108 replies to this topic

[Raven]

I heard that one too. Very funny. R

[maninthesea]

Twas the dive before Christmas and all 'cross the reef
Not a creature was swimming not even a leaf........Fish

The cleaner wrasse were poised by the coral with flair
With hopes that St Niklefish soon would stop there

The clownfish were all snuggled deep in their dreds
While visions of larvae danced in their heads

While WW in her drysuit and I in my skin
Had just deflated, let the diving begin

When out of the blue there arose such frenzy
I shot to the surface like Walter in a fenzy

Back down to the wall I dove like Dr Bill
Around the boulders and over the hill

The HID on the crest of reef shallow
Gave hints of allure to the mystery below

When what to my fogged masked should appear
But a giant moray and 8 bottles of beer

I checked my deco and was safe by one click
I knew in a moment it was a gift from St Nick....lfish

More rapid than eagle rays my next thoughts came
I must surface to drink them and toast out the names

For Dasher, For Dancer, For Prancer and Vickson
Four Comid, Fore Qupid For Darnit I'm Blitzended

To the side of the gunnels and over the railing, try not to fall
Now puke away, puke away, puke away ALL!

Dry heaves after the breakfast did fly
Just hunched in the corner and waiting to die

Back across the rough waters the vessel did sail
With my head full of noise while clutching a pail

And then when I thought life could get no more mean
I saw trigger with the beautiful DAN box so green

She turned on the reg and saved me from death
I slipped on the mask and took a deep breath

I felt much better in a minute or two
I knew exactly what I must do

I spoke not a word as I went about my work
There can be no evidence that I was a Jerk

Around the foredeck and cabin I ran
All film and memory cards went in the can

As I sprang to the dock and kissed the worn wood
I promised from now on my behavior would be good

As the SD-Angels departed jextract gave a wolf whistle
Guess who got the hit with the solid lead missile

But as I lay and fade out of site
I say Merry Christmas to all and to all DiveRite

Jim

Edited by maninthesea, 17 December 2004 - 04:03 PM.

[bluedolphin]

Manintehsea----Now that is really clever.

[chinacat46]

Good one Jim!

[TraceMalin]

Hi all, here's my submission since I wrote a parody version of 'A Visit From St. Nicolas entitled "'Twas the Night Dive Before Christmas" as well which was published in a book of parodies after appearing in the rec.scuba newsgroup. But, since I already have an autographed copy of "The Shadow Divers" signed by the author and both Chatterton & Kohler thanks to the generosity of two of my students, I'd like to be in the running for a consolation prize


The Spearo by Trace Malinowski

The coastline seemed desolate except for a brigade of nocturnal waves which charged ashore as if to conquer the pristinely packed sand of the South African beach, until a man, appearing as a wraith clad in a black wetsuit, came to his feet in the surf and trotted barefoot upon the sand. His footfalls were quickly hidden by several sweeps of turbid water, but his diving equipment seemed to knell out a somber death toll for only himself to hear as the hoses and instrumentation that served as a lifeline underwater clanged against the hollowed emptiness of his tank.

In the moonlight, his feet continued on to the soft powder of the dunes leaving imprints which would be blown away in the gusts of coming days. Beside each print, fell dark stains which sank through the fine granules to be absorbed into the earth. His blood wouldn't remain either. Such was the erasure of nature.

He knew he was injured, but he wasn't able to see to what extent. The lanyard from which his dive light had been attached to his wrist hung impotently; it's frayed end nothing more than a kite string in the breeze since having been severed by the creature just minutes before. He ceased running and stopped to turn to face the sea which gaped at him like the foreboding entrance to the dragon's lair. He bent himself over slightly to rest his hands on his knees and better position his back to retain the weight the steel tank. As he did so, he felt a burning sensation as his palm contacted the neoprene rubber knee pad of his wetsuit. He turned his hand over to see the deep lacerations in his palm.

