock 40 at Sail Expo for example. The same dealer of Mac26x cruisers in Seattle deals the Schock 40. After 5 years, I had expected to move to a larger sailing craft. However, a summer at Shilshole and planing under sail fully ballasted almost ever evening, makes me a Mac26x advocate. My wife doesn't like multi hulls or that would have happened by now. Once you get use to performance, it is hard to go backwards. This Schock 40 holds some real interest. But I expect to be sailing Murrelet five years from now. The Mac26x boats are awsome. Anyway chat with me on Sailnet or on the South Sound Sailing Society BBS. 5000 Mac26x owners can't all be wrong but I certainly can.

 

The Murrelet is a small sea bird that nests in old growth forests that is refered to by old time Pacific Northwest Sailers as a kiss-me-arse. Pay attention to the site if you are open minded. Several updates are in the works owing to the Small Craft Advisor Mar/Apr issue discussing the Tasar Class Sailboats. The Mac26x (but not other MacGregor Models) is best I can tell a large Tasar class boat. Shame on anyone that doesn't know what a Tasar is. Unfortunately many "sailors" haven't a clue.

 

Frank Mighetto

Murrelet 1999 Mac26x

Sail Number 79020

member SSSS

 

Read more at your own risk: The Thread of the Last Century

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I still remember this classic from Lesbian Robot.

 

 

"Let me begin by saying that this message was clearly written by a bitter, sexually frustrated, marshmallow of a sailor..."

 

Beat me to it. The best, bar none.

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A good one from Right Coast:

 

[Rant on]

 

You know what, I have call bullshit on the "I don't have time" excuse. The only reason people don't have time is because they have chosen to pile more shit on their schedules than ever before. Everything we do, is done more efficiently today than it was 10, 20, 30, or 100 years ago, yet so many people complain about not having enough time. Why?

 

You get people who complain that their job is too demanding, making them work 60+ hours a week. Well, here's a solution: GET A DIFFERENT JOB! Oh but then you wouldn't be able to afford the gas-guzzlin Canyonero SUV for your wife to menace the streets in, or that luxury sedan you drive to make sure everone knows you're important. And little Tyler and Ashley wouldn't be able to endlessly text message their friends, or play Final Fantasy 327 (If it's FINAL, why was there a second one?) on their X-Box 720, while you swill your favorite mass-produced micro-brew from the comfort of your Manatee-hide Napper Crapper 9000 as you watch the game on your fucking Jumbo-tron of a Plasma TV.

 

Pry the rug rats off the couch, and go to the boat and work on it. And for fucks sake, do not answer the Crackberry when you're working on the boat.

 

And why should there be an expectation that the "Average Joe" should be able to win? On average, the Average Joe should finish in the middle of the fleet, that's why they're AVERAGE!!! If they were the Well Prepared, or Highly Skilled Joe then I'd have higher expectations for them. Like it or not, sailing is an equipment sport, and as demonstrated in almost every equimment sport, having better equipment usually helps. Having better equipment doesn't make winners out of loosers, but it might make them suck a little less.

 

The reason so many people are upset with with their perceived inability to compete with those who have more time, money, or skill, is that we've been feeding people the line of shit that "You deserve the best" and that 'Everyone can be a winner". Well I've got some bad news for you sunshine: You don't, you deserve the average. And statistically speaking it's unlikely that you'll be the winner more than occasionally. So telling people otherwise only sets them up for disappointment.

 

[Rant off]

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I still remember this classic from Lesbian Robot.

 

 

"Let me begin by saying that this message was clearly written by a bitter, sexually frustrated, marshmallow of a sailor..."

 

Beat me to it. The best, bar none.

 

Agreed, Here is another classic....

 

I am unfamiliar with this word "like"? It is possibly one of those emotions easily disposed with a fair bit of duct tape around the head.

 

I love it when people under the tent tell my buddies and I that we are crazy after witnessing our antics. Crazy isn't trying to catch full beers thrown as hard as possible in one's mouth, or two timing a port-o-potty and then knowcking it over while screaming, "It won't fit, it won't fit!". Crazy is an albino midget eating sun warmed feces out of a 1920's leather football helmet with a spoon crafted from frozen whale sperm. What we do is just good fun.

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I still remember this classic from Lesbian Robot.

 

 

"Let me begin by saying that this message was clearly written by a bitter, sexually frustrated, marshmallow of a sailor. How do I know this? Well first of all, I can tell you that NYYC is one of the highest concentrations of wealth in the sailing community. Rich guys marry hot women. They then breed hot daughters who love to go to Daddy's club, get drunk on Daddy's tab, and fuck Daddy's bowman. You were too busy being pissed off about the drink prices to realize the potential. In fact, the guy who didn't respond when you said, "excuse me" was probably in the process of looking for his daughter. Mean while, the mast man is balls deep in this little cooz, and the irony is the she's calling HIM Daddy! So this father is picturing his little princess getting broken in two by some guy from Detroit, and you are pissed off because he didn't acknowledge you properly? Now who's being inconsiderate?

 

The next item is the lawn. One of the nicest lawns I have ever been on. They have waitresses on the lawn. And they wear tight black pants. And these waitresses all get off work and go party in Newport. And where are you? You are too hung up on the leather couch in the pisser to ask them what their plans are. If you played your cards right, those tight black pants could be hanging from the mirror of the team van, and the two of you could leave a puddle of pleasure on the .6 runner. But you didn't.

 

At any rate, either of the aformentioned girls can go get you drinks for free, be it on Daddy's tab or the house's. Instead, you are sitting in the corner, counting out your last few wet dollars, and getting pissed because you can't get drunk enough to make a total ass of yourself.

