Between the security of childhood and the insecurity of second childhood,
we find a fascinating mass of humanity called SAILOR's.
They can be found anywhere: on ships, in bars, on leave, or in love and always in debt.
Girls love them, civilians tolerate them and the government supports them, or so they claim.
A sailor is laziness with a deck of cards, bravery with a tattooed arm,
and the energy of a turtle,
of a fox, the brain of a genius, the sincerity of a liar, and the aspiration of a Casanova.
When he wants something, it is usually indecent and immoral, or against the CF code on conduct.
His favorite pastimes are girls, females, chicks, tarts and members of the opposite sex.
He dislikes SCRAN, answering letters, wearing his uniform, superior officers,
and getting up in the morning.
No other human being can cram into his shirt pocket; a comb, a little black book, a pack of gum,
a church key, a pack of cigarettes, his girl's picture and what's left of last week's pay.
He likes to spend some of money on girls, some on poker, most of it on booze, and what's left on foolishness.
A sailor is a magical creature. You can lock him out of your house, but not out of your heart.
You can scratch him off your mailing list, but not out of your mind. So you might as well give up.
He is your Far-away from home lover, your one and only, good for nothing,
liberty minded, bundle of wrongdoing.
But your shattered dreams become insignificant when your sailor comes home and looks at you with those .....
BIG BLOOD SHOT EYES AND SAYS.......
EMail - UnicornCurling