Anchors Aweigh

Okay
I am going to demystify something for you.
I am going to tell the tale of what happens, on a Navy Ship, when the Equator is crossed.
There is a tradition, that until you have crossed the equator on a ship, that you are a Lowly Polly wog. Most of you, I suspect, my bloggy friends, are such Wog's. As was I, until one fateful day.
'Wog Day' is a much anticipated day on any WestPac(western pacific) Cruise. The 'foreplay' if you will, starts well before the equator is even neared. It practically starts the first day the ship is underway on said cruise. Because, my bloggy friends, if you've already crossed the equator, and you are no longer a Lowly Polly wog, that means you are a Shell back, and, when the equator is crossed, you get to beat the hell out of the new Wogs, so that they, in turn, might become Shell back. It's the circle of life, Navy life.
So the threats from the Shell backs begin to fly. The closer you get to the equator, the more they fly. 2 weeks before the equator is approached trash starts being saved, and old, orange fire hoses are cut into 'shillelaghs'. (Basically, an arm length piece of hose used to beat the arse of the wogs as they crawl through the ship).
So, Wog day comes. It comes with a vengeance. As a wog, I am hiding, wearing my uniform as prescribed (inside out and backwards)awaiting the Shellback that will find me and my wog friends in our hiding place. A big, tall, dark officer found us, somewhere around dawn. He was dressed in purple and had a mighty arm, that's all I remember. We crawled all over the ship an his command, yelling at times "Cock a doodle do, wake up Samuel Gompers", and, "I'm Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs". (both his choices.)
Sadly, for me, I forgot to get gloves. We crawled a little to close to the engine room level, and the metal floor was hot enough to blister my hands. Purple officer got us out of there and took us down to the 'wog pool', a section of passageway filled with salt water. Here, my bloggy friends, is where my blisters broke open, allowing salt water to flow freely over tender skin. HOLY HELL.
Because I was injured, purple officer set me aside, with my friend Todd's bitch girlfriend who was whining. (I was not whining, I wanted to bea shellback!). My hands were seen to, we went on our way. I was taken to 'wog breakfast'. (Green stuff in a bucket), then, up to the flight deck for the main event. Once there, I passed through the trash shoot (twice, so that a friend could get a picture), then I had to pull the cherry out of the greased belly button of Davy Jones. All around me, other wogs were suffering the same fate. Eventually, I found my way to a smaller salt water pool, where, once I was dunked in, I was no longer a lowly wog, but a Shell Back. Then, my whole uniform was ceremoniously dumped over the side of the ship, and I was free to shower, and wash the 2 week old spaghetti out of my hair.
I'm so proud of my certificate. My one sadness is, I never got to cross the equator again, as a Shellback, to beat virgin Wogs. (But it wasn't worth re-enlisting for).