By the time we'd finished picking up the vodka bottles and tossing them over the railing, the Captain was out cold and sheet-white in a puddle of vomit. The hooker we picked up in Saigon was the only one left to steer. |
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We were about ten seconds from impact when the first mate staggered out of the WC, with whiskey breath and a bloody lip from falling asleep and bashing his face while snorting a line off the back of the toilet, and shouted "What the fuck is going on, you Jew?" I didn't say anything back--I just flew to shore before he could grab at me. This is one of the perks of being a bird. |
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I wound up working for three weeks in a saucy tourist show in Manila where they had me sing "March of the Gladiators" and fly in between the girls while they balanced plates on their limbs and other stupid shit. At some point I switched to "O Tannenbaum" and then "Horst Wessel"; no one noticed (this was not a classy operation, but nothing is, in a country where half the population has the clap so bad you can't eat in restaurants) except the manager, and at least I managed to fly up some broad's skirt before they booted me. |
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