Outta Here!
U.S.S. Ignatius vs. The World
In 2011, my friend fell out of a window at a bar. This is his story.
On a brisk but comfortable early May evening in 2011, the USS Ignatius departed the Philadelphia Naval Yard on a goodwill ambassador mission to give aid to Japan in light of their recent nuclear reactor crisis. The conditions were favorable and a welcomed reminder that summer was just around the corner. After many grueling months spent offshore in the Middle East, Captain Bingo and his crew were more than happy to take on this peaceful and friendly assignment.
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On a brisk but comfortable Friday evening in early May 2011, my friend, Iggy - being in a particularly jovial mood since summer was just around the corner - decided to mosey on down to an outside bar in Manayunk to enjoy a few drinks while soaking in the favorable weather. Since it was a bit early to start the night yet, Iggy had trouble finding any companions. This didn’t bother him though. Having a few drinks by oneself in the glorious pre-summer twilight never hurt anybody.
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On a brisk but comfortable early May evening in 2011, the USS Ignatius departed the Philadelphia Naval Yard on a goodwill ambassador mission to give aid to Japan in light of their recent nuclear reactor crisis. The conditions were favorable and a welcomed reminder that summer was just around the corner. After many grueling months spent offshore in the Middle East, Captain Bingo and his crew were more than happy to take on this peaceful and friendly assignment.
__________________________________________________________________________
On a brisk but comfortable Friday evening in early May 2011, my friend, Iggy - being in a particularly jovial mood since summer was just around the corner - decided to mosey on down to an outside bar in Manayunk to enjoy a few drinks while soaking in the favorable weather. Since it was a bit early to start the night yet, Iggy had trouble finding any companions. This didn’t bother him though. Having a few drinks by oneself in the glorious pre-summer twilight never hurt anybody.
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The USS Ignatius was cruising at an impressive 80 knots toward the city of Fukishima, which had its nuclear reactors damaged in a recent earthquake causing global concern. Captain Bingo just gave the vessel’s first mate, Jonathan Wankadoo (a semi-retarded, Polish immigrant), the go ahead to light the remaining boilers to pick up even more speed. Suddenly, Captain Bingo and the crew felt the ship shake slightly as if they had just hit something. They were not in iceberg-threatening waters nor were they in enemy territory. Captain Bingo was puzzled but the time he had to think was cut abruptly short when he felt the hull of the ship rattle after getting slammed by two torpedoes. Bingo scanned the seas through his binoculars. The only other ship in site was far off in the North Atlantic distance. It was flying a Canadian flag.
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After a few Budweisers, Iggy decided to order a Canadian Club and Coke. He was finished admiring the beauty of the Schuylkill River as it flowed along side of the establishment and wanted to turn up the voltage a bit. After downing his tasty drink he ordered another while waiting for a group of us to join him. That is when I appeared with a crew of about ten of my mates. I asked him what he was drinking. His answer rubbed my whiskey craving the right way and I ordered us a round of Seagram’s VO shots. It had a kick but went down smooth. “Mmmm,” Iggy thought to himself. “I bet I could drink these all night.” We would soon find out.
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The USS Ignatius inadvertently started a war with Canada. She took a few blows to the hull but was able to fend off the incoming Canadian onslaught. Captain Bingo deployed the cannons on the stern to disperse the enemy ship which it did after little struggle. Bingo’s worries would not be over so quickly though. Coming in from the West was a fleet of Russian battleships. And from the East – a squadron of jet bombers from Ireland.
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Iggy ordered a round of Stolichnaya shots which preceded the round of Irish Car Bombs from yours truly. It looked to me like Iggy was ready to put on a show that night. He held back a puke after the Car Bomb but then quickly rebounded when the rest of us ordered dinner and Iggy opted to have a liquid meal and ordered a flight of Cuervo. It was at this point that I realized that Iggy was having a hard time standing up straight.
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The double team onslaught by the Russians and the Irish took its toll on the USS Ignatius. A torpedo from Russian ship knocked out Ignatius’s main propeller and the ship could no longer maneuver properly. Private Wankadoo was hit with an incoming Irish missile, blowing his head clean out of his asshole. The crew remained at their posts and defended the Ignatius admirably. Some say they might have succeeded too, if it wasn’t for the rogue submarine that began attacking from underwater. Once it breached the surface, Captain Bingo looked on in horror and gasped, “It’s the fucking Mexicans.”