The shark had been a great white. Some in this country would refer to it as a white pointer, or as a white death. It had been small, about eight feet long, but had struck him with the speed and fury of a locomotive with scalpels for a "cow catcher." He had been night diving alone, which some would consider foolhardy, and perhaps in these waters, it was, but for him it was merely recreation. He knew the risks, accepted them, and tonight he had lost.

It had bitten him as he was climbing into his inflatable boat, it's teeth tearing into his right arm and side, as the shark made a typical surface strike most likely mistaking him for marine prey such as a seal or sea lion. It had probably been stalking him underwater just out of range of visibility and the beam of the diving light and as he as ascended, the shark came from below and behind, exploding upward with powerful strokes of its scythe-like tail, the conical head parting the water column allowing the rest of the beast to follow smoothly in the wake of the jaws, which opened to reveal perfect triangles of terror in the moonlight, and as the eyes rolled back almost lustfully, the creature surrendered to the eventuality of the strike. The nictating membranes which shielded the eyes from the jagged bones of the victim slid into position and with shocking swiftness, a half ton of fish ran into one hundred and sixty-five pounds of man. Some teeth scraped sickeningly, like fingernails on a chalkboard, across the steel SCUBA cylinder of compressed air, while others punctured through the air cells of the diver's buoyancy compensator, penetrating the rubber of the suit and stabbing through skin, muscle and bone with bayonet precision.

The diver didn't have time to scream as he was driven hard into the gunwale of the boat, feeling the great mass seem to break, then crush him and as the shark pulled him toward the deadly abyss of the deep, he could feel the cutting of his flesh, the sting of cold sea water and the ripping of sinew. Nerve endings cried out in ways the voice could not, and in the dreamy surreal world of bedazzlement, the diver was aware of the fish ripping away the engine mount as it slipped into the ocean and disappeared beneath the waves. He had wanted to bolt from the water and run, but as soon as his mind had realized the impossibility of the action, he calmed and began thinking clearly. Years of expecting that moment had prepared him for it. The fear had receded before the shark's figure could no longer be glimpsed below the surface. He had accepted the reality of the situation and had begun to plan instantaneously to attempt survival. The boat had been destroyed so, before he had even tried climbing into it, he had known there was no point and he would have just wasted what precious little time he had in knowing the shark would most likely move off briefly to survey the scene, check the area for competitive predators and then check the life status of the prey item. It might wait for it to die, or once determining that it was alive but wounded, move in for the kill, to feed or to place another mutilating bite to incapacitate it.

The diver remembered that he had started swimming away from the boat on the surface, but quickly realized that he needed to head for shore and had looked up to locate the beach. Adjusting his heading slightly, he then had remembered that being on the surface was very dangerous, so he had summoned all of his courage and descended into the inky dark water with only the luminous gauges on his equipment to light his way. He had raced to the bottom in about thirty feet of water and because the buoyancy compensator had flooded, he was heavy and kept bumping into the bottom. His steadfast eyes had followed the luminous dial and lubber line of his compass as he swam in a frenzy toward the shore.

He remembered praying, not so much to be saved, but for forgiveness of his sins should those be his last moments, all the while, the nerves in his body were on edge, expecting to feel the giant hulk seize him unseen from the grave depths. But, somehow he had made it so far. He was alone on a deserted beach and bleeding. His only chance was to walk for help. He slid his air tank off, dropped his weightbelt and realized he had left his fins in the surf, having ripped them off to rush ashore. He pulled off his mask and dropped it next to his tank. He popped the compass out of the console that held a depth and pressure gauge as well, and headed west along the shoreline, while unzipping his wetsuit jacket and unlatching the beaver tail. He would leave his suit in place save for that change. The tightness would help bind his wounds and wearing it would keep him warm.

He was far from home. Not just far from his small trailer which lay miles away secluded in the dunes near Durban in a small surf side town which existed as a suburb for the large city, but far away from the life which had forged and sustained him as well; a life which had become a distant memory in the wave crests of time and tide.

