Rusty the Pirate sailed the Caribbean Sea

Looking to rape and pillage and do as he pleased

Then he spotted an Island that was not on his chart

And he sailed quickly to it straight as a dart


Rusty ran his ship right up onto the sand

His crew waving their swords as they stormed the land

But Rusty was defeated before he even began

And not by an army, a soldier or a man


Sitting on the beach reading a leather-bound book

Was a beautiful lady who Rusty fell for with one look

She had curly hair and a figure long and lean

Her eyes where quite humorous not at all mean


Rusty thought this gal is no ordinary lass

I can’t just walk up to her and slap that nice ass

He dropped his sword and sent the crew far away

For the first time ever he didn’t know what to say


The Pirate went away to wash and was feeling real weird

He put a new feather in his hat and even braided his beard

With his boots freshly shined and his breath smelling of mint

He strolled by the lady and started dropping hints


Rusty winked and he flexed and he looked her up and down

He did everything to catch her eye but he looked quite the clown

Finally she put down her book and laughed a laughed that was sweet

She said, “Is this your odd way of saying you’d like to meet?”


Rusty blushed and said, “Hi” then offered to shake hands

This pretty little lady made him more boy than a man

The gal starting talking like they had been friends all their life

And the next thing you know they had hung out all night


The next day Rusty came back and spent the day with his friend

The built sand castles and laughed until the day had to end

Rusty had never known that a lady could make him feel this way

He vowed to himself to change and be with her every single day


The Pirate dug through his treasure and found the biggest diamond he had

He offered it to the lady but got an answer that made him sad

She said, “Rusty, we have fun and are friends – all of that’s true

But I have to be honest, I just don’t love you.”


“You’re a pirate, you break the law and you drive a stolen ship

I think you are nice, you make me laugh and you are kind of hip

I’m afraid, however, you just aren’t the marrying kind

I want to believe you would change but I’m just not that blind.”


Rusty’s heart broke right there on the beach but he took it like a man.

He gave his lady a hug then trudged off across the sand.

He looked back one time but the lady was reading her book

He stared for a minute but she didn’t give him one final look


He boarded his ship and shouted at his crew to set sail

“Go east, west or north or we can sail straight for hell.”

Rusty stood at the wheel and watched the sun disappear.

He said goodbye to his love but she didn’t hear.


Rusty gave up the helm and went off to his room

Laid down on the bed, opened the window and stared at the moon

He cursed and asked God, “What the bad word’s wrong with me?”

But God didn’t answer all he heard was the sea.


Then for the first and last time Rusty sat there and cried

And he swore not to love again from now until he died

I’ll just sail the world raising hell in my pirate boat

With ten barrels of rum and good Peruvian coke


He opened his door and shouted out at his crew

Told them to sharpen their swords and gave other orders to do

Tomorrow we pillage and we rape and we steal and we rob

We be pirates, by God!  That’s our mother bad word job!


Rusty climbed back in bed feeling like his old self

He drank a few shots from a bottle on the shelf

He thought of his adventures and all the treasure he took

But his very last thought was of the lady with the book


Our favorite pirate terrorized the world for many more years

The ladies all loved him everybody else they felt fear

And although Rusty often would laugh and make jokes

He was never the same after the day his heart broke

Russell Yale




‘Twas the night before Christmas

And on the bridge of my ship

There was not a thing on the radar

Not one single blip


The Captain and crew

Were all snug in their beds

With visions of cold beer

Dancing in their heads


I gazed out the window

To watch shooting stars

I looked back and forth

I looked near and far


Then what to my wondrous

Eyes did appear?

But Hugo Chavez on a slay

Pulled by eight nationalized reindeer




(You know, when old Chavez wants something, say oil rigs belonging to American petroleum companies, he just nationalizes them.  Santa made the mistake of delivering presents to the fine people of Venezuela.  That is how the reindeer got nationalized.  Try to keep up.)




I cursed and I spat

Then turned my rudder hard right

Chavez boarding my ship

Had filled me with fright


I maneuvered with all

My considerable skill

But it all mattered naught

Hugo came for the kill


I prepared to sound the alarm

And abandon the boat

When I saw something coming

That filled me with hope


It wasn’t Superman or Batman

Much better than that

It was Rusty the Pirate

Wearing his big feathered hat


Rusty soared in on a ship

Made of gold and moon beams

His Parrot named Buster

Shouted out a war scream


Rusty kicked Hugo hard

With his one wooden pegged leg

Then cracked open his skull

Like a rotten old egg


He picked up Hugo and

Tossed him into the sea

Then went to the reindeers

And set them all free


Rusty saved Christmas

But he still wasn’t done

He had brought lots of presents

It was like a lottery was won


Belgian beer, Jamaican weed

And Colombian whores

Enough for the whole crew

And still there was more


He saw I was sad

There was no present for me

He handed me a box

And I shouted, “Wheee!!”


A SpongeBob Christmas special

On BluRay DVD

With special features and a bonus disc

And all just for me!


I thanked my pal Rusty

And said my goodbyes

Rusty grabbed a lady

And some weed to get high


He said, “Anytime that you need me

Just give me a call

I’ll be here in a jiff

And we’ll have us a ball.”


He was off in a flash

His ship golden and bright

He shouted, “Merry Christmas me hearties

Ye have a super-groovy night.”


