by Bob 'Dex' Armstrong

[Note from the Goat: The following is an endorsement that Dex sent to Glenn Harold, the new USSVI Perch Base Commander, upon hearing about Adrian Stuke's elevation to Vice Commander. Too good not to post...]


Adrian Stuke is a power-mad, ambitious, hirarchy climber. A despotic ruler, who crushes the peasant class he rules over. I speak as a former serf in the kingdom over which he ruled.

As a Leading Seaman, he was a fine decent human being... A lighthearted friend of the working man. However, with his elevation to QM3, power instantly corrupted him. He became power-drunk, breathing the elevated air of his lofty position. He beat me like a rented mule.

He repeatedly explained to me that Arliegh Burke personally appointed him to be a 'Petty Officer of the Line' and had grabbed him by the heels and dunked him into the gunk tank of maturity and sophisticated judgement. He repented his sins - which took him damn near two weeks - and ascended to the 'Golden Throne of Naval Leadership'.

From this elevated height, he looked down into the cess pit of the After Battery and instantly recognized the worthlessness of his former friends and low-end professional associates. He explained to those of us still snorkeling in the slime, how difficult it was to walk upright with the additional weight on his left arm represented by that fresh crow. He said that he planned to compensate for his pronounced port list by winning an aircraft carrier anchor pool and buying a ten-pound Rolex watch... And a Dolphin ring with a 25 Carat diamond as a center setting.

The magic wand that pronounced him to be a 'Petty Officer of the Line' did absoltutely nothing to secure his bullshit valve. 'Vice Commander' appears most appropriate, since nobody on the face of the earth knows more about the subject of vice. As a matter of fact, he once authored a book entitled Vice and Prositution for Fun and Profit within Five Blocks of DesSub Piers. Yes, if you were looking for an expert on vice, you got one of the best.

Also,when you selected this 'Paragon of Proper Behavior', you were probably unaware that he has been inducted in the Naval Paint Thieves Hall of Fame and holds a number of records in various categories of 'Willful Destruction of Naval Property', having covered a major portion of the Atlantic Ocean floor with chipping hammers, paint scrapers, pyrex coffee cups, one pneumatic three-prong knuckle-buster signed for by a lousy COB, Ensign Williams' framed photo of his mother, the COB's referees whistle, and numerous (to remain nameless) empty cans in weighted GDU bags, shortly after the completion of a first night in battery charge.

Far be it from me to be a tattle-tale, but your new Vice Commander never fessed up as to how a set of woman's step-ins got neatly tucked in behind the bolted flange of the 0-2 level chart table. As the Captains phone talker, a position carried on Requin's Watch, Quarter and Station Bill as the 'Old Man's Cigar Store Indian', I was present when the skipper found these 'gear-adrift' panties that my friend standing in the starboard lookout shears at the time, had removed from a certain barmaid the night before, while doing homework for his correspondence course in door-to-door gynecology.

He made me an accessory after the fact in many of his questionable activities and taught me that submarine tenders and sheep were intended by the Almighty to be regularly fleeced... And nobody, I mean NOBODY, sheared the sonuvabitches like the 'Great Mustaffah'.

Adrian was so good, he could charm that woman up at the Motion Picture Exchange (The one who looked like Mr. Ed the Talking Horse's mother), into a couple of those good sea prints she had stashed behind the counter.

Adrian was every Tender MAA's dream package... He worked them like they were handpuppets. If Rickover had ever turned water into wine, Stuke would've had two jugs of it before the nukes knew it was missing. When the space shuttle came apart, Adrian was devastated... He told me he had already sold twelve seats on the next one to some Aviation Machinist Mate in San Diego.

I love the guy. The perverted kind of love, born of riding like hell with the posse hot on our heels. A love shared by two guys at the absolute bottom rung of the ladder, who pooled their resources to navigate the tricky world of the 'Non-Rated Bottom Feeder'... The love of a guy that will use any excuse to oogle Janie... Please congratulate him and tell the devious bastard to save me a place, something like 'High Exhalted Senior Assistant to His Highness The PERCH BASE Vice Commander and Official One and Two-Way Trashdumper'.

Glenn, have something with advanced gum desease give him a kiss from me.