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The following is a guest column by Commander Craig Napoli, USS Dwight D. Eisenhower (CVN-69) Supply Officer

Well, this is awkward.

Don’t look now, Arlene, but guess who’s standing behind you, talking to Dan and Janelle Newkirk back over there between the buffet table and the glory hole? Frigging Josh Rosen is who. Yup. As in, Lieutenant Commander Josh “I’m the neediest, clingiest, most annoying admin officer to ever serve aboard USS Dwight D. Eisenhower” Rosen.

Well, so be it, I guess. It’s a free country, and I suppose Rosen and his lady have just as much a right to be here as everyone else who paid the door fee, brought their own condoms and lube, and was sure to provide a Mexican-themed potluck dish.

But I’ll tell you, if Josh thinks I’m going to discuss the ship’s operations target for the next fiscal year while Tim Melman and I are afternoon-delighting Tim’s lovely wife Connie from both ends, then I guess Josh didn’t get the memo when it comes to swinger orgies like this one.

Because, quite frankly, there’s a time and place to negotiate over how much limited funding to transfer from the Ike’s S-2 division to the admin budget for all those new iMacs the print shop wants to requisition, and there’s a time and a place to discuss how many anal beads we should bring upstairs to the jungle room so we can help the Kransky’s celebrate Bob’s successful operation.

And it sounds like Bob’s prostate came out of the surgery intact, so I say we muster all the beads we can since he’s probably looking forward to that.

Now, don’t get me wrong, Arlene, I’m not trying to insinuate that Rosen intentionally followed me here, or anything. But you have to admit that it’s kind of awkward for him and the Mrs. to show up at the exact same swinger orgy, and on the exact same night. I mean, it’s not like these parties are advertised on the ship during quarters each morning, and the topic of power humping other people’s spouses doesn’t exactly come up very often in the wardroom.

We’re not the chief’s mess, for Christ’s sake.

But you know, I guess there’s just no use in trying to hide out all evening. So as much as I hate to say it, it’s probably best if we just walk on over there and act like we’re pleasantly surprised to see Josh and his wife. Perhaps if we just try to make some small talk for a little while they’ll leave us alone. Maybe you and Mrs. Rosen could compare notes on all the activities the Officers’ Spouses’ Club is planning for this fall, or you could discuss whether you might both want to volunteer for the Ike’s upcoming friends and family day cruise next month.

You should also ask Josh’s wife if she’s into spanking, because her pummeling away at these 43-year-old meat pillows of mine would probably give me just enough pleasure to tune out Rosen’s incessant whining about the ship’s upcoming INSURV [Board of Inspection and Survey] inspection as you sodomize him with that strap-on we won at the Maldanados’ gang-bang last Memorial Day.

And while you and his wife are talking, I suppose I’ll go ahead and ask Rosen what he thinks of the whole Israel-Hamas situation in Gaza. Now that I see he’s circumcised, I imagine he might have some skin in the game (no pun intended).

So yeah, honey, why don’t we make a pass by the coatroom so we can grab our canola oil, and then we’ll go join Josh and his wife with their—

Oh, great. Don’t look now, Arlene, but the ship’s CO just walked out of the dungeon room.