Merry Christmas to all the fine folks who waste their precious time reading this stupid blog.

God Bless you and you and your families.

Russell Yale



Since the ship I currently work on always stays in the Gulf of Mexico, we have Direct TV in our rooms.  This is nice as I am able to watch all my sporting events.  Scratch that.  I gave up overtime money to watch the Bucs get beat 41-0.  Having TV sucks.

Still, when in my room I find that I have the TV on more often than not, even when I am not watching it.  I am an avid reader so I spend most of my free time doing just that.  Well, except when I am writing these blogs which depressingly few people read.  Thanks to those three or four of you for tuning in.  Apart from sports there is no particular programming that I care for.  There are a few shows that I like but I stand watch during primetime programming so ninety percent of the time my TV is just left on ESPN, sometimes ESPN 2 because you have to have variety in your life.

The exception to this is when I get off watch at ten minutes till midnight.

TBS shows reruns of The Office at midnight.  I will turn that on while I read a few chapters.  I enjoy the show and I am a big fan of the Jim and Pam love story.  I so much want to be loved like Pam loves Jim.  But we aren’t going there tonight.

Here’s the problem:  I have brushed my teeth and sat down on my bed by 11:55.  That leaves 5 minutes till my show.  Unless there is a good band at the end of Conan, I don’t want t to watch the end of his show.  Lately, I have found myself flipping through channels for five minutes which is not something I regularly do.

My dad is a channel flipper.   I can’t tell you how many times we have missed the end of shows because he flips over to something different and then gets interested in the new show.  Not me.  I just read during commercials.  Now, if there are two really good football games on I may switch to the other one on occasion, but that is about the only exception.


Blog Music is Californication by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.  Name 5 bands that are have been more consistently excellent than RHCP over the last 25 years.  You can’t.


I hate to admit this, but I have spent more and more of my channel surfing lately on Cinemax soft-core porn.  It started over a title that made me laugh.  I think it was “Bikini Babes from Outer Space.”  I just had to check it out for a minute.  I was so entertained!  My five minutes of soft-core porn has become one of the highlights of my day, and not for the reason you think.

These movies are so ridiculously bad.  And they are even worse when you just jump in for a few minutes without knowing what is going on with what little plot they do have.  I am sure that you are watching at least five minutes a day of these fine movies, but on the off chance you are not, please allow me to share some of my favorite highlights and some questions that arise when I watch for five minutes.

I turn on the movie and a man in a Tuxedo is in the shower with a naked lady and soaping up her breasts.  She is really getting into it and for about 3 of my 5 minutes she is moaning and sensually moving her body all around.  Then she opens her eye and exclaims, “Who the hell are you?!?!?!”  Who was she expecting?  And why was the guy wearing a tuxedo?

A lady is a giving another lady a massage.  The lady being massaged is naked.  They both really seem to be enjoying the experience.  Then the camera flashes to a guy doing curls.  You know, working on his biceps.  He is watching this massage as he works out.   The masseuse keeps giving the guy these sexy looks.  One thing leads to another and we basically have full-on lesbian sex on the on a massage table that is apparently in the middle of a gym.  The dude, whose arms never get tired because he is still doing his curls, is just watching the entire time.  I know this because the camera moves to him for like 30 seconds at a time.  Finally, the lady who was being massaged looks over and notices the guy and is shocked!  I don’t get it.  Why did she disrobe to be massaged right in the middle of the gym if she didn’t want people watching?  Is this normal behavior at this gym?  Do they charge extra for it?  And why does the director of the movie think that anybody wants to watch this jackass do curls for 30 seconds?  If you are watching soft-core porn, aren’t you watching it for the sex part?

Why is it that beautiful women will star in porn but the guys are almost always weird looking?

A naked woman in a pool is trying to coerce a naked man to join her.  There is a crashing sound in the house.  The man looks behind him and says, “What was that?!?!”  The woman grabs the man by his penis and jerks him into the pool.  I don’t know what all was going here, but that’s just mean.

I think this is my favorite.  I enjoyed it so much I had to watch another 5 or 10 minutes.  There was a pretty lady who was a witch.  I only know that because the title was something like, “Sex Witch.”  The thing is, her being a witch never tied into the sex parts.  She had just moved into a new house and would use her powers to do things like decorate her house without actually having to work at it.  Then the movie would cut to another scene of two people who weren’t involved in the movie and they would just start having sex.

Can somebody please tell me why they don’t just put together an hour of sex scenes?  These movies make absolutely no sense to me.  But they do give me 5 minutes of humor in my day before I wind down with my book and The Office

If you want to try and film a soft-core porn movie with me, let me know.  We can probably come up with a better plot than these other stupid movies.

Truth be told, I am already filming the movie with you in my head 🙂

Russell Yale


When a volcano explodes and molten lava pours down a mountainside towards a defenseless village, it is a big deal.  The little village is about to be destroyed.  There a lot of bad things going on here, but in my opinion the worst thing is the molten part.  That lava is hot!  Everything it hits is going to burst into flame.

You don’t want to be in the path of molten lava.

When you have a spill on an oil tanker it is a big deal.  I am sure everybody is aware of how bad it is for oil to get in the ocean.  I don’t, however, think you non-sailors realize exactly how serious the Coast Guard treats oil spills and the lengths we sailors go to keep even a drop of oil out of the water.

