Torpedoes armed and ready

An Australian submarine commander has been reprimanded for suggesting that female sailors wear bikinis to attract male recruits. Quite right too. I’m sure the young men of his nation were deeply offended by the notion that they’d spend weeks inside a giant sardine tin merely to ogle a few dolly birds. They could do that at Bondi Beach without the inconvenience of having to inhale each other’s farts. In any case, it is a noble tradition that the crew of a warship should bottle their libido while at sea. The economy of many port cities depends on hordes of sexually frustrated sailors painting the town red during their shore leave, lured to excess by the tarts and nymphomaniacs who congregate for their arrival.

If the Australian navy is short of manpower, the prospect of combat at sea might attract a few red-blooded volunteers. Australia’s natural enemy is New Zealand, whose sportsmen have been getting away with murder for far too long, taunting
their antipodean rivals with obscene chants and gestures. I’m not sure whether New Zealand has a navy, but the Aussies could easily ram a few of their merchant ships while jeering in larrikin style. The coup de grâce would be a daring amphibious raid on enemy territory, taking a large number of sheep captive. The Kiwis would surely raise the white flag after such a bitter humiliation.

After subjugating New Zealand they should turn their attention to Malaysia. The
former prime minister of that country is continually insulting Australians, calling them “roughnecks”, “white men” and other derogatory terms. He is clearly a madman in need of a strong dose of gunboat diplomacy. I would advise them to send a couple of destroyers to bombard his mansion with cans of Australian beer, a greatly feared beverage in that part of Asia. He’ll think twice before shooting off his mouth after his hair has been shampooed with a gallon of tepid Castlemaine XXXX. Sadly, the current administration in Canberra probably lacks the nerve to order such an expedition. The stomach for a fight seems to have withered since John “The Sheriff” Howard was deposed from high office.

One nation Australia should never go to war with is the old colonial master – the conflict would be far too one-sided. The gutless spirit of today’s Royal Navy was seen in the
capture of its sailors by the wild-eyed crazies of the Iranian speedboat flotilla. The hostages sung like canaries during their interrogation, and even attended a farewell burka-and-turban party before their release. Lord Nelson would have bitten the fingers of his remaining hand to witness those craven youths pay homage to the hairiest beards of the Islamic Republic.

The only British mariner captured during the Battle of Trafalgar was Able Seaman Noah Dogsworth, unluckily knocked cold by an enemy marine. When a French officer tried to kiss his cheeks before his repatriation, Dogsworth rebuffed the Gallic upstart with a bite to the nose.

“Blast yer arse from a cannon!” he shouted. “Give me biscuit weevils and stale piss for supper afore corrupting me with yer Frenchy ways!”

The spirit of Dogsworth surely lives on in the proud island race from which he sprung –
but not alas in the Queen’s Navy.

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