This is of Mogmog! The recreation center of the Central Pacific. The best place in the world to catch hydrophobia, halitosis, hallucinations and sunstroke all at the same time. The only place in the world where you have to stand in line with the flies to go to the head. The best place in the world to see ten fights, six wrestling matches, four crap games and two beers, all for free.
Baseball? Sure. Right over by the beach. You have to be careful though, because the other day a batter on field four swung on a batted ball from diamond two and was called out.
And the Mogmog Circle is the best little beach this side of the 180th Meridian. At least the octopuses and coral crabs think so. But, if you can get by the Shore Patrol, fight off the octopuses, and have the strength and endurance, you might be able to wade out up to your shoulders. (I couldn’t get by the S.P.)
The Mogmog swingsters are really on the ball. From around twelve to one daily they really swing out, causing the crowd to go wild with sheer enjoyment. They have to be careful too, though. The other day a Seagoing Marine swooned so much that he passed out.
The beauty of Mogmog is the fact that when you first arrive you see a nice cool shady spot. Not to mention visions of beer floating before your eyes. To top it off, they line you up and you file past two huge Beer Warehouses—LOADED! After leaving this picture of heaven, you go to your table to get your own beer. Thus influenced, closed are your eyes to the huge crowds gathering among the trees, closed are your nostrils to the dust that is rising from the ground. You feel not the hot Pacific sun beating down through those little-shade-giving palms—You have beer!
But after a month of Patrol, or an Invasion Operation, or a Naval Battle or two under your belt, it doesn’t matter much. Whether off large ships or small, wagon or minesweep, Mogmog always looks good. Whatever we say about it after we leave we know that without such places of recreation a lot of us would become pretty morbid.
I think that I can safely speak for every “John Gob” out here when I say that these small dusty recreation centers, spaced all over the Pacific, look pretty good to us all!
And the Officers and Men that operate these centers are doing pretty well at handling the thousands of thirsty sailors that flock in to them every day looking for a little relaxation.
Here’s a Toast to Them! 1943-1945 Old Glory over Mogmog-The Pacific.
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