Do me a favor.  Fill your bathtub with water.  You can put a ducky in there if you want.  It isn’t necessary for this exercise, but it won’t hurt either.  Now, open a quart of oil.  Get an eye dropper and fill it up with the oil.  Now begin dropping oil in the water until you see a sheen.  Once you see the sheen you have put enough oil in the water to piss off the Coast Guard.

If you have ever been in a port you know that there are sheens of oil all over the place.  The fact is that it is near impossible to keep a little bit from leaking or from running off your deck during a wash down.  Still, trust me when I tell you that sailors, at least on American ships, are serious about keeping oil out of the water.

When you work on a tanker and you are either loading or discharging cargo the main thing you are worried about is a leak.  For reasons that I would hope are obvious, oil spewing all over the place would be very bad.  If that were to happen the crew would immediately begin trying to contain the spilled oil on the ship.  We drill and drill on what to do to keep the oil out of the water.

Let’s recap:   Molten lava is bad.  Spills during cargo operations on oil tankers are bad.

I work on a product tanker that transports molten sulphur.  Combine the above and I will let you take a few minutes to think over what might happen in the rest of the blog.

First – blog music.


We’re going to have two blog music selections today.  First is a song that tugs at my heart a bit.  Sometimes at sea when I stare at the starry night and think the things I think it is women on my mind.  We’ll start with this song, talk about gals for a minute and then move on to the cargo disaster.

Band of Horse – “No One’s Gonna Love You” – the Cease to Begin album.

The chorus of this song is, “No one’s gonna love you more than I do.”

I have felt that way before in my life.  You know the hard lesson I have learned?  It doesn’t matter.  Not one bit.  You see, the gal has to have that spark herself.  You can love her so much that you can’t sleep because the ache in your chest keeps you up at night.  You can love her so much that you can hear her laugh when you close your eyes and that is enough to cheer you up on a bad day.  You can love her so much that your first thought in the morning is her and your last thought at night is her.  You can love her so much that you wish for her with every falling star and you can love her so much that making her happy would be your full-time job if you were only given the opportunity.

But it just doesn’t matter.  You see, if you love Ms. Pretty Lady 98 on a scale of 100 and Ms. Pretty Lady loves you 22 on the same scale, you have something, but not enough.  What happens when Mr. Dude You Hate comes along and loves Ms. Pretty Lady 60 out of 100 and Ms. Pretty Lady loves him back 55?

You’re screwed.

It may be true, just like the song says, that nobody’s gonna love her more than you do, but at the end of the day you are hugging your pillow wondering why it never happened and Ms. Pretty Lady is making babies with Mr. Dude You Hate.

It’s not supposed to be that way, is it?  But it is.  And it really pisses me off when people try to tell you that you don’t really feel the way you say you feel.  What?  Am I still in high school?  I know what it feels like to be in love.  I know what it feels like to be in a relationship without love.  I know what it feels like to try and force something to work that you know is wrong.

And I know what it is like to be the guy sitting on the ground on the love teeter-totter because there isn’t enough love on the other side to lift me up in the air.

Nobody ever said life is fair.  I get it.  I don’t hold it against Ms. Pretty Lady for not loving me enough.  But that is one of the questions I have for God if I ever get the chance.  If I ruled the world and you met somebody you loved so much it hurt, then it would work out.  I think the world would be better that way.

It’s funny when you think about it.  Something as wonderful as love is so closely related to something as crappy as pain.  Once, when I was going through one of the times that I go through my momma gave me a wooden coin.  On one side of the coin it said, “Faith.”  On the other side of the coin it said, “Fear.”  Basically, you could either have one or the other.

That coin meant a lot to me.  I think a “Love” on one side and “Pain” on the other side would be a good coin too.


Enough of that crap.  I won’t even make you suffer through a sappy love poem.  That is just the considerate kind of blogger that I am.

Let’s switch tunes.  Led Zeppelin – When the Levee Breaks.  I’m listening to the Best of Led Zeppelin Vol 1, but you can find this song numerous places.

Why this song?  Well, it is an all time great song from an all time great band and picturing the levee breaking and the water pouring in kind of sets the mood for the epic struggle against molten sulphur that you are about to read.

I was on cargo watch which is even more boring than watching water boil.  At least when you watch water boil you can actually watch the water.  Watching cargo involves looking at a long metal pipe and hoping nothing comes pouring out of it.

I wasn’t really all that worried but it did bother me that after three weeks on the ship nobody had bothered to go over the spill response to molten sulphur with me and the rest of the crew.  I had asked about it one time and the Chief Mate said we might talk a little bit about it during our next safety meeting.  It all seemed a little cavalier to me.

I was reading my Kindle on watch as this is pretty laid back ship and there is only one cargo connection to watch.  The book I was reading was without a doubt the most emotional work of art I have read in some time and I found myself wiping a tear from my eye.  Once my vision cleared I saw a stream of bright yellow leaking out of the cargo connection on the ship.

Holy exploding volcanoes of sulphur, Batman!!!  We have a leak!!

I saw my life flash before my eyes.  I thanked God for the adventures in my life and for allowing me to live through all the situations that should have killed me.  I felt bad for all the apologies I still owed people and would never be able to give and had a fleeting moment of melancholy for never being able to kiss the most beautiful woman I had even seen.

