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South of Spandau
New thread, here we go. Rules are pretty self-explanatory...

"My wife hates the boat so much she said if I sell it I could have a mistress."
- Islander Jack

"If it works for DC it works for me."

"You haven't lived until you have done an all standing Chinese with a blooper up."
- Life Buoy 15

"The best thing for sailing would be for the Olympics to dump it."
- Dawg Gonit

"Chines are like high cheek bones on a beautiful woman."
- Bob Perry

"Hard to sail and keep upright and if the forward hand farted it came out the skippers arse."
- Bill E Goat

"You're only as good as your last race."
- Mr. Clean

"Mosey up to him at the urinal, then yell "STARBOARD" before you piss on his shoes."
- Dilligaf0220

"Who's dumbass idea was it to finish a race in Hobart?"
- JL92S

...Whats yours ?


Grande Mastere Dreade

Snag's spellchecker
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?


Glenn McCarthy

Super Anarchist
Elmhurst, IL
Dear Connie,

I know the counsellor said we shouldn't contact each other during our "cooling off" period but I couldn't wait anymore.

The day you left, I swore I'd never talk to you again but that was just the wounded little boy in me talkin. Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride's cost me a lot of thing. I'm tired of pretending I don't miss you. I don't care about looking bad anymore.I don't care who makes the first move as long as one of us does. Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt.

This is what my heart says: "There's no one like you, Connie. I look for you in the eyes and breasts of every woman I see, but they're not you. They're not even close.

Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos and brought her home with me. I don't say this to hurt you, just to illustrate the depth of my desperation. She was young, maybe 19; with one of those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood doing gymnastics can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Tits like you wouldn't believe and an ass that just wouldn't quit. Every man's dream, right?

As I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, I thought, look at the stuff we've made important in our lives. It's all so superficial. What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed? Well, in this case, yes, but you see what I'm getting at. Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive Connie? I doubt it. And I'd never really thought of that before. I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little.

Later, after I tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, "Why do I feel so drained and empty?" It wasn't just her flawless technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging feeling of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. I didn't feel the same because you weren't there to watch. Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie. I'm going crazy without you. And everything I do just reminds me of you.

Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the Holiday Inn lounge last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured I wasn't eating right without a woman around. I didn't know what she meant till later, but that's not the real story. Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next think you know, we're banging away in our old bedroom. And this tart's a total monster in the sack. She's giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when she's not hung up about her weight or her career or whether the kids can hear us. And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your grandmother's old vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it's totally hot, but it makes me sad, too because I can't help thinking, "why didn't Connie ever put the mirror on the floor?" We've had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a sex toy."

Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean, Vicki's just a kid and all, but she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders and she's been a real friend to me during this painful time. She's giving me a lot of good advice about you and about women in general. She's pulling for us to get back together. Connie, she really is.

So we're doing Jell-O shots in the hot bubble bath and talking about happier times. Here's this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of how much she looked like you when you were 18. And that just about makes me cry. And then it turns out Vicky's really into the whole anal thing, that gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and how that probably fueled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when I'm thrusting inside your baby sister's cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you? Just wipe out all the grievances away and start fresh? I think we can. If you feel the same please, please, please let me know.

Otherwise, can you let me know where the fucking remote is?

Love, Dan.

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