BRING ON THE SUB. RIGINAL.
Capt. Horatio Sub here. Fought in the battle of 'Sink n Swim'. If I've told leading 'unable to' seaman Knott that once I've told him a baker's dozen times," close the hatch BEFORE we dive." And that's how we ended up S and S right up the creek from whence we launched nuclear-powered big 'Bertie'. Subs, what do we know about them? Not the foot long ones. I'm talking about the Collins Class type. 300 metres of fistic grey fury. A killing machine, or should I say a drowning machine, especially when the hatch is left open!
Why don't I start from the beginning. I was born a baby. Even the day I was born it was "up periscope" down my mothers birth canal. Four-years-old when mummy dropped a Colonic Sub in my bath water. Actually it was mine. It was actually a bottle of 'Brute' without the hatch. Learnt from an early age that anything not hatched sinks. Even mummie's sink sank through the lack of a plug 'hatch' when I first took command of it in wartime against a flottila of enemy foot long subs at the 'Battle of Subway.' Told unable seaman Knott to rig for silent running salad so that the enemy couldn't ketchup. Left the sink strainer in. The enemy did catch up!
It was a cold dark rainy night outside and INSIDE the Sub. Knott left the power window down on the periscope...we sank! We sat alone Knotted. We were not the least bit afraid, in fact we were petrified! The enemy dropped foot-long sub wrappers full of rissole buns on top of us. The rivets in the S Class Sink held. I released ballast. I said ballast you Knott...BLAST you. Knott had a cunning idea. He sent up a mayonaise streak from the sub as a decoy that we were damaged and sitting on the bottom...our wet bottoms actually.
Knott sent his singlet up with the words "we have drowned move on" printed in mustard. The enemy dropped salt and pepper and submergedly prop ered properly on. Hatched tight. We could hear the hum of the egg and lettuce prop as they thrust forward. Knott received a medal for gallantry in the face of the enemy, namely peppered spray and assault. The ribbon of merit merit was bestowed upon him by Lord Lordy Lordy Lordy miss Claudy, a stuttering Admiral. Knott was admiring the Admiral admirably when aforesaid Admiral heard from a whispering Jack-second-in-charge that Knotty left the plug out of the sink which in turn caused the sunken unseaworthy sink to sink to depths of sanctity unknown.
Lordy Lordy Miss Claudy ripped Knott's medal off in disgust, broke his sesame bun sword across his open hatch and swore. Slapped Knott's face. I and the other Petty Officers stopped petting Knott and slapped the dill- pickle also. At the age of ten I was learning that dill pickles and stupidity don't mix. At least not in a fish Sub sandwich sitting on the bottom of up the creek.
Fast forward to Collins Class silent punning Creepup. At the age of 25 I had my second command from mummy..."wipe your own bottom." The first command was, don't leave the hatch up...or you'll sink. Knott did though. He had terrible runs of non-battening downs. We took on lead-ballast and water. You normally do take on water when you have an over abundance of lead pellets and the hatch is left open.
You see, Knott tripped over a BB lead scatter-gun when he was putting his snorkle on ready to sink. Shot himself in the buttock and the bridge over river cry. Sook of a fellow. Didn't have time to get my snorkle, although Knox had holes in his - the generous chap shared his holy oxygen tent. Which tent to leak also. We headed Nor-West in reverse into the 'Magellan Straight.' A nearby 'eat here back your sub into' Class restaurant pon Collins St. It wasn't easy powering through the front window, the ballastrade, three low class petty rats, five dustbins full of half eaten subs...in a 300 metre grey sluggish Sub Mark 1. The sides were Marked 2. Several patrons from the 1st class restaurant wined and dined on the second officers deck in a show of solidarity. It was either that or jump clear off their chairs, alas, too late!
We continued through the bra warehouse next door full bore steam ahead at roughly 50 bra knots with Knott taking the helm at 03000. That was the torn bra damage Bill. Bill the bra warehouse owner wasn't pleased and wanted, nay, tried to, tie Knots in Knott.
Out of frustration tied him into a simple-which he was-granny knot...who was incidently his aunt twice removed fom Nottingham. We were surging two heads ahead when we saw the Police ahead off the Port Melbourne bow. I Ipoded Knott to "dive dive dive dive. Knott responded by shouting through his holy water-filled snorkel, "yes yes yes and a come forth yes...yes, the Police did.
We were warned to "avast" the 300 metre grey slug. Paid our parking fees and were lucky enough to score a VAST parking bay for two hours. Knott and I were stood down and on...pepper sprayed. We were tweeted off the sub, handcuffed, and thrown in a Subway shop.
The arresting officers ordered. Two foot long Subs for two two-legged Navel Offtheirheads. Knott was fed his through his holy pre-peppered snorkle. I was cuffed round the ear as well as being lightly pepperd briefly for being in charge. I was fed up. And down periscope. Our Nuclear projectiles had their tubes tied.
An old brass holy tub was produced. One arresting officer steering. We were uncuffed, de-briefed and de-crumbed. De-briefs were waterlogged anyway. The three of us rowed off down Lygon St singing "rub a dub dub three men in a brass tub.
If you're parking near a 300 metre Collins Class grey slug in a vast parking bay please park away from the rudder...as I'd rudder not have the rudder scratched. OH! and make sure you close the hatch if you decide to take it downtown...where all the lights are bright...DOWNTOWN!...where all the Knotts are not so bright. Damn dumb fellow. Always trying to catch a hatch...after the hatch has bolted, underwater!