I pulled out my cell phone to call momma and say goodbye but my hands were shaking so bad that I dropped it on the deck.  I pulled my radio to my mouth, pressed the button and screamed, “Sulphur leak!!  Sulphur leak!!!  Molten sulphur everywhere!!!!!  Everybody save yourself!!!”

And I did the only rational thing I could do – I dove over the rail into the protection of the cool water.

From the safety of the waters of the Port of Galveston I watched the ship, expecting to see melting steel and flames shooting up to the air.  What I saw was the Chief Mate casually stroll out of the door, pick up a hose and spray a little water on the deck.  He then looked incredulously at me floating in the water and asked what the hell I was doing.

Russell – “Molten sulphur leak!!!!!”

Chief Mate – “Ummmmm…….yeah.  What’s the problem?”

Russell – “It’s molten!”

Chief Mate (looks around at the leak, looks back at me and holds his fingers about six inches apart) – “Only about this much came out.”

Russell – “It was pouring out like Mt. St. Helen’s!!”

Chief Mate – “Errrrrrr…….well, you know, as soon as it comes out it hardens and stops the leak.  No big deal, really.  You just have to make sure you spray a little water on the deck or it is hard to clean up.”

Russell – “What about fire and mass-destruction?”

Chief Mate – “Not so much.  You can come out of the water now.”

Russell – “Oh.  Ok.  Eeeeeeeeeekkkkkkkk!!!!!!  A shark!!!!!!!!!”

Chief Mate – “That’s seaweed.”

Russell – “Eeeeeeeekkkkkkk!!!!!!!  Seaweed!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Chief Mate leaves and I am stuck in the water.

Dissapointed in the story?  Me too!  Not that I wanted to be a part of a disaster but you would think molten sulphur spilling would be a really big deal.  But it’s not.  What is a big deal is not knowing you are supposed to spray it with water and then trying to clean it up.  It becomes rock hard and you have to bang it into to dust with a hammer.



My love of food will always embarrass me at some point on a ship.  It never fails.  When you combine the fact that I love food with my obsession of writing little songs and poems, I am going to end up looking stupid.

On this ship Saturday is hamburger/cheeseburger day.  This cook makes really good cheeseburgers.  Not only do I like a good cheeseburger, but it is a treat day for me.  It is one of the only times I eat bread and I also have a diet coke on that day.  Usually I only drink water.

Lunch is served at 11:30am but I am not relieved of my watch until 11:50am.  That leaves me twenty minutes to stress that somebody will eat all the cheeseburgers.  This has never happened, but I still worry every week.

The 12×4 AB relieved me and I rushed the stairs.  I was so happy to be on my way to eat a cheeseburger!!  Without even realizing I was doing it out loud, I started making pig noises and singing about my burger as I worked my way down flight after flight of stairs.

“Gonna eat a cheeseburger oink oink oink

Eat it in just three bites oink oink oink

Lettuce tomato onion please oink oink oink

Ketchup on my face uh-oh! Oink oink oink

Should I eat not one but two? oink oink oink”

At some point during this song (which I know isn’t great but I was writing it on the fly) I rounded the corner between the second and first levels of the house and there were the Captain and Chief Engineer.  They had apparently paused in mid-conversation and were staring in disbelief at me as I trotted towards them making pig noises.

Now, keep in mind that I wasn’t saying, “oink, oink, oink.”  I was actually snorting like a pig.  I think that makes it worse.

What do you say?  I wanted to crawl in a hole but there was nowhere to go so I did the only thing I could do.  “Hey Cap.  Hey Chief.  Happy hamburger day!!”  And I walked on like everything was normal.

Not sure I pulled it off.


Go eat a burger today.  I hope it is the best burger ever!!  And don’t be afraid to oink your appreciation.

Russell Yale



You want to know what it is like to be a sailor?  Let me tell you.

My cousin married a guy who became a good friend of mine.  I have always thought of him as a friend rather than a cousin-in-law, or whatever the hell relationship he technically is.  The football games we have been thrown out of would make quite a fun blog in itself and he was the best man at my wedding.

I don’t get to see him that often but it just so worked out that he was going to be in Tampa this weekend for business and had Sunday free.  As my ship was scheduled to tie up at 11am and I get off work at noon we made plans to get together.

Well, the fog rolled in and we can’t go in until it clears.  By the time we tie up I will not be able to leave the ship because I will soon be going back on watch.  You see, the window of time was perfect before but it is now totally screwed up.  And to make things worse, we anchored just outside of cell phone range so I can’t even call him to let him know I can’t make it.

My first Chief Mate gave me the best advice ever.  He said not to make plans until you are at the bottom of the gangway.  Someday I will listen.

And that is what it is like to be a sailor.


Today the Buccaneers are honoring the ten year anniversary of their 2002 Super Bowl team.  That Super Bowl was played in February 2003.  In February 2003 I was separated from my wife and awaiting the beginning of divorce proceedings.  I was working for close to minimum wage as a telemarketer because I didn’t know what to do with my life and frankly nobody wanted to hire me.  I was a year removed from what I thought was going to be a long and promising career and now I was broke and back with my parents.  I had a little depression and addiction problem and life just kind of sucked.