 

The New York Yacht Club puts on good regattas. Sure, their a bunch of elitist assholes, but at least they don't try to hide it. They celebrate it. Who cares. They buy big boats, and let young hard-ons like you sail on them. I figure an extra buck per beer is worth at least a few hours of hanging out on the lawn and hitting on top quality stinky.

 

God, I miss Newport.

 

Usually by the time the owner has a daughter old enough to chug seed, the wife toast. The insurance company has totaled her. Usually. The owner has already moved on to some naughty little thing that, just a few years back, was an owner's daughter herself. The pit girl for example. Yes, the daughter loved the bowman. But the ideas that the wife have are much bigger. To compare a woman over 40 to a fine wine would be a cliche. I prefer a dry aged steak. On the outside it is a thing of beauty, though the grill has clearly left its mark. But once you bite into it, the experience is one to remember. The kind of thing where, when you get back home you high-five your dad.

 

Now here's the thing that the young guys miss. They are so caught up in the daughter, and her stares, that they don't even notice the wife. She hasn't had sex with her husband in years, and even then the guy's circulatory system is only good for about five pumps, thinking about the babysitter he just dropped off. So there she sits, bored. Then her husband buys a boat to feed his ego, and gets a bunch of strong young lads to crew it. As the boat pulls into the dock, she is standing there with her daughter and a cooler full of beer. You are thinking about the daughter; the daughter is thinking about the beer; and the wife is thinking about you. To revisit an earlier point, the owner is thinking about the daughter, the beer, and you.

 

So here's the play. When the owner gives his, "I want everyone sharp tomorrow" speech, and heads home, you take her to some bar and treat her like she's one of the crew. She'll get off on the novelty. After a few Kamikazis, she'll take you somewhere for sex that's so good you'll wish you had filmed it. Nobody gives head like a woman over 40.

 

Of course you can't tell anyone. But the next day, when you are hooking up the bag, you can look back at the owner with a little smirk. And he doesn't even notice that you have a hard on."

 

+1 for all time, where is LR?

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I still remember this classic from Lesbian Robot.

 

 

"Let me begin by saying that this message was clearly written by a bitter, sexually frustrated, marshmallow of a sailor. How do I know this? Well first of all, I can tell you that NYYC is one of the highest concentrations of wealth in the sailing community. Rich guys marry hot women. They then breed hot daughters who love to go to Daddy's club, get drunk on Daddy's tab, and fuck Daddy's bowman. You were too busy being pissed off about the drink prices to realize the potential. In fact, the guy who didn't respond when you said, "excuse me" was probably in the process of looking for his daughter. Mean while, the mast man is balls deep in this little cooz, and the irony is the she's calling HIM Daddy! So this father is picturing his little princess getting broken in two by some guy from Detroit, and you are pissed off because he didn't acknowledge you properly? Now who's being inconsiderate?

 

The next item is the lawn. One of the nicest lawns I have ever been on. They have waitresses on the lawn. And they wear tight black pants. And these waitresses all get off work and go party in Newport. And where are you? You are too hung up on the leather couch in the pisser to ask them what their plans are. If you played your cards right, those tight black pants could be hanging from the mirror of the team van, and the two of you could leave a puddle of pleasure on the .6 runner. But you didn't.

 

At any rate, either of the aformentioned girls can go get you drinks for free, be it on Daddy's tab or the house's. Instead, you are sitting in the corner, counting out your last few wet dollars, and getting pissed because you can't get drunk enough to make a total ass of yourself.

 

The New York Yacht Club puts on good regattas. Sure, their a bunch of elitist assholes, but at least they don't try to hide it. They celebrate it. Who cares. They buy big boats, and let young hard-ons like you sail on them. I figure an extra buck per beer is worth at least a few hours of hanging out on the lawn and hitting on top quality stinky.

 

God, I miss Newport.

 

Usually by the time the owner has a daughter old enough to chug seed, the wife toast. The insurance company has totaled her. Usually. The owner has already moved on to some naughty little thing that, just a few years back, was an owner's daughter herself. The pit girl for example. Yes, the daughter loved the bowman. But the ideas that the wife have are much bigger. To compare a woman over 40 to a fine wine would be a cliche. I prefer a dry aged steak. On the outside it is a thing of beauty, though the grill has clearly left its mark. But once you bite into it, the experience is one to remember. The kind of thing where, when you get back home you high-five your dad.

 

Now here's the thing that the young guys miss. They are so caught up in the daughter, and her stares, that they don't even notice the wife. She hasn't had sex with her husband in years, and even then the guy's circulatory system is only good for about five pumps, thinking about the babysitter he just dropped off. So there she sits, bored. Then her husband buys a boat to feed his ego, and gets a bunch of strong young lads to crew it. As the boat pulls into the dock, she is standing there with her daughter and a cooler full of beer. You are thinking about the daughter; the daughter is thinking about the beer; and the wife is thinking about you. To revisit an earlier point, the owner is thinking about the daughter, the beer, and you.

 

So here's the play. When the owner gives his, "I want everyone sharp tomorrow" speech, and heads home, you take her to some bar and treat her like she's one of the crew. She'll get off on the novelty. After a few Kamikazis, she'll take you somewhere for sex that's so good you'll wish you had filmed it. Nobody gives head like a woman over 40.

 

Of course you can't tell anyone. But the next day, when you are hooking up the bag, you can look back at the owner with a little smirk. And he doesn't even notice that you have a hard on."

 

+1 for all time, where is LR?

 

LR has left the building....for good.

 

However, if you remember correctly, this rant above was IN RESPONSE to LRs rant about NYYC. This gem above was actually written by none other than the talented BCH.