The townspeople never knew his name, but they seemed to like him as did their kids. He was always ready to lend a hand and help those around him and did so with only a smile or a nod, never actually saying much. South Africans weren't busybodies. He gave them that. The violence which forged their nation gave them too many experiences with personal ghosts and they knew how to recognize demons in others. They had made up their minds that he was harmless, at least to them, and left him be.

He was simply known as "the spearo" which was a South African term for a spearfisherman because he spent most of his days alone in the sea hunting with a long gun. He would return home with dinner for himself, and occasionally if the opportunity presented itself, a fish for a neighbor or two. For him, life had become lonely nights of trying not to think about what had been or might have been; he usually failed at this, and long days spent in the blue water watching for flashes of game fish in the azure depths and watching for those that were in turn hunting him.

No one knew exactly what he did for money, and no one really cared. He existed modestly, owning only the trailer and an old Land Rover. Truth be known, he was a writer, or had been one. Somehow, he had sold a novel and with the first royalty check in hand, he had left America for the vastness of the Transvaal region. South Africa was a mess politically, economically and socially and had become a modern version of the American "Old West" with due process of law usually being a bullet. It was the perfect place for a man who no longer cared about living.

Even now with death as a traveling companion on this trek, he was stoic as to what fate lie ahead as a result of the shark attack. If he lived, he lived. If he died, he died. He only prayed that if he should die, that God, whom he truly believed existed, would forgive him for wasting his life. Maybe if he had to do it all over again, he would find joy in living, and treat each day with the optimism of Julie Andrews dancing in the alpine hills? But, life had been hard to him and cruel and most days it was all he could do to make it to the next without falling into some chasm of depression. So, no, he decided he'd still be just as jaded as he was now because as an idealist all one will ever have is Thermopylae after Thermopylae. Shakespeare once penned, "Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once." There was truth in that statement, but it was also true that a valiant person with a heart will bear the wounds of multiple emotional crucifixions before breathing the last.

This ordeal about dying; if it came to that, was easy compared to living. He didn't fear it. If anything, it was amusing. Looking back at how his life had unfolded, he had to almost laugh at how he, as a child, had been born into a cozy protected world, a world that had been happy and thrilling at first, but despite the best efforts of a mother's love and the love of grandparents and siblings, he had become polluted by hardships and scarred by the pain that society's dregs unleashed into the world, and the pain in his soul had magnified to the point that he relished dying. He wondered how the shark felt right now. Was it happy? Did it have emotions? Or, was it a biological mechanism? Did it simply feed on seals and sea lions, and then swim uncaring into the deep once it had met its nutritional needs? What of seals and seal lions? Did they, as mammals, start out thinking that the ocean was just one big swimming pool and that their lives would be spent in play with mommy and daddy nearby? When does a seal or sea lion discover that death awaits off rock jetties and how did they feel about life once they realize it wasn't as much about play as about survival? He wondered if they had emotions. He knew apes, like man, committed suicide, but why would they? What does an ape feel that would make it jump off a cliff? Or did they actually intend to kill themselves? Perhaps they just decided to see what would happen if they jumped; their curiosity overcoming instinct?

Funny, he thought, if he were a child and this had happened to him, he'd be afraid and crying looking to adults to save him. Now, he could really care less if he just bled to death right there. Was this selfishness or raw courage? He knew he was a brave man because he feared little, but how had that courage come about? He knew so many people who had a strong instinct for self-preservation and pain avoidance. Many people failed to function under extreme pressure or duress. What makes one man walk proudly to a gallows, slip the noose around his own neck, and with a smug expression and a witty remark bid his executioner and the spectral audience adieu, while another would curl into a ball and cry if his life were in danger? Was it how childlike in innocence one was that determined the level of courage? If anyone loved his or her life so much as to shed tears and plead to continue it, perhaps it was the cowards in the world who were truly blessed? Maybe for them, rainbows still promised gold and maybe they actually could find joy in a bluebird? Maybe they still dreamed?

He remembered looking at catalogs as a child and dreaming of the day he would be an adult and have a home, a pretty, loving wife and a family. He'd come home from work, like all dads did and savor the furnishings, the peace and joy of love, playing with his children and laughing with his wife as she took care of the home. Did that exist for anyone? Or was that just snake oil created to sell a floor lamp?