I am a football fan.  I am a Buccaneers fan.  One of my earliest childhood memories was getting a Buccaneers football helmet for Christmas.  The Bucs became a franchise when I was three so I have been a fan for as long as I can remember.  For a long time the Bucs were not only the worst team in all of football, but the worst team in all of sports.  When asked about the execution of his offense, Coach John McKay replied, “I’m in favor of it.”  They were that bad.

Then they got good but they couldn’t quite get over the hump.  Until the 2002 season.  The 2002 Bucs had arguably the best defense in history and they crushed the Raiders in the Super Bowl.  When defensive player of the year Derek Brooks clinched the game with an interception return for a touchdown, I cried like a little girl.  I needed that Super Bowl so bad.

I have a tear in my eye and a lump in my throat writing this.

You either get it or you don’t.

Go Bucs!!  Fire the cannons!!


Speaking of intelligent pretty ladies, my friend Michelle came through with the correct answer for last week’s Walt Whitman trivia.  Momma came through as well but Michelle was first.  I love having smart sexy ladies in my life.


For blog music tonight we are going with Rise Against as that is a common workout band for me.

“We crawl on our knees for you!!  Under a sky no longer blue!!  We sweat all day long for you!!  We sow seeds that see us through, ‘cause sometimes dreams just don’t come true!!”

Ok…download the song if you want.  That is an excerpt from Re-education off the Appeal to Reason album.  This isn’t music that has deep meaning to me.  It just makes me angry and anger is what I need when I workout.

Because I hate it.


One of the funniest things about to me is how it gives you a potential match and shows what you have in common.  I have never had more than one thing in common with anybody.  When I answered the six thousand questions this ridiculous website asks I claimed that I workout 2-3 times per week.

It was true at the time I answered the question and is still true now.  I am going through one of my phases when I am tired of being fat and flabby.  It will last between two weeks or until taco day (whichever is the shorter period of time) and then I will go back to being a fatso for a while.

Anyway, I get these matches and it will say, “Like you she enjoys working out 2-3 times a week.”  Let me make something perfectly clear.  The only thing I enjoy about working out is looking at the posters of porn stars in thongs that are hanging in the ship’s gym.  Other than that, I bad word hate it.  I hate everything about it.  I hate how I feel leading up to it. I hate how I feel while I am doing it.  I hate how I feel after it.

Why do I do it?  Because like every fat guy I am convinced that all my problems will go away as soon as I achieve six-pack abs and bulging biceps.

But that doesn’t mean I like it.

With six-pack abs, ladies that just want to be friends suddenly want to spend their free time making sweet love to you under a shady tree in the park.  With bulging biceps you wake up and discover that you have an extra ten grand in your bank account and don’t live with your parents.  When your clothes are not tight women want to rub your naked body with their oiled up breasts.

At least I think so.  I wouldn’t know.  I’m a chubby.

My cousin set me up with this gal one time.  She was attractive and seemed nice.  She was also into running – as in running marathons.  I don’t have a problem with people running marathons.  Good for them.  But unless you paved a 26-1/2 mile road with chicken wings there is little to no chance that I am traversing that path.  I will, however, be waiting for you at the finish line to congratulate you on a race well run.  Unless you happen to cross at the exact time I stepped across to the pizza place for a slice of New York’s finest pie.  But I will bring you a slice when I finish.

The gal and I met for lunch (this was our first date) and about halfway through the meal she asks if I would be interested in running a half-marathon with her in November (some six weeks away.)  I didn’t even know how to respond.  Shocked, I looked behind me to see if there was a skinny dude in running shorts behind me that she was talking to.

Nope.  Seems like she was talking to me.

One – I will never run a marathon, a half-marathon or anything with the word “marathon” in it.

Two – If I was going to run any distance more than a mile it would require much more than six weeks of training.  In fact, I would most likely just have to die and be reincarnated as a man who could run a marathon.  I just don’t think I could ever work my way up to it.  But we would never know because see #1 – I wouldn’t even try.

Three – To me, asking a chubby guy on the first date if he will run a half-marathon with you is pretty much saying, “Just so you know, this isn’t going to work out if you don’t get your fat ass in shape.”

If that lady is reading this – no offense.  You were a swell gal and quite pretty.  Hope you found a nice looking long distance running man to make you happy.

So I am working out.  One of the things I do is the Pushup Challenge.  I have written about this before.  This is an app that you can get for your phone and it is designed to get you to 100 perfect pushups in 6 weeks.

Well, I did it for a bit and then I stopped and now I have started again.  I finished the third week and clicked the button to schedule my next workout.  Instead of saying “Week 4, Day 1” like I expected, it said, “Next Workout – Exhaustion Test.”

Exhaustion Test?!?!?!?!

Sounds worse than a half-marathon.

I worried about it for two days.  You see, you skip a day between workouts so I had plenty of time to stress.  I wanted to whine to somebody but I have nobody to whine to.  You know what would happen in a perfect world?

Russell whines to a pretty lady friend – “My stupid phone wants me to do a bad word exhaustion test for my pushup challenge and I don’t wanna do it 😦 “

Pretty lady friend – “Russell, you are so perfect just the way you are.  Why are you even doing those bad word pushups?”

Russell – “I want to look hot so pretty ladies like you will love me!”