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“Fuck you, you fuckin Mexican!” Iggy shouted at a clearly Caucasian elderly woman as we made our way to the next bar. I was starting to get worried that Iggy might not last much longer.
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The international ambush was beginning to be more than the Ignatius could withstand. The crew could not get ammunition to the cannons quickly enough. The ship was taking in more water than the hull could contain. Massive fires were igniting below deck. The crew began sodomizing each other out of sheer desperation. The poop deck was covered in shit. It pained Captain Bingo to do so but he had no choice but to run to the executive quarters to send out a distress signal. Just as he was finished calling for American reinforcements, a wooden spear smashed through the posterior window nearly clipping Bingo’s shoulder. He looked up and stared in bewilderment in what he saw: A 35ft dinghy made of wood loaded with Africans.
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Before we went into our next bar, Iggy stopped at the bottle shop next door and picked up and forty.
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Captain Bingo threw a rock at the African boat. It sunk in 55 seconds.
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Iggy chugged the forty in a record-breaking 55 seconds.
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In a panic, the crew began evacuating and jumping overboard.
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Iggy threw up on himself.
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Captain Bingo stood on the main deck firing his sidearm in vain at his multiple foes, screaming absurdities like, “Does anybody have any cocaine?!” and “I have an erection!!” His worst fears came true. The Ignatius was blown in two by Japanese suicide kamikazes. “Jesus titty-fucking Christ!! The Japs?!” Bingo exclaimed. “We were trying to help those fishheads. When the fuck are the reinforcements going to arrive?”
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As we took our seats at the next bar, we were sure that Iggy would not be allowed entrance, but after he threw away his puke covered shirt, he strolled in. He came over to us and loudly asked, “Does anybody have any cocaine?” then scratched his garbage and commented, “Damn, I’m hard as a rock.” The rest of us looked at each other in disgust and slid him a kamikaze shot.
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The back half of Ignatius was slanted 90 degrees in the air and started sinking rapidly. Bingo knew he only had a few minutes left before he was dead in the water. His only hope was to remain afloat long enough for the backup to arrive. Suddenly, the captain spotted a low flying rescue helicopter with red, white, and blue stripes painted on the side.
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As we made our way to the final bar of the night, Kildare’s, Iggy was making about as much sense as a homosexual commenting on an NCAA football game. We were positive that he had as much of a chance of becoming the next ABC World News Tonight anchor as he did of getting passed the bouncer. Couples were dining along the sidewalk outside of the large front window of the establishment that was open to let the patrons inside take advantage of the lovely weather. Friends were outside smoking cigarettes and enjoying the gorgeous night. Iggy was swaying about the street looking like a bag of shit. I walked my way up the stairs to the entrance, gave my ID to the bouncer, found a spot at the bar right by the window, and turned to watch my friend get denied. The bouncer must have had a vendetta against his boss that night because he didn’t even bat an eye as Iggy walked passed him and joined me at the bar. I was in dismay and I’d had enough of this little charade.
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Dodging incoming fire, the chopper swooped in low towards Bingo. He could not have been any more relieved. Against all odds, he was going to survive this mysterious global attack. The chopper inched closer. Bingo waved them in. A soldier opened the side door and looked down at Ignatius’s sole survivor. “Captain Ringo Dingo Bingo?” the soldier asked. “Yes sir!” replied the captain. “Suck on this!” the solider said as he pulled out his penis and began urinating onto the baffled captain’s head. Bingo’s jaw dropped at the betrayal and the soldier made sure he filled it with his golden shower.