Well, it didn't matter now, did it? That hadn't been the cards life dealt him. He wasn't bitter. He was just tired. Growing increasingly tired both mentally and physically. It was late, he needed sleep and he wasn't sure whether the fatigue was because of the hour or because he was losing too much blood and would be dead soon. He checked his diving watch and discovered that he'd been walking nearly an hour. What would make him want to live, he thought? If he wasn't going to quit, he needed something on which to focus. A long time ago, he'd had purpose. Was it that long ago? Three years, was it? Three years since she'd gone?

He wondered where she was now. No woman had ever been loved so greatly by any man. He was certain of that. But, sometimes love just wasn't enough. What had it been about her? Better put, what hadn't it been about her? She used to ask him why he loved her. Words had always failed him when it came to expressing what his heart whispered or screamed when she had been near him or whenever he had thought of her. Had thought? It was screaming for her now thinking of her. It's ache was greater than that of his shredded sinews. He always imagined her somewhere in the world, laughing, smoking her cigarettes and surrounded by friends or family. He imagined her smile. It was a wonderful smile; the kind that used to warm his heart or brighten even the most dreary day. Was she smiling now? Somewhere far away, perhaps St. Louis, sitting in a bar with friends, her arm around the man she married, joking, giggling and being so alive.

He had to stop thinking of her like that. The mind was a very powerful survival tool and thinking of her touching her husband's face, kissing him and celebrating life with him would drain away any will to live. He felt very alone. Very forgotten.

He stopped walking and sat down in the sand to watch the water. The vastness of the ocean was an entity to him. An entity he always considered in the feminine as a mistress. Social conditioning could be one reason for regarding the sea like a woman, or it could simply be that the sea was like a goddess in Greek mythology. Rather than being ruled by Neptune, the sea had its own spirit and he felt that somehow the sea loved him. Yet, he felt her love was a jealous longing to possess him. The ocean was a tease and a flirt, beckoning him into her depths, but the love could only be in vain. He was human and the ocean's cold embrace was no match for the warmth of flesh, the protective love of a woman;s arms and the clear understanding to be found in a pair of kind eyes. The sea, he felt, loved him with murderous intent.

Above him, he heard the whine of jet engines and glanced skyward to catch sight of a commercial airliner bound for perhaps Asia or the Middle East as it climbed away from the airfield in Durban. He rose to his feet a bit stiffly. As the shock wore off the pain was beginning to intensify and he could feel it stab him with each step. At least the plane had reminded him that there was hope of reaching a tangible goal, but it also reminded him of her and that lacerated his heart. He wondered if she might be aboard, working the flight as a cabin crew member or maybe traveling as a passenger. Seeing airplanes always hurt him emotionally. He didn't know where she was, but guessed she was still a flight attendant. When they had first met, she had been flying domestic, but perhaps she started flying internationally or with a corporate airline since they parted? He didn't know. But, each time he saw an aircraft, he thought of her and the crucifixion nails drove themselves deeper into the cross upon which losing her love had impaled his soul. He remembered her getting ready for work on many occasions.

Her features were so beautiful. Her face, with its high cheek bones and full luscious lips always had a regal appearance, especially when she styled her hair up into a French twist. When her long blonde hair cascaded about her shoulders or fell upon her back, she emitted a sense of raw sexuality, yet, with just a few twists and a hair clip, she would complete the metamorphosis of transcending herself from a human equal to a goddess of Olympian proportions. She was an awe-inspiring work of art to behold. At first, when he used to watch her dress for work, fixing her hair and applying her make-up, the change in her countenance was so extreme as to be unnerving, but as he had grown accustomed to seeing her dress in her flight attendant uniform, her statuesque appearance became less emotionally distancing and he found himself being so proud of her for her professionalism. Often, he wished they had the time to return to the bed and make love before parting for hours or days, but all he could to was to stand close to her, watch her with the same appreciation as one would watch the sunset, and hope that the time apart would pass quickly.