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The lesbot was the king. This one keeps getting better with age, especially since my genoa trimmer has had a baby and started a blog about his family:

 

I recently found out that my friend and his wife have a blog. It is idiotic and makes me sick. Seriously, I want to read a blog about his house and dog and impending baby about as much as I want a third hole in my dick. Honestly, I couldn't think of anything less important and irrelevent to me aside from say, a stranger email me the inventory of their glove compartment (or boot for you re]gects whose families couldn't afford a steerage ticket to the real world). Perhapse in the future they will find a way for me to just monitor their refridgerator door or wherever elese they post important family information and spare me the responsibility of actually having to read their dumb fucking diary. How else will I get to view their kids shitty finger painting skills, know when her prescrition needs to be filled, or when the family dog is scheduled to be deowrmed! The huminty! So, I need help choosing from the following insults to post on the "comments" section of this blog, which will surely infuriate his wife enough to hopefully never invite me to shit like the house of Jesus drowning ceremony, or the all important first birthday. The choices are:

 

1. This blog is so gay that it went back in time and gave Freddy Mercury AIDS

 

2. After a fortuneteller errantly identified the authors of your blog as Jews, Adolf Hitler imposed the final solution resulting in the deaths of 11 million people in Nazi death camps. His fanatical quest to erase your blog from humanity spiraled the world into a war that cost roughly 72 million human beings their lives. Your blog sucks that fucking bad.

 

3. When I was a child I fell into a bees nest while climbing a tree. Bees covered my lower body actually stinging my penis several HUNDRED times rendering me incapable of ever being able to sexually satisfy a woman. It was later discovered that the queen managed to lodge herself in my anus where she tried to form a new colony. The doctors had to burn the hive off of my asshole with a laser that generated more heat than the surface of the sun. The surgery was filmed for a medical show and later aired on national television along with my name and address. The film was shown to my entire Elementary school, where I was forced to show all of my peers my mutilated genitalia. In retrospect, that was a great day when compared to the time when I read your blog.

 

4. If made to choose between reading your blog or having sex with my own mother, I would honestly be capable of getting an erection for the later.

 

5. The fact that for me Christmas dinner with my family only serves as a painfully horrifying reminder of the day my uncle molested me is actually enjoyable when compared to the prospect of reading another irrelevant entry about everything 'you' on your blog.

 

6. Your blog spontaneously killing everyone who views or even acknowledges it's existence with AIDS has now replaced global warming as the single greatest threat to humanity.

 

7. Dressing your infant like a rodeo clown and then sticking your fist up it's ass and using his face to give you a blowjob like a ventriloquist masturbating into his doll would be physically less revolting to watch than viewing your bog.

 

8. On a scale of 1 to 10 regarding the news today, with 1 being your blog and 10 being the fact that there is a radiation leak at a Japanese nuclear power plant and Briton just expelled 4 Russian diplomats while Russia pulled out of arms treaty greatly increasing the likelihood of an immanent World War Three involving Godzilla, Mothra and Gamera from 0 to almost guaranteed, your blog makes Liberace look like a pussy hound.

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so i was picking up some sails that were dropped off for a check-over.

I get one of them and the second is looking alot different than how it was dropped off.

Without any doubt I was sure it was in a turtle when it went in, its now in a clear palstic trash bag.

I say ummmm where's the bag? "Well we had to give to another customer, we can have one for you in a couple of weeks...."

Let me take a wild freaking guess about which sailmaker THAT was.

 

I used to work for this sailmaker who would always come up with some frantic, ill-considered project that absolutely needed to be done by 5:00 on Wednesday and was never even discussed with me til 4:45 on Wednesday. Well, one fine day i saw this sailmaker (let's call him Adipose McPlod) approaching my desk. He had that look on his face that presaged such behavior- deep down he knew he was screwing me, but......ahead he plodded. I had an epiphany, a flash of righteous anger, like Rosa Parks did, maybe, and so i grabbed the first thing that came into my hand- a can of spray glue. My brothers, Billy the Kid was as a tortoise walking uphill on a piece of glass compared with the lightning quickness of my draw. Stay back! I said, as Adipose tried to cautiously approach. I know how to use this thing! The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows, dust motes filled the air, people outside hurried about the happy business of going sailing that fine Wednesday afternoon of early summer, not knowing that inside the doors of that inconspicuous building on Severn Ave there was occurring the first Mexican standoff to occur on the old colonial streets of Annapolis.

Adipose held the file of the customer who demanded that his sail be delivered that instant- a Cal 25 on the Middle River (this is an hour drive.) Down the street, under its cover, my Etchells waited. In my hand, the spray glue was a comforting heft- full.

Like the bloodbath at the OK Corral, it was the villain of the piece who made the first move. He lifted the folder, and started to say something. His words are lost to history, however, because i doused him with the entire can of spray glue. This took a while, and while it was happening we ran in circles around the loft, me either running backwards or shooting nifty hip and over the shoulder shots, while Adipose blindly plowed ahead, bouncing off and overturning the sewing machines, running full speed into columns, and having every loose thing that the loft contained stick to him- rulers, push pins, awls, pairs of scissors, scraps of cloth, cut sheets, sail numbers, cockroaches, and finally another disgruntled employee, this last when he plowed into one of the sewing machine holes like an enraged mammoth into the La Brea Tar pits sometime in the late Pliestocene and landed on the nice lady who did our canvas sewing. As they struggled up from the pit, an obscene 8 limbed beast mewing and howling like something from the Island of Dr. Moreau, I made good my escape.

 

Or so i thought.

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And how can you not like the following from Rusty?

 

I'm on the con call from hell so, the mute button goes on and I turn my attention to other, more pressing matters - like this... hope you enjoy...

 

The Bow Speech

 

Bowman (Jack): You want answers?

 

Crew Boss (Tom): I think I'm entitled to them.

 

Bowman: You want answers?

 

Crew Boss: I want the truth!