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“How the fuck did they let you in?” I asked Iggy. “G-go f-f-fuck yourself, Chug,” Iggy responded. “OK, playtime’s over,” I thought to myself. “Bartender, two rounds of three wisemen,” I ordered. Seconds later, two shots of Jim Beam, two shots of Johnny Walker, and two shots of Jack Daniels were delivered to us. Iggy – God bless his heart – without hesitation, picked up the Jim Beam shot. I asked him what he wanted to toast to. “The Phillies,” he barely blurted out. Down the hatch. We picked up the Jack Daniels shots. He wasn’t looking like he was enjoying himself at this point. “What about this one?” I ask. “To pussy,” he replies. Two thirds of the wisemen were now in Iggy’s stomach. He looked as coherent as the derelicts do on 69th Street in Upper Darby. I picked up the Johnny Walker shot. Iggy’s propping himself up against the bar. He was looking at his feet. Any minute now he would see his demise. I put the final shot in his hand. “What should this toast be to, man?” I asked. “Fuck you,” he said. Fine by me. “Goodnight, Ig.” We ripped the final shot.
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Historians believe that Captain Bingo sold the Navy’s General a bad bag of boomers. That was the cause of the backstabbing. As he stood on the remaining 10 feet of the vessel that was not yet submerged, the helicopter pilot rolled his window down. “Hey Bingo!” he shouted. “I got a blowjob from your father. He’s gay. Catch!” A live grenade landed at the feet of Captain Bingo. Despondently, Captain Bingo nodded his head, picked up the grenade, and shoved it in his briefs. With one final, glorious explosion, Captain Bingo and the USS Ignatius were no more. Their remains lay utterly defeated at the bottom of the ocean. Captain Bingo’s ding dong was later munched on as a late night snack for a family of crabs.
____________________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________________
After a few Budweisers, Iggy decided to order a Canadian Club and Coke. He was finished admiring the beauty of the Schuylkill River as it flowed along side of the establishment and wanted to turn up the voltage a bit. After downing his tasty drink he ordered another while waiting for a group of us to join him. That is when I appeared with a crew of about ten of my mates. I asked him what he was drinking. His answer rubbed my whiskey craving the right way and I ordered us a round of Seagram’s VO shots. It had a kick but went down smooth. “Mmmm,” Iggy thought to himself. “I bet I could drink these all night.” We would soon find out.
____________________________________________________________________________
The USS Ignatius inadvertently started a war with Canada. She took a few blows to the hull but was able to fend off the incoming Canadian onslaught. Captain Bingo deployed the cannons on the stern to disperse the enemy ship which it did after little struggle. Bingo’s worries would not be over so quickly though. Coming in from the West was a fleet of Russian battleships. And from the East – a squadron of jet bombers from Ireland.
____________________________________________________________________________
Iggy ordered a round of Stolichnaya shots which preceded the round of Irish Car Bombs from yours truly. It looked to me like Iggy was ready to put on a show that night. He held back a puke after the Car Bomb but then quickly rebounded when the rest of us ordered dinner and Iggy opted to have a liquid meal and ordered a flight of Cuervo. It was at this point that I realized that Iggy was having a hard time standing up straight.
____________________________________________________________________________
The double team onslaught by the Russians and the Irish took its toll on the USS Ignatius. A torpedo from Russian ship knocked out Ignatius’s main propeller and the ship could no longer maneuver properly. Private Wankadoo was hit with an incoming Irish missile, blowing his head clean out of his asshole. The crew remained at their posts and defended the Ignatius admirably. Some say they might have succeeded too, if it wasn’t for the rogue submarine that began attacking from underwater. Once it breached the surface, Captain Bingo looked on in horror and gasped, “It’s the fucking Mexicans.”
___________________________________________________________________________
“Fuck you, you fuckin Mexican!” Iggy shouted at a clearly Caucasian elderly woman as we made our way to the next bar. I was starting to get worried that Iggy might not last much longer.
___________________________________________________________________________
The international ambush was beginning to be more than the Ignatius could withstand. The crew could not get ammunition to the cannons quickly enough. The ship was taking in more water than the hull could contain. Massive fires were igniting below deck. The crew began sodomizing each other out of sheer desperation. The poop deck was covered in shit. It pained Captain Bingo to do so but he had no choice but to run to the executive quarters to send out a distress signal. Just as he was finished calling for American reinforcements, a wooden spear smashed through the posterior window nearly clipping Bingo’s shoulder. He looked up and stared in bewilderment in what he saw: A 35ft dinghy made of wood loaded with Africans.
____________________________________________________________________________
Before we went into our next bar, Iggy stopped at the bottle shop next door and picked up and forty.
