Following a failed attempt to relax in Arkansas, I’ve come to one of the landlocked states to find something that I’ve always secretly thought of as relaxing: a submarine. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there’d be drawbacks (the delivery times from Pizza Hut would be appalling), but I’ve always found something appealing about being jammed in a sardine can and plunged to the bottom of the ocean.
The sub I’ve found is the U.S.S. Batfish and is, for some reason, in Oklahoma. I have to emphasise that they brought the 95m long submarine on a 1,350 mile trip up river. A really bendy river. I’m grateful that they managed it, however, because if it wasn’t a submarine I’d be stuck talking about The Grapes of Wrath.
Walking through the sub, it’s not hard to see why it’d be great to live on one, what with its secure doors:
Modern dining room:
Galley well equipped for dinner parties (of about 80 crew):
It’ll be just like summer camp. Except you can’t phone your parents to come home early and the Japanese might depth charge you.
Of course, you could upgrade to the luxury of an officer’s room:
The toilet facilities are… cosy.
Finally, it has enough valves to finish Half-Life 3 this century:
He’s learning lots about World War II.
“We’ll get those dirty Commies,” says Bertie.
Silly Bertie, those dirty Commies were our friends then.
“Oh,” says Bertie, “Then death to the Hun.”
That’a bear, Bertie.
It would be remiss of me to mention the one other place I (briefly) visited while in Oklahoma, the Oral Roberts University:
It was founded by Oral Roberts, a preacher who realised that God was cool with him being diamond-grills pimp-level of rich, who saw 900ft Jesuses and who became a pioneer televangelist. Students still sign an “honor code” which forbids drugs, alcohol, homosexual activity, non-wife bangin’, and, worst of all, requires students to do aerobics.