Awhile back I was playing with retireMINT ideas and decided I wanted to be a cook on an aircraft carrier. They feed 5000 guys at a time, make bread dough in a cement mixer… it’s AWESOME. How hard could it be? Pete F pulled some strings and got me an interview with the Admiral and I passed with flying colours.
“Can ya cook, Filthie?”
“No sir!”
“Are you an American, Filthie?”
“No sir.”
“Where did you meet Pete?”
“Can’t remember sir… it was either in the brig or at the cat house…”
“No problem, Filthie! You’ve obviously got the Right Stuff! You’re hired! And pass along my disregards to Pete next time you see him! Report to the USS Hairy Truman! On the double!!!”
“Yes sir!”
Welp - I set foot on the deck, the whole boat listed to the left, and a couple of fighter planes rolled off the runway and fell in the drink. I was too heavy for the boat and fired on the spot! Some twaddle about sailors can’t weigh more than the boat or something.
Assholes.
But… I am undeterred! Those damned squids will rue the day they turned me away! I’ve decided to resume my cooking career. Today is perfect, it’s cool and rainy and both me and Hannah need a recovery day. We’ve been putting on some long miles lately. Just the day for some cooking!





Those smashed potatoes look like one of my goats belched cud outa they mouth. Sorry. Just verbalizing an observation.
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