Boating is...by boatguy Ed Fort Myers Beach is a satirical site!

This is such a confusing time of the year. It feels like Saturday, everyday! College football should only be played on Saturday not every day. A few of us (Dead End Canal Yacht Club) members stayed awake, sorta, to see the end of the Wisconsin/USC game. I was awoken by "Cheese Head Mortimer" shouting hurrahs at the top of his lungs down the canal when Wisconsin stopped USC, to win. "And that is why we're late for breakfast," Mort explained to Sandy, our waitress at Marti's Family Place for breakfast and lunch.  "That's terrible," Sandy distractedly said, "what do you want?" Five of us snapped off our usual order. Erie Earl dawdled with the menu. "I'll be back for his," she said while pointing her pencil at Earl. Off she went and a young lady pouring coffee immediately replaced her, pot in hand. Suddenly, Earl was in a hurry to order but Sandy was busy for a few minutes. After he mumbled his egg white

"What a weekend we will have," stated Boston Bob, "a well know hater of Notre Dame. "I dislike Ohio State but I will root for them against the 'Irish Bums'!" Chicago Mike O'Farrel and Bob have nearly come to blows during ND games and rumor has it that Chicago Mike has been hitting the gym in anticipation of hitting Bob. Subsequently, those two will not be permitted to watch the game in the clubhouse. Their wives have already banned them from the house and pool/patio. "It takes 3 month of sessions with an animal behavior specialist for 'Wingnut' (their Parrot) to unlearn all the swear words he picks up during Catholic football games," says Mrs. O'Farrel! They have already reserved a seat apiece at the opposite end of the 'Pukin' Pelican's bar and agreed to hold it down or go onto the dock for any outbursts. I encouraged Busty Louise (PP manager) to have them post a bond but she didn't think it was needed. W

Merry Christmas The seven-mile barrier-island had once been just a safe harbor for the working fishing industry fifty years before. Recently the rich folks discovered it. "A bit of paradise," claimed the brochures. The natural beauty of the blue/green water, flat sandy beaches, swaying palm trees and sun drenched days, attracted tourists and the winter snowbirds. Estuary Beach was a late developing area. The first snowbirds were Ohioans and Michiganites that followed the Interstate 75 ribbon of concrete all the way to Venice Florida where 75 ended. A two lane road brought them further south looking for less expensive winter accommodations. Eventually, tourists from Miami and the Gold Coast came in the summer; they vacationed on Estuary Beach to get away from the compression of  people the East coast of Florida. As Paul leaned back and stared at the stars, the tallest structure was the Sky bridge. He didn't remember the old swing bridge that connected the mainland

  Run-aground Ralph wrecked his new Volkswagen. A school bus, he swears pulled out in front of him so he went up on the curb to prevent injuries to the little tykes. Unbelievably, the bus continued on it's way. He had no witness willing to give a statement so it was just him, his 2014 VW and the light pole when the Sheriff arrived. He text-ed Cap'n Crunch who forwarded the message to most of the club, 'Dead End Canal Yacht Club.' The nice Deputy cited Ralph for reckless driving which would have been a slap on the wrist for most of us but with his driving record, might mean jail time.  We arrived just as they were finishing up the report and we heard Ralph say, "All I know it was a female Black bus driver and we all know how THEY drive!" Cap'n Crunch hurried forward with the intent of dragging our furious fellow club member away from the Deputy. Crunchie isn't the most tactful person around but he does recognize when a hole is being du

About dark the first crack whore climbed aboard the Pukin' Pelican. She was skinny and missing her lower front teeth. Paul knew better than to ask. He just laid back and let her earn her twenty dollars. It was better than jacking off but not by much. It was mostly about the power he felt during the sex.  The whore was gone over the boats in a flash after getting paid. She had enough for a rock and would smoke it up and be in her little part of heaven for a while before going back aboard the boats and repeating the exercise. Paul was happy to dangle his legs off the top of the pilothouse and look out on the Back Bay. He watched the boats glide by. Some were commercial vessels and he knew a lot of the fishermen so he waved and raised his beer to them. Most of the boats were privately owned and they were just curious about the Shrimp boats. Whenever a good-looking girl was on the boat, Paul would stand up and pull up his shirt around his neck. Only once did a woman return the favo

Within an hour they were coming down through the outer channel getting ready to enter the inner channel. As they turned the point at the end of the island children jumped to their feet on the beach and waved. The crew was busy and dreaming of weed and beer and whiskey, only Paul noticed the cute little tikes running down the beach, waving at them. Stuttering Paul shouted, "Ga ga god daa daamned ta ta tourists!" The boat's engine and the whooshing of the breaking waves spared the children from the garbled harangue. The Captain, "Mighty" Jack Smalle was nearly fifty years old but his sea-worn face doubled that number. He should have been pleased by his boat's success but he was infamous for his irritability. Jack had even spurned the tradition of naming his boat after a lady just to piss off the locals and avoid the annual blessing of the fleet. "Pains in the ass! They want you to dress up the goddamned boat and let a bunch of dignitaries' come a

