I thought it would be nice to have a thread where we can tell our stories of how we lost our weapons in the multiple boating accidents, camping accidents and such that have plagued us through the years. The loss of such a loved companion, as a favorite weapon can be, is traumatic and could conceivably find us in a therapists office once or twice a week for many years paying hundreds of thousands of dollars trying to make sense of such tragic accidents.
This could be a good way for us to share our stories and see that we are not alone in our depression and misery over losing our trusted companions.
FYI - Sarcastic Satire is acceptable as is a true story of loss. Please annotate each story, Satire or Truth, with the appropriate beginning of âOnce Upon a Timeâ for Satire and âThis Ainât No Bulls**tâ for the truth. That way we will all understand.
I will go first with the fabled and traumatic tale of how I lost my weapons in the Unfortunate Stripper/Mudslide incident in Bora-Bora, so, without any further adieu or gilding of the lilies, I will spin my tale of sadnessâŠ
Please forgive me as it is a bit of a long read.
Once Upon a TimeâŠ
I remember the night well, as if it happened only yesterday. I had finally made it to Bora- Bora, that beautiful little South Pacific Island northwest of Tahiti in French Polynesia. Surrounded by sand-fringed islets and a turquoise lagoon protected by a coral reef, the view was breathtaking, bringing tears to my eyes. At the islandâs center rises Mt. Otemanu, a 727m dormant volcanoâŠor so we thought.
The date was Junetember the 37th, back in '08 of '63.
But waitâŠthe back story.
I had been doing some temporary work here in the States after I got out of The Air Force and hadnât really found my spot in society yet, so I bombed around doing odd jobs for whoever could pay cash.
I carried trash cans for a whileâŠtaking them from the house to the curb every Tuesday.
I was a CPA (CAR PARKING ATTENDANT) for a while. I mean I had a license, so parking cars was relatively simple.
I was a hit man for about six months, but I had to quit because of my health issues. It was good money, but after I got my eyes knocked out the third time from getting hit all the time, I saw the writing on the wall and quit.
I saw an ad in the local job listings for airport work in Bora -Bora. I thought to myself âSelf, you can do this. Youâve been through a few airports. You have airport experience. Apply and see what happens. Whatâs the worst that could happen?â
Famous last words. Insert eyeroll here.
I called the number on the ad and the voice says, âYouâre Hired!â Gosh, that was easy. Call a number and Iâm hired. WOWZERS. I got a new hire packet in the mail with one piece of paper, $10,000 in cash and a train ticket to Bora - Bora. On the piece of paper was a handwritten note in pink crayon: âBring only what you need to travel.â
âWhat a great company!â I thought. They would hire me sight unseen with no interview AND provide me with traveling money AND outfit me when I get there. âWHAT A GREAT COMPANY!!â
I packed all the weapons I had, because, you know, I was going to the deepest darkest jungles of Bora - Bora. There was no telling what wildlife I would be encountered with. No telling at all. I also packed a pair of clean underwear because it would be a long train ride.
When I get to the train station, I learned that I will be sharing an upper berth with a guy named Joe. Anybody who knows about train travel will know you donât have much room in an upper berth to start with and it gets kinda crowded when you gotta share with another traveler.
SO, I come down, Joe goes up, he takes off his jacket.
Joe comes down, I go up, I take off my shoes.
I come down, Joe goes up, he takes off his pants.
Joe comes down, I go up, I take off my shirt.
I come down, Joe goes up, He puts on his pajamas.
Joe comes down, I go up, I put on my pajamas.
But wouldnât you know? Itâs morningâŠ
I come down, Joe stays up, he takes off his pajamas.
Joe comes down, I go up, I take off my pajamas.
I come down, Joe goes up, he puts on my shirt.
Joe comes down, I go up, I put on his pants.
I come down, Joe goes up, he puts on my shoes.
Joe comes down, I go up, I put on his jacket.
By the time we are done, we donât know if I am Joe or Joe is me. Itâs a case of double indemnity. Joe gets off at my stop and I get off at his stop. Joeâs Wife comes up to me, throws her arms around me and says âCongratulations, Joe! Youâre the proud Father of a bouncing 9-pound baby boy!â
What a delemia. I had to go to Hoboken to forget about it. Then I had to go to Hackensack to forget Hoboken.
I want to interject here and give a shout out to the Great Jimmy Durante as the above-mentioned train ride was a skit he did many years ago. I canât promise I quoted it exactly the way I heard it, but it the original version was similar. Comic genius like that has not been witnessed in this world for a long time. Rest easy, Jimmy. Weâre still laughing.
When I finally arrive in Bora - Bora, after an insanely long train ride across the Pacific Ocean, I am met by a short Polynesian man who took me to the airport I will be working at. He said it wasnât finished yet but should be operating soon. He kicked me out of the back of the truck and to me to get to work. I looked around and I saw there was no airport.
There were about a hundred other guys working cutting down trees and leveling the ground for the runway and they recounted similar journeys to get to where we were.
