The Ganja gang

Complete helplessness was something new to LJ, the feeling was too hard to swallow. He just couldn't force it down, not without a 30 year old bottle of scotch anyway. And guess what brother, there isn't a decent liquor store within 3,000 miles.... With hands bound together at the wrists behind his back, LJ steeled himself, then calmly began to twist off his left middle finger. Ignoring all pain, LJ got through 3 complete turns, then heard a faint pop as the skin gave way and his finger came off at the large knuckle. Quickly, Little Johnny peeled off the finger skin as if it were a sausage and discarded it. Using his own finger-bone, LJ began to pick at the knots holding his wrists. After probing around for 30 seconds, LJ finally caught a loop, then another, and another, until he recognized the knot as a Scandinavian Misery Noose and began to attack it expertly. Moments later, Johnny sprang to his feet, atop the beam like Mary Lou Retton. Quickly, LJ jabbed out his own swollen eyelids with the finger bone, draining the bloody fluid blocking his vision, then hucked his finger bone at the oncoming assailant like a throwing knife, burying it to the first knuckle in the bird man's forehead. As he surveyed the situation, LJ realized that he was in a 100 x 100' bird nest and covered in bird shit. LJ puked in his mouth a little bit when he saw his friend Hawk who was busy regurgitating rotten meat into 6 smaller bird mens mouths. LJ's cousins Jina and Tina were each sitting on a cantaloupe sized egg, bare assed, knitting little bird man sweaters as they noticed him. LJ secured his finger bone in the cargo pocket of his Old Navy T's and screamed "Let's get it on!"

Meanwhile, somewhere in the Atlantic:

The USS Gonja creaked & groaned, betraying her age as she cruised at near hull crushing depth, at a speed of 60 knots. The captain relaxed in his quarters after an 11 hour shift, leaving the con in the capable hands of his first officer. After finishing his tea, he relaxed in his bunk, played with his ballsack, and listened to the drone of nuclear powered turbines working at 62%. Satisfied that all was well, his mind naturally itemized and categorized his mission orders: Patrol the depths of the Larrentian Abyssal and run battle drills, very routine. Such missions were tedious and downright boring for such an accomplished and battle hardened crew, he thought. Captain Higgins drifted off to sleep.

In the con, First Officer Magnum P.I. sat in the commanders chair in a Hawaiian shirt and stared vacantly at the various lights, monitors, dials, and controls of the submarine. As boredom set in he began to reminisce. Christ I miss the cold war, not since Little Johnny's raid on Brown-Eye Island, three years earlier, has the Gonja had any action, he thought to himself, I can only take so much of this crap. "I should retire T.C., maybe start an investigation agency or something" said Magnum to the communications officer as he passed him a big, sticky Thai-stick that smoldered at the end. "Oh right, chuckled T.C. between tokes, maybe you could get a Ferrari too". JC