S. Customs Agent at the border."May I see your identification, please?" asked the agent."I'm sorry, but I lost my wallet," replied the guy."Sure buddy... I hear that every day. No ID, no entry," said the agent."But I can prove I'm an American!" he exclaimed. "I have a picture of Ronald Reagan tattooed on one side of my butt and George Bush on the other." This I gotta see," replied the agent. With that, the guy dropped his pants and showed the agent his behind."By golly, you're right!" exclaimed. I slowlystarted to open the box from the top, only to find something I did notwant to see. It was a cheer leading uniform. The uniform was completewith pom-poms and sneakers. I covered my face and my whole faced turnedred in embarrassment. I finally spoke up and said "I cannot do this. Iam sorry I just can't. This is too embarrassing." There was completesilence in the room after I said that, when suddenly a loud siren keptgoing off in the room. It was so loud my ears started to hurt. It. You pull out your laptop, fire up a random porno clip, and take your 'break'. Shit, even masturbation is losing it's appeal. You clean up, and drop back down in your bunk. Overwhelmed by boredom, you fall asleep.You awake with a start as something slams into your side. You quickly realize it's the floor. The ship is rocking like mad, and you have a tough time getting to your feet. You slowly make your way to the deck and your jaw drops at the scene. The wind is howling, with dark clouds. I gave the high sign to the rest of the guys, and we went back up to the stand for the last set of the day. As we walked to the stand, the bass player said, “You’d better hold that sax in front of you. People seeing that lump might think your mind isn’t on the job.” It’s not, I thought to myself. I can play this stuff in my sleep, and right now, my mind is in room 308. We played the last set, and closed with “Goodnight, Sweetheart.” As I packed my sax I saw the bartender heading my way with a.