Friday, July 24, 2015
Blowhard - a poem
'It sure is gusty out here'.
McFarely, the first mate on a tug boat, had just made a pertinent point. His first ever. At least as far as O'Brian, his captain, was aware.
So it was all smiles all around, at least one 'well done mate' was dished out, and two or three suggestions were made that if champagne were allowed on the boat during work hours that a glass and toast would be in order. In fact O'Brian pointed out, that even if a bottle had been smuggled on by McFarley, and that in normal circumstances, this being found out, would be grounds for dismissal, that in this particular instance he would be both willing to turn a blind eye to this act of insubordinate application of protocol, and enthusiastic about the opportunity to celebrate this monumental event. In fact he went as far as to say that in this instance he was HOPING McFarely had broken this, normally STRICTLY enforced rule.
McFarely was touched, and felt a significant amount of pride.
The only thing stopping him being overwhelmed with emotion at O'Brian's kind endorsement, was a nagging voice in the back of his head saying 'maybe O'Brian just wants to get dunk, seeing as this gustiness is surely evidence that the cyclone we were warned of is about to hit'.