The Seabag the Clown thread

just for evlbstrd. Go for it.

edit:
Mabus made me do this. She threatened to instill into me a fear of clowns. Now I must explain why I'm immune.

In high school, I was an art and theatre geek. It was all that kept me in high school. In the end, I didn't graduate because a hernia bestowed upon me during the weightlifting segment of PhysEd left me unable to complete one half of a credit.The Coach, who is still a nazi football coach at a local private high school, offered to let me clean the locker room in lieu of physical participation for the half credit. He didn't believe I had said hernia, despite the documentation of the physician, who was at the time the head doctor for the Kansas City Chiefs. The fucker hated me and I hated him. I declined his offer.

So, I needed a GED.

Now, the war in Viet Nam had just ended. I had absolutely no college prospects. I had auditioned for, and been accepted by the Actors Studio. I had also won some fine art prizes. I couldn't afford to pursue either one. My family was in no position to help me. I decided that a stint in the military was my only option to get to a slightly better future. Much like the economic draft we now have. The difference is that there was no war and no real national stomach for one. That alone made it more safe, although the military is inherently not safe. I next decided that joining the Navy was the best option. In addition to no battle assignments, I wouldn't have to shoot at people or have them shoot at me. Join the Navy. See the World.

The Navy recruiters arranged for me to taked the GED exam, and I passed.

I took that last summer after high school off. Completely. My parents never complained. It was probably the best three months of my life. But that's another story.

In August of 1974, I was put on a bus and taken to Great Lakes Naval Training Center, where they removed my freak flag and did their best to make me into a good, compliant Sailor. I learned to get up way too fucking early (O Dark Thirty), march, fire weapons and put out fires. And fold my clothes in a very certain way. Then, with the USN's expert testing guiding the way, I was sent to Meridien, Mississippi for Naval Supply School. I was to be a Storekeeper. The Army calls it Quartermaster. All of the terminology is weird. And that's yet another story I won't tell just yet.

After Supply school, I got my first orders. I was hoping for some really exotic duty. Something tropical where you could buy cheap electronics. But, no.
My first assignment was for a year in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. It was not considered one of your plum duty stations. Guam and Diego Garcia rank lowest after Gitmo. And only because it's closer. Also, the U.S. didn't have illegal prisons there at the time. Or fast food joints.

Fine. At the very least, I figured I could still draw and paint. It wasn't a ship, after all.

Nope.

The barracks down there were arranged according to the department in which you worked. (The Hospital Corpsmen had the best shit.) I got the room with the two biggest jock neat freaks in the Supply Department. They were stars on one of the baseball teams on the base. They strongly objected to painting with oils in the room. And they didn't drink. I needed an outlet.

Turns out, Gitmo wasn't near as horrible as everyone made out. There were Walk-Up Movies. Like drive-ins, but with canvas chairs set up, a hamburger stand and beer. And there was a theatre group.

They were auditioning for the musical "The Fantasiks," one of the longest running shows on Broadway (and also starring Kevin McCarthy of original "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" fame). I tried out and got the role of Mortimer, the Man Who Dies. Let's just say there was much physical comedy involved. We played for two weeks to great success, while I took metric tons of shit from most of my erstwhile peers.

To be continued. It's late.

start off a story and then leave me hanging. :banghead:

on edit: sleep well.

I have beer.

I've got to go to bed myself. We've got a long day tomorrow.

I was already crashing. Tomorrow I go to see evlspwn's last rehearsal before she goes to the Regional Kennedy Center Academic Theatre Festival. After that, I'll continue.

for the rest. I probably won't be back until late tonight, I hope you have finished your story. I am hoping this cures my fear of clowns. Really, they terrify me.

My son loved Cuba but he was not at Gitmo. Did you get out much to see the island?

We could ride a visiting ship (in civilian clothes!) to Puerto Rico, Jamaica, etc., for R & R.

I have only flown over Puerto Rico and I have landed and sat in the airport in Jamaica (long, nasty story there). For some reason I have always wanted to go to Puerto Rico to dive but Cuba is supposed to be a divers heaven. Maybe someday before I hang up my fins......

So how was Puerto Rico?

for Puerto Rico. There were riots, and obvious white American servicemen weren't very welcome.