____________________________________________________________________________
Captain Bingo threw a rock at the African boat. It sunk in 55 seconds.
____________________________________________________________________________
Iggy chugged the forty in a record-breaking 55 seconds.
____________________________________________________________________________
In a panic, the crew began evacuating and jumping overboard.
____________________________________________________________________________
Iggy threw up on himself.
____________________________________________________________________________
Captain Bingo stood on the main deck firing his sidearm in vain at his multiple foes, screaming absurdities like, “Does anybody have any cocaine?!” and “I have an erection!!” His worst fears came true. The Ignatius was blown in two by Japanese suicide kamikazes. “Jesus titty-fucking Christ!! The Japs?!” Bingo exclaimed. “We were trying to help those fishheads. When the fuck are the reinforcements going to arrive?”
____________________________________________________________________________
As we took our seats at the next bar, we were sure that Iggy would not be allowed entrance, but after he threw away his puke covered shirt, he strolled in. He came over to us and loudly asked, “Does anybody have any cocaine?” then scratched his garbage and commented, “Damn, I’m hard as a rock.” The rest of us looked at each other in disgust and slid him a kamikaze shot.
____________________________________________________________________________
The back half of Ignatius was slanted 90 degrees in the air and started sinking rapidly. Bingo knew he only had a few minutes left before he was dead in the water. His only hope was to remain afloat long enough for the backup to arrive. Suddenly, the captain spotted a low flying rescue helicopter with red, white, and blue stripes painted on the side.
____________________________________________________________________________
As we made our way to the final bar of the night, Kildare’s, Iggy was making about as much sense as a homosexual commenting on an NCAA football game. We were positive that he had as much of a chance of becoming the next ABC World News Tonight anchor as he did of getting passed the bouncer. Couples were dining along the sidewalk outside of the large front window of the establishment that was open to let the patrons inside take advantage of the lovely weather. Friends were outside smoking cigarettes and enjoying the gorgeous night. Iggy was swaying about the street looking like a bag of shit. I walked my way up the stairs to the entrance, gave my ID to the bouncer, found a spot at the bar right by the window, and turned to watch my friend get denied. The bouncer must have had a vendetta against his boss that night because he didn’t even bat an eye as Iggy walked passed him and joined me at the bar. I was in dismay and I’d had enough of this little charade.
____________________________________________________________________________
Dodging incoming fire, the chopper swooped in low towards Bingo. He could not have been any more relieved. Against all odds, he was going to survive this mysterious global attack. The chopper inched closer. Bingo waved them in. A soldier opened the side door and looked down at Ignatius’s sole survivor. “Captain Ringo Dingo Bingo?” the soldier asked. “Yes sir!” replied the captain. “Suck on this!” the solider said as he pulled out his penis and began urinating onto the baffled captain’s head. Bingo’s jaw dropped at the betrayal and the soldier made sure he filled it with his golden shower.
____________________________________________________________________________
“How the fuck did they let you in?” I asked Iggy. “G-go f-f-fuck yourself, Chug,” Iggy responded. “OK, playtime’s over,” I thought to myself. “Bartender, two rounds of three wisemen,” I ordered. Seconds later, two shots of Jim Beam, two shots of Johnny Walker, and two shots of Jack Daniels were delivered to us. Iggy – God bless his heart – without hesitation, picked up the Jim Beam shot. I asked him what he wanted to toast to. “The Phillies,” he barely blurted out. Down the hatch. We picked up the Jack Daniels shots. He wasn’t looking like he was enjoying himself at this point. “What about this one?” I ask. “To pussy,” he replies. Two thirds of the wisemen were now in Iggy’s stomach. He looked as coherent as the derelicts do on 69th Street in Upper Darby. I picked up the Johnny Walker shot. Iggy’s propping himself up against the bar. He was looking at his feet. Any minute now he would see his demise. I put the final shot in his hand. “What should this toast be to, man?” I asked. “Fuck you,” he said. Fine by me. “Goodnight, Ig.” We ripped the final shot.