 

Bowman: You can't handle the truth! Son, we race on a boat that has head sails. And those head sails have to be set and doused by men with harnesses. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Mr. Trimmer? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for that spin halyard and you curse the foredeck. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that spin halyard’s death, while tragic, probably won the race. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, wins races...You don't want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at the beer tent, you want me on that bow. You need me on that bow.

 

We use words like “gybe-set”, “Mexican”, “floater”...we use these words as the backbone to a life spent achieving something. You use 'em as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to an afterguard that race and win under the very mark roundings I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide them! I'd rather you just said "thank you" and got me a rum drink. Otherwise, I suggest you go down below and pack a ‘chute. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to!

 

Crew Boss: Did you order the Samurai douse?

 

Bowman: (quietly) I did the job you sent me to do.

 

Crew Boss: Did you order the Samurai douse?

 

Bowman: YOU’RE GODDAMN RIGHT I DID!!!

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Is it wrong that I include a post of my own in the list?? I thought this was one of my better ones and it was easier to find that some of LR's epic rants (driving to work, Clean is an A-Hole, etc)

 

http://forums.sailinganarchy.com/index.php?showtopic=47290

 

I am appalled to learn that the whiney bitch from the front page (PHRF-secution) is a fellow Michigan anarchist. Hey you PHRF slappy, shut the fuck up. The reason there was no reporting from the PHRF circles is no one stepped up and made the reports. So you couldnt learn about a bunch of 4 knot shit boxes. Who fucking cares. The reason I and many others pay attention to what is going on in Key West is for boat porn - IRC 1 and 2, Farr 40's, Melges 24's, etc. I really could care less about who wins an 8 boat class that includes a Mariah 27 racing against a bunch of J24's. Besides if you are so tight with Jazzy Jr., then step up, place a fucking phone call, and get a report from the boys and send it to Clean. Otherwise, sit down, enjoy the coverage, and shut the fuck up.

 

PHRF sucks and no one really cares about it anymore. Get used to it.

Regards,

MS

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Man....you guy's really need to get jobs. I got the anwser that I was looking for. By the way.....the rig is fine, been leveled measured etc. Definetly the kell!!!

one quote from the many threads I have killed.

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Opening post>>>

 

By Nautigirl

 

Just wondering how common it is for Significant Others to have a problem with having a chick on the boat.

 

The guys I race with don't tell their S.O.s that there is a chick on the crew. Their wives think that a chick who sails/races is only trying to get their claws into the guy with the boat. As a result, at a regatta last month I couldn't race with them on the last day (wives were coming down post-race) and for our race tomorrow, sorry, this sounds silly even to me, I have to stay below until we are well clear of the starting area as they might be watching. Likewise, tonight I can't attend the skippers meeting and pre-race festivities, and win or lose, I won't be at the prize presentation and post-race festivities either.

 

None of this is because I've done anything wrong, or because I have a reputation--but simply because of my gender. I'm wondering how common this is, in general. It's pretty much cemented for me that I'll finish the rest of the season with these guys, but will be keeping my eyes open for a more chick-friendly boat to crew with next year.

 

 

--------------------

 

"If the girl wants more rum, give the girl more rum"

"Be miserable. Or motivate yourself. Whatever has to be done, the choice is yours"

We may not win the race, but we ALWAYS win the party

"Nautigirl, you are actually pretty bright. You have some research skills too. How much do you weigh? I promise you will never have to hide below on any of my boats." (Phoenix @ Sep 27 2007, 02:19 PM)

The Meek will inherit the Earth; The Brave get the Oceans

" On the up side, he won't have problems getting room on the line or around marks after this one!"

Finish your beer. There's sober children in India.

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Nobody reads all the threads. Some posts are so great nearly everybody will love them. My hope is the very best posts will be cut and pasted here by readers who want to share.

 

Here's one from Crew Anarchy I think belongs in any SA hall of fame>>

 

Competitive J22 looking for a 4th for the mid-winters in Rockwall, Tx, March 14-16, 2008. “Competitve” in this sense means that we have actually brought home hardware at major regattas in the past. How should I say this…we’re kind of a big deal. People know us. (Not necessarily in a good way…but still, it’s something.)

 

Requirements:

• Be between 110-120lbs. Please note that this means no fat chicks. Fat midgets are also unacceptable, even if they meet the weight requirement.

• Must drink, or at least be OK with the fact that everyone else on the boat will be drinking. (Yes, we drink while racing. One of your main duties as the 4th will be to hand beers to the rest of the crew on downwind legs. You may partake if you wish.)

• Know how to tail a spinnaker halyard, hoist a jib, and perform spinnaker takedowns, hike going upwind, roll tack, and cross the boat without any serious issues.

• Act as the skipper’s sexual advisor (This means that if he wants your fucking opinion, he’ll ask for it).

• Not be offended by obscene language (including the use of cocksucker, mother fucker, bitch, cunt, whore, pussy, dipshit, asswipe, asshat, dickhead, etc.) unless it is expressly directed at you. In this case, you are allowed to retaliate in kind.

• Have at least one story that starts with “I was sooooo wasted that ___________.” Extra points if the story involves midgets, explosives, or midgets and explosives.

• Points will be deducted if the above story has the words “I screwed a (insert farm animal)."

• If you are a woman, you must be able to fend off the sexual advances of our bowman. You may use pepper spray, bear mace, stun guns, or any other non-lethal weapon that you prefer…unless he’s coming on to you at a mark rounding. Then you just need to deal with it until the chute is down/up.

 

Travel costs to and from the regatta are on your own. We will provide lodging via the standard practice of paying for a single room for 2 people and having everyone crash there anyway.

any post from the "tin can" round the world trip!