The director of the play, a man named Hank who looked like Mutt of Mutt and Jeff

worked at the Armed Forces Radio and Television station on the base. He loved my death scenes and would howl with laughter at every rehearsal and performance, which only encouraged me.
After the play was done, Hank came to me to talk about a project he had in mind.
The only children's programming available to him was broadcast from the Cuban mainland. It was all old American cartoons dubbed in Spanish. (We also got sporting events days after they occurred, which made it fun placing bets with guys who'd been at sea.) Hank wanted to do a weekly children's show, but hadn't been able to find anyone suitable for a clown. He asked if I would be interested. How could I resist?
So, he arranged with my department head and my senior chief for me to have every Monday morning off to tape for the next Saturday, and "The U.S.S. Kiddie Hour" was launched.
Our hostess was Miss Patty. She always seemed to be hungover or sleep deprived, and had large, noticeably uneven breasts. I sacrificed a set of dress whites to make my costume, sewed orange hair into the dixie cup hat and put on combat boots, horn rimmed glasses and makeup. Seabag was born.
We would have five or six kids on each week, interview them, show cartoons and play a game or two.
We actually attempted to script the first show. We did retake after retake until the kids got cranky and we had to wrap.
It didn't take long for word to get around the supply department that I was now Seabag. There are many wild variations on the word seabag.
The cast and crew all got together to watch it that Saturday as it aired. And it sucked. It was forced and un-entertaining. I asked Hank to let me improvise the next show. He was a little nervous, as we had been out drinking together a few times during the play and knew how I could be. I reassured him that I wouldn't be drinking on Monday mornings and he agreed to let me try it.
It's amazing how liberating a costume can be. Sometimes, you aren't fully comfortable with a character until dress rehearsal. I considered the first show to be my dress rehearsal. The second one was much better. All I had to remember was which camera was on me and to watch Hank in the booth for cues. I stepped all over Miss Patty's lines, goofed with the kids and made self-deprecating jokes. I got real laughs from the kids and they applauded and cheered for the cartoons whenever I wanted them to.
Hank was much happier, though Miss Patty now became cranky. I don't know if he was sleeping with her or what, but she got him to let her be a little more free, too. I argued that the clown needs a straight adult foil. Oh, well.
We taped shows for several more weeks, and the waiting list for kids to come on the show grew longer and longer. The parents were more excited than the kids. I got into a routine of hanging with the kids before taping started to find out which ones were going to bust out crying or start jabbering their heads off and to get them relaxed and natural around me.
The improv also gradually got more "free," if you know what I mean. Soon, Hank was screaming with laughter, tears rolling down his cheeks, and you could hear him from the supposedly sound-proof control booth. There was a question about the humor beginning to get too adult, and we were asked to tone it down.
I was becoming famous. People, and their kids were starting to recognize me without my makeup as I went about my business on the base, to the exchange or the gas station. In the enlisted club I still got tons of shit from the other sailors, but there was a weird respect, too.
Then, someone had the splendid idea of a live appearance for Miss Patty and Seabag at a large picnic. This was fine for Miss Patty. She wasn't going to stand out like I was. But I agreed to do it. When I parked and got out of my car and started walking over to the cabanas, I heard a high-pitched squeal: "Seeeeeeeabag!!!!" About three dozen little kids suddenly turned and stampeded. This scared the shit out of me.
Kids were grabbing me, kicking me, trying to climb me, trying to kill me. I dragged the writhing mass over to the tables and did some shitty tricks I'd practiced being shitty at and got the hell out of there as soon as it was possible. Then I called Hank and told him no more live stuff. Kids don't think of clowns as being people. They apparently also think they're invulnerable. I was in some serious pain.
We went back to taping our regular shows and even did a Christmas show. But eventually my tour was up and I got orders for sea duty. The Communications Officer, who was in charge of AFRTS (pronounced A-Farts) went up the chain of command and to Naval Personnel to try to get me extended another year, but was unsuccessful. So we planned our last show.
Miss Patty announced to the kids and the camera that Seabag had new orders and would be leaving us. The kids all went Awwwww!
And, in my best Seabag the Clown voice, I said, "Aah-Yup! They need me in the Fleet."

It was brief, but glorious.
The End.

I love it. Damn, I am going to have to meet you one of these days, as long as you are not dressed as Seabag. :scared: Seriously, I never got over that scare.

Thanks, I really love that story.

But the clown lives on!

Now, I miss Fleabag Seahag Teabag Seabag. :cry:

You just didn't know it until now.
You got the most common variations right off the bat!

Those were just the ones I felt comfortable posting in public. ;)

Man, I can't believe all of the memories that came flooding in as I wrote that. I was but a sprout of nineteen!

edit for speeling

Glad we could help you with your continuing therapy. Your bill for our services will be delivered forthwith.

I knew this was a trick.

I kept going back to that part. It's a story stopper. LOL

Her breast configuration was a topic of discussion every Saturday when the show was on. They may have known her personally. They didn't tell me.

There was a character who also had large but noticably uneven breasts. She was a stripper. LOL. That's the first image that came to me last night when I read that line.

It's a synopsis from a Carinvale-fan website that describes the image that popped into my head when evl said "large, noticably uneven breasts".

Cooch tent. The show has progressed quite a bit, and now only the daughters are on stage. They're also topless, and damn if Dora Mae wasn't right about her titties. The left one is Everest. The right one is Pike's Peak.

"Large, noticably uneven breasts", stopped me in my tracks too. It sure was a story stopper. I kept thinking I had missed something. I don't think I have ever seen uneven breast and I especially would have notice, "noticably" ones.

Evl, I am petrified of clowns. I have no idea when or how it started, but it is pure fear. And it is 100% true about the fear of clowns. Clowns are Evl, very Evl.

Pairs, that is. I'm sure it was in a doctor's office. BTW, Janette, I'm a friend of The Mabus. Welcome to DU-through-the-looking-glass. I'm late! I'm late! I'm late!

That Admiral person is my husband. Pay him no mind. He had a bit of a traumatic experience* earlier this evening so he could so I gave him something to calm him down. He's a bit on the goofy side right now. He's chatting on the phone with Big Unit (another DU'er) but I don't think he'll remember what he talking about.


*The traumatic experience: We were watching "Countdown with KO" when someone started banging on the front door. It turns out it was an inebriated neighbor who wanted a ride to the liquor store because he needed to buy some beer for - and I'm not making this up - his wife's vagina. It was very bizarre. I will admit, that I'm not sure how beer will help his wife and I don't really want to think about it. Anyway, the Admiral had a little trouble getting rid of him after they got back. It was just pretty creepy and the dogs have been jumpy since then.

I'd love to speculate further...

It was a little freaky. When I took the dogs out late last night the Shepherd's hair was standing on edge like she was on full alert.

Did you ever find out what the beer was for? I'm not sure I need to know.

Hi Admiral, nice to meet you.

Mabus, do you think I pissed Evl off, saying that I think that clowns are evl? I am sure he was a very cute and delightful clown. I told you I don't think I should read or post after I partake.

Clowns really do spook me for some reason.

Miss Patty was the scary one.

:hi:

Up reading it again? I thought this thread was dead.

It brings a whole new dimension to your personality. You really aren't as a big a curmudgeon as you want people to believe.

Those kids made me very grouchy!