Sailor Jokes

A priest goes on a fishing trip with a few others and some sailors to help them. A few hours in, he suddenly hooks a very big fish. Helping him reel it in, a sailor says "Whoa, look at the size of that Bastard!". "Hey, mind your language!" says the priest. Embarrassed, the sailor thinks quickly and blurts out, "Sorry father, but that's what this fish is called, it's a Bastard fish". Accepting the explanation, the priest forgives the sailor and takes the fish back to church. "Look at this huge Bastard!" says the priest, spotting the bishop. "Language, please! this is God's house," replies the bishop. "No, no that's what this fish is called," says the priest. "Oh," says the bishop, scratching his chin "I could clean that bastard and we could have it for dinner." So the bishop takes the fish, cleans it, and brings it to the mother superior. "Could you cook this bastard for dinner tonight?" he asks her. "My, what language!" she exclaims, clearly shocked. "No, sister that's what the fish is called - a bastard", says the bishop. Satisfied with the explanation, the mother superior says, "Wonderful, I'll cook that bastard tonight, The Pope is coming for dinner!" The fish tastes just great and The Pope asks where they got it. "Well, I caught the bastard!" says the priest. "And I cleaned the bastard!" says the bishop. "And I cooked the bastard!" says the mother superior. The Pope stares at them for a long moment with a steely gaze, leans back in his chair, takes off his cap, puts his feet up on the table, pours himself a whiskey and says:" You know what? You schmucks are alright."

A crusty Navy Master Chief noticed a new face in his unit and barked at him immediately. “Get over here! What’s your name, sailor?” “John,” the new seaman replied. “Look, I don’t know what kind of bleeding-heart pansy crap they’re teaching sailors in boot camp these days, but I don’t call anyone by his first name,” the chief scowled. “It breeds familiarity, and that leads to a breakdown in authority. I refer to my sailors by their last names only; Smith, Jones, Baker, Jackson, whatever. And you are to refer to me as ‘Master Chief.’" He gave him a threatening glare honed by years of experience. "Do I make myself clear?” “Aye, Aye, Master Chief!” “Now that we’ve got that straight, what’s your last name?” The seaman sighed. “Darling, my name is John Darling, Master Chief.” “Okay, John, here’s what I want you to do...”