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This one made me laugh:

 

http://forums.sailinganarchy.com/index.php...t=0&start=0

 

Epoxy Help!!!! (Involves Beer), I think I f***ed up

 

 

Jagtek Performance Products

 

post May 23 2005, 10:56 PM

Post #1

 

 

Anarchist

*******

 

Group: Members

Posts: 897

Joined: 5-May 04

From: San Francisco Bay / Charleston, SC

Member No.: 1916

 

 

 

 

So here is the situation...

 

I spent 7 months drinking 1100 bottles of beer to collect the bottle caps. (and to get drunk)

 

I saved the caps to put on top of a table and then cover the whole thing with epoxy. I spent 3 days laying out the caps in the pattern I liked.

 

Here's where it gets interesting...

 

So I figure I will need upwareds of a gallon of epoxy. So to save money, I go with Tap plastics epoxy instead of my usual west system. The only problem is, after years of using west system, I am used to the calibrated pumps. The TAP pumps are not calibrated. I somehow fail to realize this as I am mixing the epoxy. My resulting mixture is 1:1 instead of 4:1. So, I am staring at 7 months of drinking going down the drain.

 

The resin appears to be kicking off, it's in the early gel phase after about 3.5 hours at about 65 degress F. It looks as though it might cure properly...???

 

 

So I guess my question is, am I totally fucked, or will it all work out? What are the consequences of WAY TOO much hardener. All I care about is that it dries hard and relatively clear.

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I still remember this classic from Lesbian Robot.

 

 

"Let me begin by saying that this message was clearly written by a bitter, sexually frustrated, marshmallow of a sailor. How do I know this? Well first of all, I can tell you that NYYC is one of the highest concentrations of wealth in the sailing community. Rich guys marry hot women. They then breed hot daughters who love to go to Daddy's club, get drunk on Daddy's tab, and fuck Daddy's bowman. You were too busy being pissed off about the drink prices to realize the potential. In fact, the guy who didn't respond when you said, "excuse me" was probably in the process of looking for his daughter. Mean while, the mast man is balls deep in this little cooz, and the irony is the she's calling HIM Daddy! So this father is picturing his little princess getting broken in two by some guy from Detroit, and you are pissed off because he didn't acknowledge you properly? Now who's being inconsiderate?

 

The next item is the lawn. One of the nicest lawns I have ever been on. They have waitresses on the lawn. And they wear tight black pants. And these waitresses all get off work and go party in Newport. And where are you? You are too hung up on the leather couch in the pisser to ask them what their plans are. If you played your cards right, those tight black pants could be hanging from the mirror of the team van, and the two of you could leave a puddle of pleasure on the .6 runner. But you didn't.

 

At any rate, either of the aformentioned girls can go get you drinks for free, be it on Daddy's tab or the house's. Instead, you are sitting in the corner, counting out your last few wet dollars, and getting pissed because you can't get drunk enough to make a total ass of yourself.

 

The New York Yacht Club puts on good regattas. Sure, their a bunch of elitist assholes, but at least they don't try to hide it. They celebrate it. Who cares. They buy big boats, and let young hard-ons like you sail on them. I figure an extra buck per beer is worth at least a few hours of hanging out on the lawn and hitting on top quality stinky.

 

God, I miss Newport.

 

Usually by the time the owner has a daughter old enough to chug seed, the wife toast. The insurance company has totaled her. Usually. The owner has already moved on to some naughty little thing that, just a few years back, was an owner's daughter herself. The pit girl for example. Yes, the daughter loved the bowman. But the ideas that the wife have are much bigger. To compare a woman over 40 to a fine wine would be a cliche. I prefer a dry aged steak. On the outside it is a thing of beauty, though the grill has clearly left its mark. But once you bite into it, the experience is one to remember. The kind of thing where, when you get back home you high-five your dad.

 

Now here's the thing that the young guys miss. They are so caught up in the daughter, and her stares, that they don't even notice the wife. She hasn't had sex with her husband in years, and even then the guy's circulatory system is only good for about five pumps, thinking about the babysitter he just dropped off. So there she sits, bored. Then her husband buys a boat to feed his ego, and gets a bunch of strong young lads to crew it. As the boat pulls into the dock, she is standing there with her daughter and a cooler full of beer. You are thinking about the daughter; the daughter is thinking about the beer; and the wife is thinking about you. To revisit an earlier point, the owner is thinking about the daughter, the beer, and you.

 

So here's the play. When the owner gives his, "I want everyone sharp tomorrow" speech, and heads home, you take her to some bar and treat her like she's one of the crew. She'll get off on the novelty. After a few Kamikazis, she'll take you somewhere for sex that's so good you'll wish you had filmed it. Nobody gives head like a woman over 40.

 

Of course you can't tell anyone. But the next day, when you are hooking up the bag, you can look back at the owner with a little smirk. And he doesn't even notice that you have a hard on."

I appreciate that you posted this one as a favorite, but LR didn't write it. I did. It was in response to LR's post about how much he hated the people at NYYC. I don't want to discount the contribution that his posts have made to society. But this one wasn't him. Thanks again.

 

-B.C.H.

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  • 3 weeks later...

This is the thread link

 

and the opening post>>>

 

OK so you are a long time member of a club and a racer for years. Your wife learns a bit and starts sailing although she is pretty shitty at it. then she starts picking up on guys at the club, and ends up having an affair with one. Divorce ensues. She continues to show up at the Club. WTF am I going to do?
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I still remember this classic from Lesbian Robot.

