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302The Cruise of the Carnival Splendor

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  • Stan Kegel
    Feb 20, 2013
      From: "Joseph Lex" <Joseph.Lex@...>

      From a few years ago, but suddenly current again.



      The legend lives on from Tijuana on down,
        of the cruise ship, the Carnival Splendor.
      The passengers and crew, and a hooker or two,
        had big plans for a 7-day bender.


      The ship was a jewel, with tennis courts and pool, 
        and appointments that couldn't be finer.
      Little did they know, in just a day or so,
        they'd be living like Chilean miners.


      An engine-room hand liked the Marlboro brand,
        and tossed one away with a snicker. 
      The passengers' fate sailed into dire straits,
        when the oily floor started to flicker.


      The engine, indeed, caught on fire at sea,
        and nary a crewman could mend her.
      And thus did begin, the start of the end
        of the cruise of the Carnival Splendor.


      It was all doom and gloom, in the engine room
        as the fire raged on for an hour.
      And when it was done, the engineer was glum,
        Saying, "Cap'n, she cannae get power!"


      A charted course of fun, sailing 'round in the sun,
        but the sea likes to follow hew own plan.
      And now the crew feared, with no power to steer,
        they were adrift, just like Lindsay Lohan.


      The rich on a cruise count on hot tubs and booze,
        and service from stewards and porters.
      Superior they feel, until fate takes the wheel
        and the hired help stops taking orders.


      The wine in the glass surely tasted like ass,
        as some folks heaved their guts o'er the railing.
      And everyone knew, as the captain did, too,
        Don't eat seafood -- the coolers were failing!


      With power now dead, 'frigeration went bad,
        food spoiled -- now everything's fubar.
      When supper time came, the cook tried renaming
        his entrees, appending them "_______ Tartare."


      Cruise Director McCoy was the lone source of joy
        as she planned fun and games without power,
      But as Isaac poured drinks, he said, "This really stinks.
        My coladas have all turned to sours!"


      During the 9 p.m. show the generator did blow,
        The crew blamed it on pirates and smugglers. 
      And all that remains are the tuxes and plates
        of a troupe of Bolivian jugglers.


      The captain wired in he had poo coming in,
        and the good ship's brave crew were a-thinkin'.
      For the toilets stopped working, and sewerage was lurking,
        and the Splendor would soon be a-stinkin'.


      "The plumbing's shut off," Captain said with a cough
        as the ship halted near Ensenada.
      The bathrooms below smelled like someone had croaked
        after eating a bad enchilada.


      With a load of raw dung, 26,000 foul tons,
        and not one toilet on board fit for flushin',
      Fear o'rtook the crew, and each last man knew,
        that before long, the Splendor'd be gushin'.


      Vacation plans wrecked, not quite what you expect
        when a fun cruise to Mexico beckons.
      The kids gone berserk and the crapper don't work
        -- Montezuma's Revenge, back for seconds.


      The beer was all gone, and the liquor was, too,
        and the wine had been drunk with abandon;
      The passengers said, "Hey, the Captain looks red,
        could it be there's more booze in his cabin?"


      The buffet, it seemed, no longer gleamed,
        with its usual glutinous glory.
      When the mimosas ran dry, Cap'n said with a sigh,
        "That's the end of the good Splendor's story."


      The rations were meager and the ship's crew was eager
        to dig up some extra nutrition.
      But a line had been crossed when a salad was tossed,
        and the purser said, "Here comes my Slim Jim!"


      The engines on board could not be restored
        by even the crew's top mechanic. 
      But through battery power, they held movie hour:
        the last 60 minutes of "Titanic."


      With kiddies out playing, their parents were laying
        in the darkness that enveloped the cabins.
      So come next August near, their new babes I do fear,
        will all bear names like "Doc" or "Stubing."


      When morning rolled 'round, the chef came on down,
        saying, "Sorry, there's nothing for cooking."
      Then the Navy swooped in with a thunderous din,
        dropping Pop-Tarts and Spam. Are you kidding?!?

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