We worked hard during the day and were allowed a few hours of uninterrupted sleep at night only to get up and do it all over the next day.
Three years went by, and we were finally nearing completion of the airport. We were allowed by this time to take weekends off and travel the island. I found a strip club bar and grille halfway up the southern face of Mt. Otemanu and it was called, simply enough, âThe Strip Club - Bar and Grilleâ. It was an old Spanish Galleon which had been washed up on the mountain by a storm nearly 200 years before and was run by Carla, The Stripper, straight from L.A. She seemed pretty cool for a naked chick in a booth.
Carla said she had found the ship while on the island of Bora - Bora doing missionary work after college and never left. She used all her remaining currency and skills to turn the ship the profitable establishment it was then. She and I became close friends.
One of the side hustles she had was an illegal stripper gambling operation she ran out of the back room of the galleon. Illegal in the U.S.A. of course, but perfectly legal in Bora - Bora. The strippers would run the tables, and the gamblers were guaranteed to lose their money. I lost much of my initial $10k payment with them also. I also came to find out the gamblers could put their weapons up as collateral to be able to continue gambling. Most gamblers lost everything. Since I was in tight with the owner, who was not that tight, I was one of the chosen ones who would win periodically just to keep everyone interested in gambling. I never had to put my weapons up as collateral, but they were stored in the shipâs armory for safe keeping. The ships armory was a stone structure outside the ship on the mountain side.
There was a reporter for the BBC named Sir Edward Walter Pierce Rotterdam St. John-Smythe, Junior, Esquire, The Third, there doing an exposeâ story on the stripper gambling. We just called him Junior. Junior was trying to expose the gambling operation with a side story of exploiting the strippers as prostitutes and he was a typical Liberal British reporter sticking his nose where it didnât belong.
Nobody liked Junior.
We planned for Juniors untimely demise, carefully planning every detail, so no one could be implicated in the incident. Mother Nature was on our side and took care of it herself.
It was the stormy season in French Polynesia, with Typhoon âI Canât Believe Itâs This Freaking Bigâ (ICBITFB for short) bearing down upon us with fierce determination. The storm was rumored to be as large as the storm which stranded The Strip Club - Bar and Grille halfway up the side of the mountain some 200 years previous. Typhoon ICBITFB made landfall at noon that night as a category 197 which dumped the equivalent amount of water of all 5 Great Lakes, Lake Mead, The Black Sea and the Gulf of Mexico combined into the caldera of Mt. Otemanu at one time.
The massive weight of the water punched through the lava crust and triggered a massive eruption which blew half the mountainside away, creating a mudslide of such gargantuan proportions as to rival the devastation at Pompei.
We all saw the mudslide coming down and knew there was nothing we could do to stop it. All of us but oneâŠJunior, who leapt over the railing and ran to the armory where all our weapons were stored, along with all his evidence. The leading edge of the mudslide sheared the armory from its foundation and churned it to rubble on its way to the sea two miles down the side of the mountain.
The Strip Club - Bar and Grille was knocked from it moorings and sailed down the mountain floating atop the mudslide as smooth as the silk robe Carla was wearing that night. As we hit the sea, Captain Carla, the Stripper, straight from L.A., called for full sails and we navigated away from the carnage created by Typhoon ICBITFB.
The new day broke clear, with blue skies, fair seas and gentle winds. We sailed around the island and viewed the devastation through a collapsible telescope Carla kept in a leather pouch hanging on her belt. Nothing was left of the armory or our weapons and only a set of three legs from a camera tripod to stand as a memorial to what had occurred. We did not see Junior.
The Strip Club - Bar and Grille docked in on the Northern side of the island as the docks on the Southern side had been scrubbed away during the mudslide, the debris being scattered across the floor of the Pacific Ocean from French Polynesia all the way to Antarctica. The patrons of The Strip Club - Bar and Grille disembarked only slightly shaken from the previous nightâs excitement. The ship was reprovisioned and sailed on the evening tide. I used my remaining cash and purchased a train ticket back to the states. I shared an upper berth with a guy named Joe.
I never saw The Strip Club - Bar and Grille again but do sometimes hear tales of a Spanish Galleon crewed by strippers plundering cruise ships in the South Pacific. The ship is commanded by a fierce woman wearing a silk robe. Captain Carla, The Stripper, straight from L.A.
She was definitely cool for a naked chick in a booth.
ARGH!
)
Pause for reflection⊠Yepper, I sayâs
the boat at least) with the family arsenal that we had been saving since 1776 down in the basement, for just such an occasion, and l set off with my best friend at the time to go a reaving for the Summer ( that part is sort of a long time ago and no 
) and just poor lil ole me, a poor, left handed, redheaded Albino, who is an Anarcho/Marxist/Capitalist, connoisseur of fine Grapico Yahoos bottled during the mostly peaceful riots of the French Revolution, of Catholic/Muslim up ringing andof Lithuanian/Laotian/Lego descent and a part time imaginary resident of Lichtenberg, while they had Perfessors, movie stars and 2 rich white people to help them suppress the truthâŠ