Pretty lady friend – “I love you just how you are!  You are so funny and witty and have great hair!  I have a better idea.  Let’s test your exhaustion level by making sweet love all night long.  Then I will rest my head on your sexy belly and we can watch a Sponge Bob marathon while eating fried chicken in bed.”

Russell – “You’re the best pretty lady friend ever!!!  I’m on my way!!!”

You know what the chances are of that conversation happening?  Let’s just say I’ll complete my first marathon before I hear those words.  That leaves me whining to myself, facing the exhaustion test on my own and fighting the never ending fight against fat.

I did the exhaustion test.  I had to do as many perfect pushups as I could.  Keep in mind these have to be perfect pushups.  I pushed up until I collapsed on the deck.  Then my phone told me to enter the number I had done.  I did and it told me I had performed well enough to advance to the next workout!!!!

I was so excited!!!!  It meant that the first three weeks of hell had paid off!!  Then I realized that all I had won was three more weeks of misery.

Bad word!!

I have five months to get myself looking super-sexy.  Let’s say I want to get to a 10 on the sexiness scale.  Right now I am standing naked in front of the mirror and I am going to give myself a very generous 2.  That means I have 8 points to go.  If I can increase 2 points every month I can use month 5 just to get used to my new sexiness and kind of round things out.

Wish me luck.

See you next time guys and gals.  The good news is that I already think you all are sexy as hell.

Russell Yale



On every ship I have ever sailed on I have at one point referred to my Captain as “Oh Captain! My Captain!”  One of my Captains knew that it was a poem.  None of the others had any idea what I was talking about, including my current Captain.  My question is: what are they teaching at these maritime academies?

Not all Captains went to maritime academies.  The Coast Guard provides a system to work your way up, called hawse piping, which allows you to combine experience at sea with class work to so you can qualify to take your examinations.  The course work is extensive and the tests are pretty difficult.  This is the route I will take to obtain my license and having taken a few classes and done some advanced studying I can tell you that it takes actual work and studying to obtain your license.

Those that go through a maritime academy, and that is every Captain I have ever had, not only take all these sailing classes but presumably take general education classes as well.  They leave with a Bachelor’s degree.  How do you make it through English 101 without knowing about Walt Whitman?  Christ!  They could have at least watched Dead Poets Society.

I hate to be insulting.  All of my cadet buddies who go to these schools have seemed pretty sharp.  Maybe things are getting better.

Blog question of the day – What was Whitman writing about when he wrote, “Oh Captain! My Captain!”  No cheating and looking it up.  If you know the answer email me at and you will win……nothing.  Because nobody will email the answer I am not wasting my time coming up with a prize.  So there.


Blog music is Tom Petty’s Mojo album.  I know this has been blog music before but I need Petty in my life a lot lately.


I lost a bet, not for the first time in my life.  I should never gamble.  I have been in some seriously bad situations because of gambling.  Losing this bet did not put me in a life threatening situation but I did have to do something I didn’t want to do.  That’s the point of betting after all.

I have a lady friend who likes Alabama football.  In spite of this I still kind of like her.  We haven’t seen each other in years and seldom talk but we will occasionally chat about football and even bet now and then.

My gal pal is currently dating a guy she met on Match.Com.  Like a lot of females in my life she worries about the fact that I am single and have no apparent hope of landing a woman outside of a strip club.  After we caught up on what had happened in our lives over the last couple of years she started bugging me to join Match. No way.

I have never online dated.  I have never even tried.  I don’t think there is anything wrong with it.  In fact, the few people I personally know who have done it are beautiful desirable women.  If they are representative of the types of ladies out there, then I for one would like one for myself.

There are a couple of reasons I have never done it.  One, I am away from home for a long time.  If I made a connection with somebody it would be months before we could meet.  Maybe that would be ok, maybe not.  It is really the second reason that makes unsuited for me.

Before I tell you about the second reason let me tell you that if I lost the bet I would have to join Match for three months.  It was a football bet.  I was trash talking and said that Alabama would lose to Auburn and LSU would end up in the SEC Championship.  No, I wasn’t stupid enough to bet on Auburn.  But she said Alabama would beat Auburn by at least 40 points and that Auburn wouldn’t even score!!

Let’s review the facts.  I am a knowledgeable college football fan. She is a girl.  I understand point spreads, over/unders, parleys and all that stuff.  She is a girl.  I read injury and scouting reports and know the importance of historical rivalries.  She is a girl.

I told her that she had to wear an LSU jersey to the LSU/Bama game next season (her new beau has season tickets) when she lost and the bet was on.

If you watch college football you know that Bama won 49-0.  Why did I bet on stupid Auburn to do anything?  I hate the faux tigers.  Bad word Auburn.

A bet’s a bet so I signed up.  I will do my three months and I am done.  I hate it already.

