I'd like to dedicate this book to the all the breweries, bars, and liquor distributors of this fine country of ours. You provide a invaluable service to our nation's fighting men. And also a big thanks to all of the prostitutes and other employees of the sex industry for keeping a big smile on the faces of our freckle faced boys and women of the United States military.
Don't piss in my ear and tell me that it's raining!
I want to thank Big Ernie who is the owner
of Big Ernie's Diner. (The joint's name has been
changed at the owner's request in order to keep
certain riff raff out). Big Ernie's is a legendary Long
Beach dive located down on the docks of Long
Beach harbor. It's long been a hangout for
longshoreman, drunks coming off an all night
bender, crooked cops, hookers, drug dealers, and
other great folks too many to list here.
Big Ernie's
coffee tastes like hot piss and his eggs have the
flavor of turpentine, but you don't come to Ernie's
for the food or the java anyway. It's purely for the
ambiance. You see all the waitresses at Big Ernie's
all wear see-through negligees. Some wear g-strings
or thongs and others wear full panties, but you get a
full tit shot from every goddamn one of them and
some even wear see-through panties, but it's the
ones who have a thick bush that drive me crazy. I
just love the sight of a full muff peeking around the
edges of a pair of hot pink panties, the seventies
porn star look. I'm just not a fan of the shaved
beaver. The landing strip or the Hitler look is OK,
but I just can't stand the sight of a clean snapper.
Don't get me wrong, the babes at Big E's aren't
going to be starring in any Hollywood features or
strutting down some fashion runway and a few are
getting a little long in the tooth but who gives a
shit? Poontang is poontang where I come from. I'm
getting off the track here but I wrote damn near all
of this book sitting in a corner booth - which even
had a phone jack so that I could access the Internet
and my e-mail - at Big Ernie's.
I'd start at six in the
morning with my French Legionnaires breakfast - a
cup of Big Ernie's rotgut urine-like tasting coffee
and a unfiltered Camel - and wind up the day
around 1600 with a cheeseburger and a six pack of
Miller High Life.
So many thanks to Big Ernie and his
wonderful staff. To Big Ernie's Diner! The only
diner that I've ever waxed my cane in.
And I before I forget. Many thanks to
Jerome, who got me this very nice and very hot
laptop computer that this book was written/typed
on, and at such a bargain at that. It's not often that
you can get a brand new Dell for an ounce of
Columbian and a hundred bucks. Thanks, buddy,
you're the tops!
Of course, a round of brews and a slap on
the ass to Scott Anderson, the co-author of Salt On
The Nuts. Scott and I went to boot camp together
and were crewmembers onboard the USS Dixie -
where needless to say we often got boiled as owls
together - and were able to get back in touch with
each other after I survived those hellacious years. I
saw some of Scott's perverted and twisted writings
on the Web, contacted him, and convinced him that
he was the only one who could help me out on Salt.
Finally, to Javier and Felicia. You both
know why.
-Anonymous
Somewhere in the Pacific - 2006