He had an image in his mind. One that never happened, but a dream he wanted to fulfill with her. He wanted to be the one to pin her gold wings onto her uniform when she received them for several years of service to her airline. He'd lovingly and proudly pin them to her uniform and look her in the eyes and tell her how much he admired her. He'd stroke his fingers along her cheek, take her jaw gently in his fingers and draw her lips to his for a heartfelt kiss. But, perhaps another had done this by now?

He'd wanted her to share in his victories as well, especially his attempt at a deep free diving world record. He'd always pictured her close by him on the day in which he would have accomplished the deepest descent ever made by a snorkeler. There would be a small group of press photographers and writers representing dive magazines and international news agencies in attendance and she would be there too. His primary focus would be on her despite the concentration needed to accomplish the feat. She'd be dressed elegantly and they'd be more aware of her radiance than of him. He liked that. He smiled. She would have stolen the show.

Yes, he had done it. He'd gone deeper than anyone before him, but not officially. After she'd left, his dreams died with his heart. Yet, he'd go out and dive deep. Fate had found him once again in the Cayman Islands where he had once worked as a dive guide on boats that would cater to tourists. The Caymans were a great training ground for free divers because of calm seas and deep abyssal walls. One day, while alone, he'd dropped into the blue until the numbers on his depth gauge confirmed that he had grasped the trident from the king of the sea, but his return to the surface was met only by the judgmental eye of a narcissistic pelican.

The ocean was a place to which he could condemn himself; a sort of monastic self-exile to drown himself in the cold embrace of the sea the way one would drown his sorrows in alcohol. He missed her embrace. She used to hold him in a special way no woman ever had. Sleep was so easy next to her.

He wanted to sleep now. He fell to the sand and crossed his arms as he curled into a fetal position to stay warm and strategically placed a hand against his cheek as a pillow. It felt cold.

Awaking with a start, he sat up and looked out to where the swells would have been, but instead saw the familiar closet and walls of their bedroom that showed him comfortable shadows in the moonlight. He felt the heat from the sleeping form of a woman lying upon her side, her long blonde hair fanned across the pillow behind her head. Her scent rose into his nostrils. She smelled musky and sexy in her sleep. Her breathing was slow and relaxed. She was real. She was there. She was his.

Her back was to him so he placed his lips gently against her flesh and gave her a loving kiss. He allowed them to linger upon her smooth porcelain skin while he inhaled her scent, savoring her. He knew she lay naked beneath the thin sheet and he traced his fingers lightly across her shoulder and down her spine until they contacted the fabric. He ran his touch along the silk until he found the irresistible curvature where her hip led to her most intimate secret. His lips kissed up her back and shoulder until he began nuzzling the nape of her neck and tenderly biting her earlobe. His touch found her pubic hair and he allowed them to play in the dalliance of her wispy fibers. She began to stir.

"I love you," he whispered.

She smiled and turned toward him as his caress found her legs parting to permit him to touch the egress of her ecstasy.

"I love you too," she replied.

They moved their bodies close together and began kissing with the deepest sincerity and expression of love. Gently he played in her dew until her eyes and her sweat beaded figure glistened to climax. Then, he took her face in his hands and began kissing her with raging passion. She could taste his love for her as his tongue swept past her lips and found dalliance deep inside her mouth. They could taste one another and drink in their heated breath. Their hands explored flesh, muscle and tightening sinew as they brought themselves together, mating with animalistic hunger, driven to bond, to find emotional and physical fulfillment as they became lost in one another and then found as they came together, his seed spewing forcefully into her delicious abyss as her nails dug into his skin as her quivering muscles took him into her very core and her orgasm milked him of every last drop of desire his body produced in need of her.

They lay together her arms encircling him as she rested her head upon his chest listening to him softly breathe.

