I was a Navy Gunner's Mate, aka cannon cocker, muzzle f****r. bosun's mate with a hunting license.

One day in port, I saw a young bosun striker over the side painting the hull. I leaned over and told him, "Tell your boss if you wait til low tide you can paint lower on the hull." Apparently he did just that.
After a few minutes the BM2 found me and, poking me in the chest, yelled, "You don't f**k with my bosun's mates, only I f**k with my bosun's mates, you don't f**k with my bosun's mates!" As he walked away he turned and said, "Good one!"

Leaving Charleston harbor, we passed under the Cooper River Bridges with about 20' to spare at high tide. Somebody would always grab a newbie and tell him to go to main control and crank the mast down to clear the bridges. Main control would send him to the forward fire room, they would send him to the after engine room, etc. The poor kid would be almost frantic, thinking we were going to hit the bridges.

Always sending someone for a bucket of steam, 10 feet of waterline, relative bearing grease.

USS Forrest Sherman DD931, USS Semmes DDG18, '77-'80