25 October 2013


On entering the Virtual Mess Hall, I felt a tension that did not exist there on previous trips. On approaching the steam table, The Butter-Cutter was putting pats of butter into the bowl of ice before him, “What the f*** ya starin’ at?” he barked when looking up at me.

“Whoa, there! That was uncalled for!” I answered.

“Yeah! Yeah! Maybe so. But, when ya can’t get laid ‘n’ ya can’t Wack-Off, ya get up-tight!” he moaned.

“You can’t . . . WHAT?”

“Man, when the Dudes went awhile without gettin’ any, they’d Wack-Off! Now, if ya do it, it’s Office Hours er worse!” The Butter Cutter explained.

He cut me off saying, “That was all BULLSHIT! There weren’t no disease shit! Disease from what? Dirty hands? They think we’re all stupid ‘n’ believe that shit!” 

“Well, then, what brought about this restriction? Is there a conflict with some new monastic Corps value?” I asked.

“Hell no. It’s all about that Sexual Harassment shit. Them Sexual Harassment Political Officers heard that in dry times we were gettin’ a little “Mother Palm ‘n’ her five daughters.” So they pushed a reg through ta stop all the Dudes from takin’ advantage o’ them Females!”

“Huh? Are you saying that the euphemism for one’s hand in masturbation—Mother Palm and her five daughters--has been equated with real women?” I asked incredulously. 

“Heh, them officer-types said it’s all sexual harassment. But that ain’t the worse part. The Amos ‘n’ Andy Comedy Team came up with “Masters’-Baits.” The Butter-Cutter explained.

I paused a moment not really understanding what this solution was. So I asked, “What do you mean by, ‘They came up with ‘masturbates’?’”

“Oh . . . Man! MASTERS’-BAITS! Gloves ta cover-up Mother Palm ‘n’ her daughters! That way ya ain’t takin’ advantage o’ all them Females!”

“Masturbate gloves?” I mumbled.

“No, Man! Masters’-Baits gloves with the picture of Amos’s face on one ‘n’ Andy’s face on the other: With one on each hand, ya do what’s called a ‘Face Job Switcheroo’!”


“Ya bet yer ass it’s ridiculous! We’re HETERO MEN: When our peckers see them Dudes’ faces, it’s no way José! It only works fer the ‘Fs’--Fags ‘n’ Females!"

“No! No! For any way, shape, form or . . . “ Why am I letting him drag me into this absurd conversation. “And the troops are using these . . . things?” I blurted out.

“Well . . . the Fags did bitch, sayin’ they preferred Brown Eye ta Face. So the ever-bowin’ Amos ‘n’ Andy Team came up with Masters’-Baits with a Brown Eye on the glove palm ‘n’ four stars on the fingers of one ‘n’ Sergeant Major chevrons surroundin’ the Brown Eye on the other.”

This has got to be some malcontent initiated thing to defame the CMC and his Sergeant Major, I thought. “OK, what is the real scoop? Who came up with these . . . gloves?”

“No Shit, Man! After the Scout-Sniper shit sandwich, Amos and Andy decided to show the troops how sensitive they were; so, they came up with these Masters’-Baits. It’s all about wantin’ to be there in our time o’ need. But the only ones they made happy were the, ‘Fs’!”

“AAAAAGGGGHH,” I exclaimed as I turned and left the Virtual Chow Line. On exiting the Virtual Mess Hall, The Butter-Cutter’s words echoed in my ears: “But the only ones they made happy were the ‘Fs’.” This whole exercise from anti-masturbation regulations to Masters’-Baits rates a capital “F,” as in the words of The Butter-Cutter, “Have ya lost yer FREAKIN' mind!” 

Semper Capital “F,”

Anthony F. Milavic
Major USMC (Ret.)