His fingers softly played with the strands of her hair.
"I'm glad you don't have to fly today," he commented.
"Me too," she said, running her fingertip along his skin.
"Sweetheart?" she began.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Will you always love me?"
"Until the last sunset on earth sinks into the sea and beyond." She smiled. She believed him.
They lay entwined until bound together in sleep.


Somewhere, he didn't know where, he could almost hear the sea and taste salt upon his lips.

[Marvel]

So..... you want our official consolation prize- ScubaHawk? Please tell me you just want him to lug your steel doubles around.....I think we should get to see YOUR version of "A Visit From St Nick" as well!

[TraceMalin]

I was hoping for a different consolation prize. But, now that you mention it, Scubahawk wouldn't be that bad of a deal. He could lug my tanks around since I volunteered to sherpa Nicolle's and therefore I could carry more of her stuff. He could be my lifeguard for valve drills & gas switches and my S-drill and buoyancy buddy. He could fetch the 24 oz. cups of French vanilla coffee from the local Top Star. He could pick up chicks with his good looks and give you long massages while enduring my advanced training or spank you when you perform skills like a turkey diver with your head up your butt. He could watch my wallet & CD player while I surf & split time my lap swimming. Then, pick up more chicks . He could analyze the O2 & He in tanks, clean out the truck, rake the beach when the machine doesn't do it while I lifeguard & pick up more chicks (again not the SD ones, Hawk. Maybe get ones named Raspberry Snow and Morning Breeze from a Grateful Dead concert? Or, some surfer girls wearing Roxy? The list could be endless! Good deal!

Trace

[TraceMalin]

Trace's version as requested by Marvel & Kamala:

'Twas the night dive before Christmas, when all around the sunken barque
Not a pelagic creature was stirring, not even a shark;
My long hose was wrapped around my neck with great care,
But I spotted a stroke with a can of SpareAir;


The abalone were nestled throughout the kelp beds,
While shimmering fishies schooled past my head;
My buddy in his drysuit and I in my wet,
Had just descended the anchor line and on the bottom we met;


We were checking our gauges when we heard this strange clatter,
So we swam to the wall to see what was the matter;
We reached the edge swimming in a dash,
When something tore by us and flew down in a flash;


The illumination of our beams through particles of snow,
Gave a surreal luster to the object below;
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But Pipin's new sleigh ... and eight... no, nine... tiny reindeer?


With a jolly old diver dropping through the dark,
I knew right away I must be quite narced;
More rapid than seagulls after ice cream,
This guy just kept going ... I swear... this wasn't a dream;


Now Pipin, now Mayol, now Umberto too,
Even Maiorca, his daughter and Costeau;
Have been known to freedive deep without fear,
And let's not forget that aquababe Grier;


But through the water column and far down the wall,
Santa and this sled continued to fall;
He was holding his breath and he was unmasked,
In order to take on his new found Christmas task;


The reindeer, however, were blowing bubbles,
Since they were clad in helmets and doubles;
So need to worry about the reindeer being hypoxic,
Or even about their oxygen becoming toxic;


For on each little cylinder stenciled in WKPP style,
Was a blend of trimix that would last quite awhile;
So don't be concerned with our little friends drowning,
Lots of stage bottles were D-ringed in their mountings;


Santa was Bodygloved from his toes to his chin,
And strapped to his feet were a pair of long-bladed fins;
A bundle of toys still clung to his back,
Held there in place by a Dive Rite Transpac;


His eyes were wide-open and his cheeks were so very...
Cold from the water ... what do you expect? ... it's almost January!
At the bottom of the cable Santa reached his max depth,
He then began to ascend but let out a breath;


As my buddy and I peered into the night,
Rudolph's shiny red nose portrayed Santa's plight;
He was snagged on the cable... wrapped up like twine,
By that meanest of "grinches" -- monofilament line!


There was no time to lose, no time to waste,
Christmas must be saved, now and posthaste!
We wanted to save him, we wanted to go,
But, alas and unfortunately, our air supplies were low;


Just as I thought Christmas was off,
I borrowed an idea from David Hasselhoff;
A can of SpareAir would do the trick!
All I had to find was that stroke ... yeah... that dick!