 

 

"Let me begin by saying that this message was clearly written by a bitter, sexually frustrated, marshmallow of a sailor. How do I know this? Well first of all, I can tell you that NYYC is one of the highest concentrations of wealth in the sailing community. Rich guys marry hot women. They then breed hot daughters who love to go to Daddy's club, get drunk on Daddy's tab, and fuck Daddy's bowman. You were too busy being pissed off about the drink prices to realize the potential. In fact, the guy who didn't respond when you said, "excuse me" was probably in the process of looking for his daughter. Mean while, the mast man is balls deep in this little cooz, and the irony is the she's calling HIM Daddy! So this father is picturing his little princess getting broken in two by some guy from Detroit, and you are pissed off because he didn't acknowledge you properly? Now who's being inconsiderate?

 

The next item is the lawn. One of the nicest lawns I have ever been on. They have waitresses on the lawn. And they wear tight black pants. And these waitresses all get off work and go party in Newport. And where are you? You are too hung up on the leather couch in the pisser to ask them what their plans are. If you played your cards right, those tight black pants could be hanging from the mirror of the team van, and the two of you could leave a puddle of pleasure on the .6 runner. But you didn't.

 

At any rate, either of the aformentioned girls can go get you drinks for free, be it on Daddy's tab or the house's. Instead, you are sitting in the corner, counting out your last few wet dollars, and getting pissed because you can't get drunk enough to make a total ass of yourself.

 

The New York Yacht Club puts on good regattas. Sure, their a bunch of elitist assholes, but at least they don't try to hide it. They celebrate it. Who cares. They buy big boats, and let young hard-ons like you sail on them. I figure an extra buck per beer is worth at least a few hours of hanging out on the lawn and hitting on top quality stinky.

 

God, I miss Newport.

 

Usually by the time the owner has a daughter old enough to chug seed, the wife toast. The insurance company has totaled her. Usually. The owner has already moved on to some naughty little thing that, just a few years back, was an owner's daughter herself. The pit girl for example. Yes, the daughter loved the bowman. But the ideas that the wife have are much bigger. To compare a woman over 40 to a fine wine would be a cliche. I prefer a dry aged steak. On the outside it is a thing of beauty, though the grill has clearly left its mark. But once you bite into it, the experience is one to remember. The kind of thing where, when you get back home you high-five your dad.

 

Now here's the thing that the young guys miss. They are so caught up in the daughter, and her stares, that they don't even notice the wife. She hasn't had sex with her husband in years, and even then the guy's circulatory system is only good for about five pumps, thinking about the babysitter he just dropped off. So there she sits, bored. Then her husband buys a boat to feed his ego, and gets a bunch of strong young lads to crew it. As the boat pulls into the dock, she is standing there with her daughter and a cooler full of beer. You are thinking about the daughter; the daughter is thinking about the beer; and the wife is thinking about you. To revisit an earlier point, the owner is thinking about the daughter, the beer, and you.

 

So here's the play. When the owner gives his, "I want everyone sharp tomorrow" speech, and heads home, you take her to some bar and treat her like she's one of the crew. She'll get off on the novelty. After a few Kamikazis, she'll take you somewhere for sex that's so good you'll wish you had filmed it. Nobody gives head like a woman over 40.

 

Of course you can't tell anyone. But the next day, when you are hooking up the bag, you can look back at the owner with a little smirk. And he doesn't even notice that you have a hard on."

 

 

LR posts need to be excluded if this is going to be any kind of

competition whatsoever.......

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Not exactly anyones favourite, but it could be of use to anyone considering a career in mental health care. (and no, thats not derogatory comment on either mental health workers or people that suffer from mental health issues, before I get flamed)

 

One of Dougs angrier days (I think)

 

 

 

Alphonso Clean,Groupthink Master

Sailing Conformity

SimonN Director of Ignorance

BB-yassa massa-Director of Conformity

 

-----------------------

I just want to fucking welcome all my fucking fellow Groupthinkers fucking here. There seems to be a fucking misunderfuckingstanding: some fucking assholes think Sailing Conformity should be a place where new fucking ideas are discussed and where opinions out of the fucking mainstream are tolerated and encouraged.

No fucking way! Whothefuckever came up with that lame ass idea doesn't fucking know me. We encourage you to fucking well say fuck, cunt ,suck or any fucking thing you want BUT don't fucking print any fucking IDEAS that me and the fucking boys don't fucking understand,got it?

There is this fucking asshole Lord who talks about the first fucking foiler in the US but doesn't fucking have any fucking pictures of it fucking foiling. He must be fucking lying, right you fucking brothers?

This guy brings up fucking things I don't fucking understand like some dumbfuckingass ratios and you know what?

He must be fucking INSANE. The asswipe fucking talks about fucking "manual altitude control"-what the fuck does he think this is? He must be fucking INSANE. He fucking talks about a fucking "sportboat foiler"-he must be fucking INSANE. The looney fucking asswipe talks about a 60' Moth! He must be fucking insane! The fucker talks about a fucking powered fucking up high fucking performance two fucking person foiler! He must be fucking INSANE!

--------------------

Thats fucking good, I'm fucking glad we all fucking agree: he is a fucking liar and fucking insane! So what are you fucking just fucking sitting fucking there for go tell the fucking loser what we think!

excerpted from the first annual Groupthink Conference of Sailing Conformity(formerly Sailing Anarchy)

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Opening post>>>

 

By Nautigirl

It just seemed to go downhill from there for her.

 

Way down a road that apparently does not turn.

 

Oh the agony

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  • 4 months later...
LR posts need to be excluded if this is going to be any kind of

competition whatsoever.......

I don't think that was an LR post.

 

It wasn't. That was written in response to a LR post but the author's name seems to have faded into the mists of time. Classic Anarchy literature - shoulda won a Pulitzer Prize :P

 

Anyone here remember the name?

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Man....you guy's really need to get jobs. I got the anwser that I was looking for. By the way.....the rig is fine, been leveled measured etc. Definetly the kell!!!

one quote from the many threads I have killed.