I am not going to lie to some lady online about who I am just so she can be disappointed when she meets me in person.  Following is my profile description:

“I am a US Merchant Marine.  Not a Marine.  A Merchant Marine.  I am not a hero who goes out and fights for your freedom.  I am a sailor who works on cargo ships.  I travel the world going to some very intersting, some dangerous and some quite boring places.  Because of my job relationships are challenging.  I am away from home for four to six months at a time and then I am home on vacation for two to three months at a time.  I’m really looking for someone who wants to be friends and likes to correspond while I am away and have some fun while I am home.  I am not sure the person who could tolerate this work schedule in a serious relationship is out there, but maybe they are and I am not opposed to trying.  If you are looking for a man who is a member of the rotary club, a Deacon in the church, is a blue chip producer at the insurance agency or any that normal stuff, then I am most definitely not your man.  I am an easy going guy with a great sense of humor.  I like Winnie the Pooh and Sponge Bob.  I am basically a twelve year old.  Well, I have a job, pay my bills, have a driver’s license and like sex, but otherwise I am basically twelve.  I goof around, don’t take too many things seriously and try to stay light hearted.  I am a southern gentleman.  I believe women are special creations of God and the fact that men don’t treat them properly any longer is one of the sad things in today’s society.  I love sports, and if LSU loses on Saturday or the Buccaneers lose on Sunday I may not be able to get out of bed until Wednesday.  I know it is silly, but it is what it is.  I love to cook, I enjoy nice restaurants and I can never get enough live music.  I like nice clothes and try to dress well, but I am cool with flip-flops and t-shirts.  I guess my ideal lady would know how to laugh, have a sense of adventure and share my dream of being the number one Gangnam style dancer in all the world.”

Rereading that just now I realized that a gal I really like would automatically disqualify me after she read it.  This is the problem with being honest.

So there I am, out there on  What now?  Here’s what now and this is the second reason I hate this thing – women wink at you.  Ok….What am I supposed to do then?  I can wink back or I can email them.  Winking back seems kind of lame.  That’s just basically saying, “I acknowledge your presence and your picture is cute enough that I will click my mouse one time but the ball is back in your court so if you want me you are going to have to work a little harder than that.”  Seems rude to me.

If a gal in a bar winked at me, I wouldn’t just wink back.  One, I am not a good winker.  The whole side of my face scrunches up.  Two, it is rare that a gal gives you a blatant sign.  At least for me it is.  You have to take advantage when you can.  I would definitely go over and talk to her.  The Match version of this is sending an email, and this is where the entire thing really starts to piss me the bad word off. 

Step 1:  Gal views my profile.

Step 2:  Gal winks at me.

Step 3:  I email gal.

Step 4:  ……………..nothing.

Seriously?  Why the bad word did you wink at me if you don’t want to email me back?  Let me get a message out to all you ladies.  I don’t need you in my life.  I already have ladies in my life who don’t email me back.  And I love them so they are staying.  You don’t mean anything to me.  What makes you think I am going to take that crap from you?

Here’s what I don’t understand.  They saw my pictures so they must not have thought I was horrendous to look at.  They read my profile so they know I’m an idiot already.  What was it in the email that made them say, “Bad word!  I really screwed up winking at that guy!”  I now have to sit around wondering what I wrote that was that bad and I really don’t need that kind of stress in my life.  I just don’t.

Let me continue to bitch.  Every lady out there wants a nice guy.  Every one of them wants true romance.  Every one of them wants a gentleman.

You know who is a nice guy?  I am.  You know who is romantic?  Me.  You know who is a gentleman?  You got it.

Here’s the problem:  every guy is going to describe himself that way, most are lying and you will not know until after we hang out.  Plus, you really don’t want that stuff anyway.  I know you think you do.  I know you whine to your friends about it.  But you don’t want it.

I had a gal tell her friend once that she liked me ok but she thought it was creepy that I brought a flower to her on a first date.  A flower is creepy?  Seriously?  Well, you have the right to think that way but don’t bitch to me when the guy you end up with screws your best friend.  But hey, at least he didn’t show up with a flower.

So we have an internet world full of gals who want a nice guy.  That’s great.  Well, in two months and three weeks they are going to have to find another nice guy because I am out.

Let me gripe about something else.  Seventy five percent of these women describe themselves as sports fans.  Ok, I can believe that.  I know some gals who are sports fans.  However, it doesn’t mean as much to you as it does to me.  It just doesn’t.  I respect that.  I need you to respect my feelings as well.

True story.  I was living with a pretty young lady when I was 19.  I was sitting on the couch watching game 7 of the World Series starring my Atlanta Braves.  Let me repeat – World Series, game 7, Braves.  I wouldn’t get off the couch if the building was on fire.

My gal comes out of the bedroom around inning 6 and starts being all flirty.  I didn’t respond properly I guess and she flat out tells me that she wants to have sex.  I’m flabbergasted.  Ummmmm…’s game 7!!  I’ll be with you in about an hour.

She was pissed!!!  Then the Braves lost.  She was still pissed after the game so my team lost and I didn’t get laid and I had to put up with her in a bad mood all night – and this gal could really get mean when she wanted.

The point to all this is you should know your partner.  We were talking about nice?  If my gal was watching the season finally to Friends or whatever it was she watched back then, I wouldn’t barge in right in the middle of her show and demand sex.  I would clean the kitchen, take a shower and seduce her AFTER her bad word show.

You see the difference?  If I interrupted her show that would take away from her enjoyment of it plus we probably don’t have sex.  Waiting till after allows her to enjoy her show and leaves a high possibility for sex.

She could have been ready to console me after the game.  That would have made the Braves losing a little easier.  Look, I don’t love you less than I love the Braves and baseball is not more important to me than sex.  UNLESS IT IS GAME 7 OF THE BAD WORD WORLD SERIES!!!

