The Burt

My metabolism is changing, I can feel it. And I see it too. It appears I now have a spare chin right behind the original one. Just in case the original should malfunction or something, I don’t know. Can you see it there in the picture? Of course you can, it’s practically covering half the picture. I worry about it, you know. I worry that if that extra chin grows any more in size it might gain consciousness, realize that I am a threat to its existence, and try to take over my face! A Skynet scenario basically.
There’s a three letter word for my condition. The problem here is that the work is hard half the time, and easy-peasy the rest. But the calories consumed remain constant. I don’t know what to do about it either since the food is fucking delicious and there’s dessert every other day. And then there’s the candy, beer and coke(no, not the stripper-tits kind). I am trying not to enjoy life, but it’s so hard. 

We have onboard a VHF, a radio communication device we use to contact other stations and vessels to ensure safe navigation. How does it work, you ask? Have you ever seen the movie “Smokey and the Bandit”? It’s kind of like that, except I don’t have the awesome Burt Reynolds mustache. (No one does.) But it works the same way. You press the button and talk. Channel 16 on the VHF is reserved for two things, initial contact and emergencies, and all navigators are obligated to monitor this channel in case someone should need help. In this part of the world there is a somewhat lack of respect for these rules however. They sing. On channel 16. I can confirm the torture method of playing horrible music hours on end like they did to the inmates at Guantanamo. You lose it after a while. And there’s a guy imitating a frog. If I ever get my hands on that little shit-stain I’ll end his life using only a blender and a rusty spoon.

There are hundreds and hundreds of dead dragonflies on deck which further strengthens my theory that the Yellow Sea is not a sea at all but a swamp.