The crystal clear, afternoon summer sky welcomed the Shrimp boat named "The Pukin' Pelican" as it returned to Estuary Beach after three and a half weeks Shrimping on the Gulf of Mexico. Far inland there were black thunderclouds topped by white anvil shaped clouds. The strong sea breeze kept the thunderstorms inland and kept the beaches bathed in the receding Sun. The Pukin' Pelican rode high on the water, without the tons of fuel and provisions that were packed into it when it left port. The Shrimping harvest had been good. The hard working boat dragged its nets every night until the Shrimp dispersed ahead of the false dawn. Then during the day the boat anchored to grade shrimp and do net repairs and sleep. The crew was excited because some of them would sleep ashore that night. The Captain would be in the arms of his wife, another would be face down on some motel room floor. The two remaining would crawl up next to a Crack whore if they wished or blind drunk

“'Dead End Canal Yacht Club' special neighborhood defense meeting will now come to order,” said Defense Committee chair 'Farmer' Chuck. He really isn't a farmer but he is from farm country, Columbus Ohio. “I object to this entire proceeding,” said Run-aground Ralph, ”it is unconstitutional, irrelevant and not provided for under our bylaws. “You might object but by the look of that AR15 resting against your knee, you seem to be endorsing defense of our neighborhood,” said Erie Earl. “That's where you're wrong! I am against gun control and all these little groups eventually change focus to taking away my guns. I defend my own,” said RR. “How can you deny the evidence of San Bernadino and Paris. Your big gun is designed to kill people whether they are in the hands of our military or terrorists,” said Denver Darlene. Farmer Chuck intervened. “I want everyone to show his or her weapon to defeat ISIS on this canal!” At least half the

Boating is...by boatguy Ed: Glad to see you but NO we don't want to be best friends! www.supershipbottom.com

We, me and Mrs. boatguy, partook in the Fish Monger's Tuesday night happy hour which includes 1/2 price appetizers. It was crowded but our 4:30 arrival allowed us the opportunity to takeover two departing snowbirds seats at the bar. They stock my favorite beer so I am quite willing to attend. After the usual round of comments, "My Grandfather used to drink PBR....." "I didn't know they made that stuff anymore!" We settled in for fried Calamari, Shrimp Cocktail and Pot Stickers. It isn't difficult to engage my wife in conversation. So half way through my first app, I turned to say something incredibly brilliant/humorous only to find her deep in conversation with a newbie who had way to many questions that were asked in rapid fire like a grilling by the Police. "Where are you from.....here? No body is from here." "Where do you live?" "How often do you come here?" "Do you have children...grandc

At our Friday weekly "Dead End Canal Yacht Club" happy hour meeting we had several 'snowbird' members attend and we were confused? Punxsutawney Phil and Chicago Bob were warmly greeted and we listened intently to the summer stories of grand kids and boating adventures. "I had to get away from my grand daughters wedding plans," said Phil. "I buried my brother in June," said Bob, "and I needed my beautiful Fort Myers beach to cheer me up!" We all felt terrible for Bob but we were especially sympathetic to poor Phil. Funerals last 3 days, mourning may go on indefinitely but weddings are horrendous events for the brides family. “ They want me to wear a tuxedo and for Betty and I to renew the wedding vows. I said NO. Okay to the Tuxedo so Betty can wear a new fancy dress but after 40 years of marriage there is no reason to do over the wedding vow. Hell, I might change my mind. She ain't the same broad I married!” S

Boating by boatguy Ed A casual acquaintance collared me the other day at a popular watering hole and insisted that I listen to his 'undying desire' to own a boat. The word undying triggered long lost memories, some fond. some painful. If you're around the water long enough you'll meet enthusiasts like my friend and every other type of boater. I'm not talking about the beloved weekend boater with a 19 foot Barslammer and 2.2 kids and a third wife. No, I'm talking about working boaters and cruising boaters and dead boaters. Dying on a boat suddenly raises the living status of the most low of low life's. I knew a nasty back deck shrimper who went missing during a storm. He was memorialized by the same people he harassed when he was alive. He was an extreme case for sure. The news media grabs onto stories of boating stupidity and tries to make the people who died or nearly died into heroes. Endangering yourself and others would be called

It's been a bad week for “Run-aground Ralph” (a charter member of the 'Dead End Canal Yacht Club') especially last Friday. He was on the way to our hospital conglomerate fro a problem with a very serious personal issue. Since he doesn't use the ATM, he always goes inside to the teller window and so he did at an unfamiliar branch. While waiting in line, several bank employees noticed a huge bulge in his shorts. So huge that even his Bahama shirt couldn't conceal it. When he got to the window he passed the young female teller a deposit slip and a check. “Don't shoot,” she cried out loud while piling the money from her cashier's drawer into the win. “What...? The cold barrel of the guards gun cut him short. Suddenly, uniformed Ft Myers Police burst into the bank and threw poor Ralph to the floor. Six of them jumped on his back while one of them tried to handcuff the 73 year old. All Ralph could do was scream in pain. He'd landed on his m

