ARE YOU RESIGNING ?

Sir , I came from the land of kings where everyone can do what he wishes. I hiked the plains of Luzon
and hurdled the mountains of Bataan just to reach my precious destination, the Maritime Academy of
Asia and the Pacific. Now, I’m here as a plebe, a ducrot to the third classmen, a chicken to the second
classmen and a good neighbor to the first classmen. Now are you resigning? No Sir, over the dead and
rotten body of Fourth classman (name), Sir.

WHAT TIME IS IT?

Sir, I am deeply embarrassed and greatly humiliated that due to unforeseen circumstances over which I
have no control, the inner workings and hidden mechanism of my chronometer are such in accord with
the great sidereal movement over which time is commonly reckoned, that I cannot with any degree of
accuracy state the exact time, Sir; but, without fear of being very far off, I will state that it is so many
minutes, so many seconds and so many ticks after the X th .

WHY THE SICK CALL?

Sir, the sickcall? It originated from the seemingly insignificant ache from the malingerer's body which
theoretically increases proportionally to the drills, parades, and inspections. This is a product of a shabby
mental attitude of those who raised to the 9th degree power their argwnent, real or imagination. In
short and simple language, sickcall identifies those who should be returned
to their mothers, Sir!

HOW MANY DAYS?

Sir, there are _____ days, _____ hours, ______ minutes, ______ seconds, and _____ ticks and a butt till
(occasion). Oh Noble Cataline; may the great God in Heaven speed them more quickly by the great God
of Jupiter and may the coming days be more joyous, but not for me Sir! May your classes be no soirees,
and your sorrows negligible, and on your leave may there be some beautiful femmes, sandwiches, lots
of scags, full moons, plenty of Coca Cola and hot darn; but not for me, Sir!

HOW’S THE WEATHER?

Sir, the weather? It pleases me much, Sir. From my crystal bowl, I could see the gathering clouds of
uncertainty. My ultrapenetrative vision discerns the faith befalling me. I see from these gathering clouds
the limpid smile of your drag, her ambitious chuckle which prophecies a bright and happy date, the
hypocrital scorn of an immaculate and cognizable warning which usually comes before the storm of a
hectic and active day. Yes, Sir. The weather shows a slight barometric change which I hope and pray
wouldn’t affect you and ultimately me. And if crystal bowl doesn’t fail me, I foresee a happy day for you,
Sir.
HOW’S YOUR FEMME?

Sir, my femme, she is the living incarnate of all that is beautiful, in the facial contortions of a nagging
housewife, in the flowing crystalline teardrop of a jilted sweetheart, in the libertine smile of a long-faced
schoolgirl, in the fussy whims of a spinter, in the mystic reserve of a nightclub entertainer, and in the
descriptive countenance of an empotheric clown. She walks with the breeze of a summer breeze; her
beauty smacks of the illusive fragrance of the roses at dawn. Her hair is as dark as ebony, long and silken
and shines with the gloss and luster of a fading gossamer. In short and simple language, she is too
beautiful for words, Sir!

STRONG HEARTS

Let every heart with fervor sing

While bugle sounds recall,
Let scrolls unfold old tidings bring...
The mem'ries dear to all -
For hearts are young again, my dear
For hearts are young again
We've known the warmth of hearts before
Let old mem'ries live again
Our Alma Mater Hail to Thee
May each loyal son proclaim
Tho' yonder we may roam and die
We'll ever be the same
For hearts are strong in Thee, my dear
For hearts are strong in Thee
We'll stand the test of time and woe
Ever loyal sons to you
And when the taps shall sound for men
Banners drape my last remains
Let singing comrades bury me
To the echo of these strains
For hearts will live and die for Thee
Forever live in Thee
Young blood shall come to carry on
When the old strong hearts are gone