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Dude, yeah. Last time this happened to me, I was a good bit younger and I just spent all my time and severance sailing a Cal20 everywhere. Cougars were all over me in every anchorage I arrived, because what kind of retarded lunatic sails a Cal20 long distances?!

But I wanted my wife back [long and rather predictable story, perhaps] and figured if I sailed to Austrailia in an aptly named vessel, her Royal Navy father would be impressed, which in turn would surely win her back... well... I won her back without that. But still. Now I HAD TO DO IT!

And the old codger dropped dead. Thanks australian soclialised medicine! Fuck. I think that hit me harder than it did her. That old fuck was every bit ac fun and racist as any of us, and I LOVED talking to him. Meeting him would have been deeply meaningful. I was just slightly worried about my featherniggerness... but he loved indians [feather]... and my Irish side would have been the challenge, as he hated the Irish. Fuck, I miss that bastard. I only knew him from a distance, and we were already friends, if only due to his daughter... but if I had to fight him for her, I would have at least pretended.

Fuck. Sorry. Words. Tl/dr. Bla bla, I am a drunken sailor.