Boating As a young lad I fancied myself a tough guy. I have a short history of accomplishments that mostly bears out my assumption even tho I was never as tough as some of my friends. That was 50 years ago. I set limits and stayed within. Never kicked anyone on the ground and always let them back up w/o hitting them when they were most vulnerable. I thought I was a good guy wearing a white hat, a peacemaker when I was a bouncer and I always took the underdogs side of the dust-up! Today the rules have changed. I watch the MMA cage fights and get really burned up. Those 'Frogs' fight with their feet and f+*ck with their tongues! And it is vicious and wrong. I never stood by while a defenseless combatant was pummeled like that even if it was my guy doing the pummeling! After I or my friends pulled the pummeler off, he would have the option of continuing with one of us. Never happened! That is why I am at a loss to understand who continues to kick me now that I'm down.

Well maybe not fired. "We've decided to go in a different direction!" Immediately after this column ran? I always figured this was the reason despite her denial. Go figure? Nearly 10 years down their drain and a lot of unhappy readers but I was happy! Boating; Religion's Big Days and Disappointments by boatguy Ed This should get a few letters. I have one absolute in my life – NO POLITICS OR RELIGION in bars. Since I'm not in a bar as I write this, that rule doesn't apply. To say I'm disappointed in ALL religions is an understatement but my biggest disappointment has to do with a member/Chaplain of the “Dead End Canal Yacht Club.” The 'Reverend' has let us down on two recent occasions. He is or has been our tea sipping designated driver and permanent Chaplain. But He's struggled with staying on the wagon lately while acting as designated boat driver. On St. Patrick's Day he volunteered to drive his tri-toon boat while a sm

"What a bunch of CRAP," said Fighting Joe as he read the latest on Donald Trump's declaration against Senator McCain, "hero or no hero, it's all Political bullshit!" "Now we'll get the true scoop of poop from our old front line troops," said 'Nam Norm'! "I was there and proud of it," said Joe as he spit on my garage floor. The argument escalated between Norm and Joe even as I threw Joe a garage rag. He threw it back. "Wipe up your spit or get the fuck out," I shouted as I threw the rag back," this ain't the cleanest garage but if my wife saw you do that we'd never use it again!" "So settle the argument, boatguy," said Cap'n Crunch," is McCain a hero or not?" "Of course he's a hero   not because he flew combat aircraft and risked his life. Not because he was shot down and held captive. Not because he was often tortured for 5 years BUT because he turned down  o

Boating boatguy Ed Donlin These few statistics are hard to ignore if you are a boating guy. First, 75% of the choice about which boat to buy is made by the women of the family! Second, 90% of the choice to get out of boating is made by women! Let me explain, you see the first statistic deals with the final choice between several models of boats. The female partner in the deal usually has the final choice in the brand, color scheme and equipment. That is a lot of power to have but it’s okay with me!The fact that it is a fishing boat had to be established earlier. The second statistic has to do with the reason that families get out of boating. “If Mama ain’t happy, nobodies happy,” my gray haired daddy used to say! Getting woman on the water isn’t a chore because they usually like boats but they don’t like to be uncomfortable unless they are sailor, sailors! We should plan our outings with their comfort firmly planted in our brains. We should consider any tendencies to b

Hello Johnny, It's Payback Time. My wife is a Cleveland Browns fan because, I don't know why? She went to college in Ohio and was brainwashed by her dorm mates I guess. She isn't from Ohio and was able to escape without becoming an Ohio State fan. So when John, 'Johnny Football', Manzell started for the Browns on Sunday we had to watch. Luckily I don't go to the Bayside Bar and Grill anymore so we couldn't watch while immersed in RABID Dog Pound fans. We went to 'Fort Myers Beach Doc Fords' and had a great time eating a special football lunch, drinking iced tea and diet Coke. We had a front row seat to a TV in the corner and there were even some gentile Browns fans nearby. Everything was good except the game. “Oh my gosh,” my wife said that at least 50 times through 3 quarters. She also questioned the play calling but most vehemently questioned the play of the offensive line. “Can't they block ANYONE,” she asked almost every

Boating is… Sailor’s Eye! By boatguy Ed “Why should I watch my hat,” Run-aground Ralph said to me as he stood on the bow of the small fishing boat. He likes the big broad brimmed straw hats that are lightweight and protect a lot of skin from the sun. I had cautioned him about putting a clip on strap between the hat and his collar but he knew better. I was very proud of myself when he was leaning over the short gunwale of the boat trying to fish out the floating hat. A sudden gust of sea breeze had come across the summer calm afternoon and caught him unprepared. Ralph glowered at me when he tried to make the soggy hat stay on his head. I just shrugged my shoulders and said, “It’s my sailor’s eye!” “Baloney, sailor’s eye, never heard of such nonsense,” grumbled Ralph as he went on casting. As I looked out on the glassy smooth water I could see the first signs of more wind moving our way. The dark patches on the shiny water were the ripples caused by wind. T