So ladies, when you describe yourself as a sports fan, let’s make sure we’re on the same page.  That’s all I’m saying.

I guess it’s just me.   Maybe I am saying something wrong in these messages.  Why don’t you be the judge?

The Top 10 Possibly Objectionable Things I Have Said in Messages!

10.  I see on your profile that you have kids.  That’s great!  Do you think once we get married they can live with their dad?  There’s not that much room at my momma’s house.

9.  That’s a nice car in your picture!  You think I could borrow a few bucks.  Just till payday.  I’m good for it.

8.  I think one of my best traits is loyalty.  I mean, if you don’t count what happens in Filipino whorehouses. 

7.  I actually like the second George Bush.

6.  I’ve been waiting 39 years to give my virginity away and you look like that special someone.

5.  Like you, I enjoy a cold beer on the beach.  You don’t have a problem with babysitting piss drunk alcoholics do you?

4.  Do you have any pictures where you are wearing less clothing?  I can’t really decide if I think you’re sexy or not.

3.  To be honest, I’m not all that interested in you but I was wondering about that friend of yours in the third picture?  Could I get her email address?

2.  Just so you know, if we hook up I don’t object to you keeping your job as long as all the chores get done at home.

1.  Nice pic!  Have you ever considered breast implants?


I would obviously never say any of these things, but that’s my point.  If I send an email to some random gal and she doesn’t respond, ok.  But if they wink first they are already expressing interest, right?  So what am I saying that’s so wrong?

It’s just not for me.  I am too needy for this type of interaction.  I can’t handle my brittle ego being destroyed ten times a day.  I will make good my bet and complete three months but then I am going back to what I am good at – being in love with women I know but who have no romantic interest in me whatsoever.  It’s better that way.

I’m winking at you.

Russell Yale


Most of you new readers don’t know Rusty the Pirate.  He travels with me and although he is not really the nicest of men, he is nonetheless my friend.  He is not the type of person you would bring home for thanksgiving, but if you need a wingman to stab somebody in the kidney when you are fighting over a lady in a whorehouse, Rusty is your man.

Because Rusty and I spend so much time together, I sometimes write about things I do that Rusty really did.  Just keep it mind that if you read something that an upstanding Christian conservative fellow with impeccable moral values would never do, it was Rusty and not me.  No, we are not the same person.  He is not my make believe friend.  Well, unless he is ever subpoenad to testify in court, in which case none of you have ever heard of him.  Rusty is his own unique individual.  We just always travel together and have similar names.  That’s all.

Following is the story of Rusty and his yellow balls.  To understand the epic poem, you need to picture the port facility in Galveston.  We dock at a facility that is designed to load and process sulphur.  Although we move it in molten form and it is stored in molten form, at some point it is mined in solid form.  At this facility there is a yard that has piles and piles of bright yellow sulphur in solid form.  It was the sight of all this “gold” that got Rusty so excited.  When he thinks he is getting booty I have learned that I have no control over him.

I hope you enjoy the following.

Russell Yale

Rusty the Pirate and his Yellow Balls


Rusty the Pirate docked in Galveston on his molten sulphur ship.

After two days of sailing across the gulf he sure was feeling whipped.

A couple of ladies and some cold beer were on the menu for the night.

After he washed his face and braided his beard he looked more than alright.


When he walked down the gangway what to his wondrous eyes did appear?

It was piles of gold stacked ten feet high! He let out of deep throated cheer!

He fetched his hunny pot to fill it with booty and he sang a pirate song.

Rusty the pirate was gonna be rich and party all bad word night long.


He dove right into the pile of gold and to his horror smelled rotten eggs.

Rusty was so sick with disappointment that he needed beer by the keg.

He washed his hands and washed his face and hurried off to shore.

To improve his mood he needed some grog, ten shots and maybe more.


After catching a nice buzz and chilling out it was time to find a gal.

The one thing that would cheer him up was a beautiful lady pal.

Rusty walked on his peg leg into a whore house and the ladies all lined up.

He picked a blond and took her to a room, grabbed a bottled and two cups.


Rusty smacked that whore right on the ass, got naked and began to feel mellow.

The hooker took one look at him and screamed, “Oh my God. Yer balls be yellow!”

The peg legged pirate looked down between his legs and cursed his stupid mistake.

He had washed his hands and his face but forgot his balls for goodness sake!


The whore screamed again and ran away afraid of disease and Rusty stomped off in disgust.

He thought “The Mexican whore house is across the street and they won’t mind, I trust.”

Rusty stormed right in as naked as could be but the whores said, “No way senor.”

“We don’t sucko no balls that be yellow,” and they showed poor Rusty the door.


To the Asian massage parlor Rusty did go for a table shower to wash his balls.

He laid back and spread his legs while mama-san scrubbed so hard he squalled.

When she finished up she shook her head and said, “You balls still yellow, they look so funny!”

She laughed a bit and gave a massage but no happy ending for any amount of money.


Poor Rusty was angry and embarrassed and sad so he bought a bottle of rum.

He staggered back to the ship drunk as could be, just a horny and depressed bum.

In his room he undressed to get in bed and was shocked but it was true.

His yellow balls were yellow no more – the damn things now were blue.