 

 

That makes me think of how many threads I've commented on that went deathly silent.

 

Is this a competition?

 

romaine

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Man....you guy's really need to get jobs. I got the anwser that I was looking for. By the way.....the rig is fine, been leveled measured etc. Definetly the kell!!!

one quote from the many threads I have killed.

 

 

That makes me think of how many threads I've commented on that went deathly silent.

 

Is this a competition?

 

romaine

 

 

Has the thought ever occurred to you that your people skilz just suck?..........

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  • 2 years later...
I still remember this classic from Lesbian Robot.

 

 

"Let me begin by saying that this message was clearly written by a bitter, sexually frustrated, marshmallow of a sailor. How do I know this? Well first of all, I can tell you that NYYC is one of the highest concentrations of wealth in the sailing community. Rich guys marry hot women. They then breed hot daughters who love to go to Daddy's club, get drunk on Daddy's tab, and fuck Daddy's bowman. You were too busy being pissed off about the drink prices to realize the potential. In fact, the guy who didn't respond when you said, "excuse me" was probably in the process of looking for his daughter. Mean while, the mast man is balls deep in this little cooz, and the irony is the she's calling HIM Daddy! So this father is picturing his little princess getting broken in two by some guy from Detroit, and you are pissed off because he didn't acknowledge you properly? Now who's being inconsiderate?

 

The next item is the lawn. One of the nicest lawns I have ever been on. They have waitresses on the lawn. And they wear tight black pants. And these waitresses all get off work and go party in Newport. And where are you? You are too hung up on the leather couch in the pisser to ask them what their plans are. If you played your cards right, those tight black pants could be hanging from the mirror of the team van, and the two of you could leave a puddle of pleasure on the .6 runner. But you didn't.

 

At any rate, either of the aformentioned girls can go get you drinks for free, be it on Daddy's tab or the house's. Instead, you are sitting in the corner, counting out your last few wet dollars, and getting pissed because you can't get drunk enough to make a total ass of yourself.

 

The New York Yacht Club puts on good regattas. Sure, their a bunch of elitist assholes, but at least they don't try to hide it. They celebrate it. Who cares. They buy big boats, and let young hard-ons like you sail on them. I figure an extra buck per beer is worth at least a few hours of hanging out on the lawn and hitting on top quality stinky.

 

God, I miss Newport.

 

Usually by the time the owner has a daughter old enough to chug seed, the wife toast. The insurance company has totaled her. Usually. The owner has already moved on to some naughty little thing that, just a few years back, was an owner's daughter herself. The pit girl for example. Yes, the daughter loved the bowman. But the ideas that the wife have are much bigger. To compare a woman over 40 to a fine wine would be a cliche. I prefer a dry aged steak. On the outside it is a thing of beauty, though the grill has clearly left its mark. But once you bite into it, the experience is one to remember. The kind of thing where, when you get back home you high-five your dad.

 

Now here's the thing that the young guys miss. They are so caught up in the daughter, and her stares, that they don't even notice the wife. She hasn't had sex with her husband in years, and even then the guy's circulatory system is only good for about five pumps, thinking about the babysitter he just dropped off. So there she sits, bored. Then her husband buys a boat to feed his ego, and gets a bunch of strong young lads to crew it. As the boat pulls into the dock, she is standing there with her daughter and a cooler full of beer. You are thinking about the daughter; the daughter is thinking about the beer; and the wife is thinking about you. To revisit an earlier point, the owner is thinking about the daughter, the beer, and you.

 

So here's the play. When the owner gives his, "I want everyone sharp tomorrow" speech, and heads home, you take her to some bar and treat her like she's one of the crew. She'll get off on the novelty. After a few Kamikazis, she'll take you somewhere for sex that's so good you'll wish you had filmed it. Nobody gives head like a woman over 40.

 

Of course you can't tell anyone. But the next day, when you are hooking up the bag, you can look back at the owner with a little smirk. And he doesn't even notice that you have a hard on."

 

+1 for all time, where is LR?

That post still cracks me up.

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Though I am still regarded as a "Trouble Maker" in some Disabled Sailing Circles. Here is an article I put together that may be the first truly international reaching post on disabled sailing.

 

From 2001, shortly after SA went live

 

Broken Arrow

 

PS, I've never been given any thanks (by the disabled community) for any of the pieces I have written to help expose the more fringe aspect of sailing that is the Disabled doing what you all do so easily.

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Though I am still regarded as a "Trouble Maker" in some Disabled Sailing Circles. Here is an article I put together that may be the first truly international reaching post on disabled sailing.

 

From 2001, shortly after SA went live

 

Broken Arrow

 

PS, I've never been given any thanks (by the disabled community) for any of the pieces I have written to help expose the more fringe aspect of sailing that is the Disabled doing what you all do so easily.

 

My God, but I love you, Dawg. If you could walk, I'd trip you for talking like that.

 

You've done more for disabled sailing than you know. Shut up. Scandone will haunt your ass if you don't.

 

EDIT - Best thread -- newbie bowman. It'd be nice if we could get all the rules threads in a topic of their own, but they should start here and then get moved over after an appropriate amount of "need to see a diagram, did you toss a flag, hail the offender, do circles, etc"

 

I miss LR. But I also miss Shife. I'd laugh my ass off reading LR, and shooting the shit with him in Newport, but I'd save some money by having Shife troubleshoot my car problems. Free the Shife!

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I still remember this classic from Lesbian Robot.