My light panned the water frantically from left to right,
Searching the darkness... searching the night...
I picked him out quick as shot,
He was easy to find, easy to spot;


He wore mail order dive gear - everything bargain brand,
In his neon pink wetsuit jacket with those really weird fins ... you know the
revolutionary designed fins that are supposed to out-perform all others and he
even had the expensive ones with those adjustable ratcheting whiskers and I
mean ... gosh... with all those suicide snaps clipped to his weightbelt he
looked... pardon me, I digress...
He looked just grand;


Anyway... I knew where to find it, I knew where to go,
His SpareAir was dangling from his torso;
I reached him, I grabbed it and took off lickedy-split,
It was up to me to save our St. Nick;


I made it to Santa and cut him away,
Pulled him from danger on Pipin's sleigh;
Sorry I had to let Santa's bag plummet into the abyss that nigh' So if your
stocking was a bit empty, now you know why;


Long story short I made it on down
Thanks to yours truly, Santa didn't drown;
He may have had the record he may even have won,
But a freedive doesn't count if you breathe ... whether two breaths or one!


The reindeer decompressed, Santa and I did too;
After all, a SpareDeath will save you from goo.
My buddy he ascended and on deck became sick,
But not before finding some Jimmy Buffet music;


So Santa, my buddy, the reindeer and I
We got together to plan our next Christmas in July
And for all my heroism what did I win
The only thing Santa had left ... his long-bladed Rondine fins!


A P.S. to this story which ended happily for me and for you,
Unfortunately one diver failed to pull through;
When I grabbed his SpareAir to save our Santa bloke
I scared the fondu out of the stroke


He held his breath and overexpanded,
Deep down that wall his body has landed;
That's why he's gone ... my present to all here,
So, merry Christmas to you all and happy New Year!

~~ Trace

[WreckWench]

Great contribution Trace! And what an interesting life you lead! You give classic meaning to all the lifeguard and Bay Watch stories!

[WreckWench]

Really great! Thanks!

[VADiver]

The Twelve Days of Iraqristmas

On the _____ day of Iraqristmas, my Imam gave to me:

...the keys to a VBIED
...two foreign fighters
...three RPGs
...four new wives
...five golden Mosques
...six hostile sermons
...seven threatening flyers
...eight rusty AKs
...nine flaming fatwas
...ten pounds of C-4
...eleven men with small arms
...and twelve billion dinar!!!

[WreckWench]

Dude this is too funny! Good one!!!

[Raven]

Ole Dive Buddy of Mine
(to the tune of Auld Lang Syne)

Should all the dive spots be forgotten
and never brought to mind
I dare say not to forget dive spots or dive buddies of mine.

For all the buddies I have met
And those I’ve yet to meet
Let’s raise a cup of kindness dear
And drink with thoughts so sweet

May all my buddies get to dive throughout 2005
May all my buddies get to dive throughout 2005

We’ve donned our gear and plunged beneath to see what we can see
I hope that everyone can dive and enjoy the deep blue sea

I too would love to dive with you and share with you my plan
And have you dive with me at last the waters of this land

For all the buddies I have met
And those I’ve yet to meet
Let’s raise a cup of kindness dear
And drink with thoughts so sweet

May all my buddies get to dive throughout 2005
May all my buddies get to dive throughout 2005

For now my head is weary with the thoughts of the past year
I do believe 2005 will bring us all good cheer

I wish for you the holidays are truly as divine
As the majesty of all that lives beneath the fishing line

Should all the dive spots be forgotten
and never brought to mind
I dare say not to forget dive spots or dive buddies of mine

[jextract]

You all have WAY too much talent!!

[jextract]

He could watch my wallet & CD player while I surf & split time my lap swimming.

......... uh ...... I'm not so sure that's a good idea ....... you might wind up getting a post card from the Cook Islands with the message:

"Hi Trace -
Having a great time. Wish your credit limit was higher!
-'Hawk"

----------------------------------------
p.s. phenomenal story, my friend!