On the Run No More

I had joined the Navy to see the World and I knew at the time, having been aboard ship merely hours, it was a bit premature to assess recruitment tactics, to question assurances of travel, of exotic locations, but I found myself in a six-by-ten-foot space, knee-deep in grease and swill, rehashing illusory promises by my recruiter, that should I receive technical schooling (and I had), I would certainly avoid kitchen duty once aboard ship. Anyway, mess duty couldn't last forever and a mere sixteen to eighteen hours-per-day, seven day-per-week workload of greasy pots and pans couldn't diminish my youthful enthusiasm. I wanted this and I would take the bad with the good, and each time I lifted and scrubbed a greasy pot or pan, I would repeat the Naval catch phrase, "The Navy, it's not just a job, it's an adventure". And each and every time mutiny crossed my subordinate little mind, my most severe act of insurrection, of rebellion, was the modification of that Naval slogan - "The Navy, it's not just a job, it's dishpan f---ing hands". A catch-phrase, that in weeks, would be overshadowed by still another modification, "The Navy, it's not just a job, it's a grease gun rammed-up your ass by allegedly heterosexual males seeking homo erotic satisfaction".