Tall Tales of Felony and Failure

I recently stumbled across this internet story posted by a salty former O-Ganger, which included (I believe - I skimmed more than actually read the article) his small contempt for certain diesel powered submersibles. To this crusty lad, I provide assurances that quality ice cream can be made out of a turd, and that the PATIENCE’s archaic outer shell houses advancements in sound silencing he’s not considered. Her decks and major equipment float over magnetic fields so no acoustics will travel from them to the hull, and all of her coffee mugs are coated in plastisol.

I hope this self-proclaimed expert (italicized snidely) also reconsiders his uninformed impression of our submerged endurance. The PATIENCE’s diesel engines have been converted to run on a solution of Temerity, Courage, and Diligence, all of which we posses in no small supply. These monster engines then exhaust only Victory, which is delivered either directly inboard or to special purpose compressors for storage in our Victory Flasks (the revenue achieved through the sale of this bottled victory would surprise most). In emergency situations, the high-pressure victory stored in these flasks can also be vented directly to the ballast tanks, providing a guaranteed ascent to the surface in addition to the immediate destruction of our foes.

Because we can endlessly operate these engines at any depth without refueling, the only factor limiting the PATIENCE’s submerged operations is food for her devilish crew. We are not a finicky bunch. Dinty Moore can be (and often is) stowed anywhere and everywhere, so the always-steaming crockpot fills most voids and causes smiles.

In spite of all of our sly advancements and upgrades, though, the PATIENCE does operate under the assumption that a nuclear powered, subsurface watchdog is usually nearby (unless we are forced to ditch them) to monitor our Loyalty and protect our primary sponsor’s interests. As a matter of fact, we’ve established a Standard Operating Procedure to regularly execute fathometer soundings solely to broadcast our exact location, preventing potential submerged bumping caused by any deficiencies in our overseer’s broadband operator qualification process (DNSS).

I do acknowledge that our Captain would have been better served by purchasing a submersible designed specifically, from the ground up, to support our current mission types vice starting with a vessel that was initially, admittedly, unfit. The costs associated with the upgrades performed on our Wonderful Girl were staggering, and only now are true profits being realized. By the Captain’s own admission, though, he was out of sorts when he purchased her years ago, with only a vague vision of glory, fuzzy beneath his overwhelming, constant monologue of self derision.

Yesterday we returned from an extended underway, and last night was spent blissfully alone in my own bed. The cat, pleased with my return, shit on my exposed leg while I slumbered. The fecal smear was hard, flattened, and crackly when I woke, and peeling it off removed a swath of leg hair.  In retribution, I removed only two paw nails. I expect the reward for my compassion and restraint to be a lesser hell when I perish.  Those resting deep through my influence prevent me from heaven.