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...