____________________________________________________________________________
Historians believe that Captain Bingo sold the Navy’s General a bad bag of boomers. That was the cause of the backstabbing. As he stood on the remaining 10 feet of the vessel that was not yet submerged, the helicopter pilot rolled his window down. “Hey Bingo!” he shouted. “I got a blowjob from your father. He’s gay. Catch!” A live grenade landed at the feet of Captain Bingo. Despondently, Captain Bingo nodded his head, picked up the grenade, and shoved it in his briefs. With one final, glorious explosion, Captain Bingo and the USS Ignatius were no more. Their remains lay utterly defeated at the bottom of the ocean. Captain Bingo’s ding dong was later munched on as a late night snack for a family of crabs.
____________________________________________________________________________
After the wisemen shots, Iggy staggered about like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I leaned up against the bar and waited for him to barf and then get throw out, inappropriately touch a girl and then get thrown out, or defecate in his pants and then get thrown out. The kid had a heart of a god damn lion though and would do nothing more then walk in circles with his head down. I became impatient and turned my back to him to order a beer. “One Bud Light,” I was about to say but then stopped myself. “Maybe I should get Iggy one,” I thought. Maybe he just needed one more little push to go over the edge. I was wrong. “Hey Ig-,” I started to say as I turned around to ask if he wanted a beer but stopped because I was absolutely speechless at what I knew I was about to see. Iggy was inches from the open window. His feet were barely on the floor and his upper body was swaying like a flag in breeze. Three feet below him outside a couple was staring at him in horror. Their dinner – and their evening for that matter – were about to be ruined. I did and said nothing. My abilities to speak and to move were gone. I was frozen. Iggy’s arms went limp. His head slumped. It was as if his brain just turned off the power. His upper body slumped. Then it slumped further. The couple started screaming. “What the fuck are you doing man?!!!!” “DUDE!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!!!” “NOOOO!!!” There are things in life that are so great that when you witness them, they are in slow motion. With my jaw on the floor, I saw Iggy’s legs go straight up in the air. His head dove three feet down directly into a plate of pasta primavera. His arms flailed and knocked over every glass on the table. The gentlemen’s shrimp scampi was all over his shorts. People at the adjacent tables grabbed their drinks and ran in the opposite direction of the calamity. Iggy had fallen out of the front window of Kildare’s and lay dead on a table outside. There was no need for a bouncer to kick him out – Iggy had already taken care of that himself. It was the only time I’d ever witnessed a kick out in which the action that caused it and the act of being kicked out were one in the same. And to think: If I had not thought to ask Iggy if he wanted a beer, I would have missed the magnificence. It was as if God recognized the agonizing week of bullshit work that I just put in and rewarded me by whispering in my ear, “Hey Chug, why don’t you ask your alcoholic friend if he wants a beer. You can thank me later.” It actually renewed my faith. I don’t get high before Christmas and Easter mass anymore.
I was the only one of my crew who saw it. My head might as well have exploded. It was so funny that I could not laugh. It was like when Cartman saw two people with butts for heads and he instantly knew that it would be the funniest thing he would ever see for the rest of his life. It depressed him a little because he knew it would never get any better. That was me. I just stood there and looked at Iggy starfished, face down in a couple’s dinner. I couldn’t even bother to see if he was breathing. I just wanted to stare at the beauty of the scene. Soak it in. Burn it in my memory. I’m choked up as I write this.
If you look on your calendars, you will notice that May 6th is marked in honor of the sacrifice of the USS Ignatius, but I will remember that day for something much more meaningful: The day my friend drank so much that he fell out of a public window.
--Chug Monky
I was the only one of my crew who saw it. My head might as well have exploded. It was so funny that I could not laugh. It was like when Cartman saw two people with butts for heads and he instantly knew that it would be the funniest thing he would ever see for the rest of his life. It depressed him a little because he knew it would never get any better. That was me. I just stood there and looked at Iggy starfished, face down in a couple’s dinner. I couldn’t even bother to see if he was breathing. I just wanted to stare at the beauty of the scene. Soak it in. Burn it in my memory. I’m choked up as I write this.
If you look on your calendars, you will notice that May 6th is marked in honor of the sacrifice of the USS Ignatius, but I will remember that day for something much more meaningful: The day my friend drank so much that he fell out of a public window.
--Chug Monky