 

 

"Let me begin by saying that this message was clearly written by a bitter, sexually frustrated, marshmallow of a sailor. How do I know this? Well first of all, I can tell you that NYYC is one of the highest concentrations of wealth in the sailing community. Rich guys marry hot women. They then breed hot daughters who love to go to Daddy's club, get drunk on Daddy's tab, and fuck Daddy's bowman. You were too busy being pissed off about the drink prices to realize the potential. In fact, the guy who didn't respond when you said, "excuse me" was probably in the process of looking for his daughter. Mean while, the mast man is balls deep in this little cooz, and the irony is the she's calling HIM Daddy! So this father is picturing his little princess getting broken in two by some guy from Detroit, and you are pissed off because he didn't acknowledge you properly? Now who's being inconsiderate?

 

The next item is the lawn. One of the nicest lawns I have ever been on. They have waitresses on the lawn. And they wear tight black pants. And these waitresses all get off work and go party in Newport. And where are you? You are too hung up on the leather couch in the pisser to ask them what their plans are. If you played your cards right, those tight black pants could be hanging from the mirror of the team van, and the two of you could leave a puddle of pleasure on the .6 runner. But you didn't.

 

At any rate, either of the aformentioned girls can go get you drinks for free, be it on Daddy's tab or the house's. Instead, you are sitting in the corner, counting out your last few wet dollars, and getting pissed because you can't get drunk enough to make a total ass of yourself.

 

The New York Yacht Club puts on good regattas. Sure, their a bunch of elitist assholes, but at least they don't try to hide it. They celebrate it. Who cares. They buy big boats, and let young hard-ons like you sail on them. I figure an extra buck per beer is worth at least a few hours of hanging out on the lawn and hitting on top quality stinky.

 

God, I miss Newport.

 

Usually by the time the owner has a daughter old enough to chug seed, the wife toast. The insurance company has totaled her. Usually. The owner has already moved on to some naughty little thing that, just a few years back, was an owner's daughter herself. The pit girl for example. Yes, the daughter loved the bowman. But the ideas that the wife have are much bigger. To compare a woman over 40 to a fine wine would be a cliche. I prefer a dry aged steak. On the outside it is a thing of beauty, though the grill has clearly left its mark. But once you bite into it, the experience is one to remember. The kind of thing where, when you get back home you high-five your dad.

 

Now here's the thing that the young guys miss. They are so caught up in the daughter, and her stares, that they don't even notice the wife. She hasn't had sex with her husband in years, and even then the guy's circulatory system is only good for about five pumps, thinking about the babysitter he just dropped off. So there she sits, bored. Then her husband buys a boat to feed his ego, and gets a bunch of strong young lads to crew it. As the boat pulls into the dock, she is standing there with her daughter and a cooler full of beer. You are thinking about the daughter; the daughter is thinking about the beer; and the wife is thinking about you. To revisit an earlier point, the owner is thinking about the daughter, the beer, and you.

 

So here's the play. When the owner gives his, "I want everyone sharp tomorrow" speech, and heads home, you take her to some bar and treat her like she's one of the crew. She'll get off on the novelty. After a few Kamikazis, she'll take you somewhere for sex that's so good you'll wish you had filmed it. Nobody gives head like a woman over 40.

 

Of course you can't tell anyone. But the next day, when you are hooking up the bag, you can look back at the owner with a little smirk. And he doesn't even notice that you have a hard on."

 

For my money we have a winner, Lenny Bruce ain't in it. C'mon Chris, you're a lawyer, found out who wrote this?

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it could bring a tear to those lovely large doe eyes...in the nicest possible way of course

 

 

anne-hathaway-naked.jpg

 

Look at those eyes- It would be like bangin Bambi!

Bambi has a penis.

163-1201.gif

 

You're saying that's a dealbreaker?

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LR posts need to be excluded if this is going to be any kind of

competition whatsoever.......

I don't think that was an LR post.

 

Correctimundo - that most famous of all SA posts was from B.C.F.(?) IN RESPONSE TO a LR post. Best quote from that post and a line I try to use often is "Top quality stinky"

 

My own favourite posts: I really miss those legendary Assman Obituaries - sensational. Who knew Yasser Arafat was a shit-hot sailor?

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Man....you guy's really need to get jobs. I got the anwser that I was looking for. By the way.....the rig is fine, been leveled measured etc. Definetly the kell!!!

one quote from the many threads I have killed.

 

 

That makes me think of how many threads I've commented on that went deathly silent.

 

Is this a competition?

 

romaine

 

I'm prety sure the Admiral of Thread Killingz doth hails from 'DAGO.

 

:blink: :blink: :o:rolleyes:

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Man....you guy's really need to get jobs. I got the anwser that I was looking for. By the way.....the rig is fine, been leveled measured etc. Definetly the kell!!!

one quote from the many threads I have killed.

 

 

That makes me think of how many threads I've commented on that went deathly silent.

 

Is this a competition?

 

romaine

 

I'm prety sure the Admiral of Thread Killingz doth hails from 'DAGO.

 

:blink: :blink: :o:rolleyes:

 

No worries. The pic of the younger, attractive breasts will keep him at bay.

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Can't remember the thread or who said it, but the reference was a bowman saying to the afterguard...

 

There's no "I" in team, but there are three "U's" in SHUT THE FUCK UP!!

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Who remembers the Tom Kennedy thread? That was some of our collective best work.

 

I'm lazy - anyone got a link?

 

You mean this guy?

 

http://tashmoo1.tripod.com/

 

The Ed deleted alot of the old shit but if you root around some stuff can be found.

 

Classic SA from 2005...Tripps comment should be quoted by all.

http://forums.sailinganarchy.com//index.php?showtopic=23513&hl=

 

 

The responce about SA on this website posting is hi-larious!

 

http://www.7knots.com/cgi-bin/list_forum.pl?board=Misc_And_Others;view=292

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Posted yesterday in the thread about chartering in the BVI's

 

"Never forget that you can't drink all day if you don't start in the morning."

Just F*ing awesome!

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  • 8 months later...

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