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November 28, 2006


Beween the innocence of infancy and the recklessness of maturity comes the unique specimen of humanity known as the Submariner.

Submariners can be found in bars, in arguments, in bed, in debt and intoxicated. They like receiving mail, mid month paychecks, nude pin ups, sympathy, complaining and beer.

A Submariners secret ambition is to change places with the Captain for just one trip, to own a brewery and to be loved by everyone in the world.

A Submariner is a Sir Galahad in a Japanese brothel, a psychoanalyst with Readers Digest on the table, Don Quixote with a discharge note, the savior of mankind with his back teeth awash, Valentino with a fiver in his pocket and democracy personified in a Red Chinese prison cell.

A Submariner is a provider in war and a parasite in peace. No one is subjected to abuse, wrongly accused, so often misunderstood by so many as a Submariner. He has the patience of Job, the honesty of a fool and the heaven sent ability to laugh at himself.

When he returns home from a long trip, no one else but a Submariner can create such an atmosphere of suspense and longing as he walks through the door with the magic words on his lips:



  1. Beer is a sign that God loves us and wants us to be happy.

  2. That was funny! Where'd you get it?