We here at HTMG firmly believe in having all crevices of a story aired, scraped and lice powdered no matter how turgid a story may be. From this stoic pursuit comes the randomly occurring feature titled "The Back Paddle".
In "The Back Paddle" we'll give the opportunity for even the most socially condemned maggots a chance to belch out their rarely listened to and most likely horse-shit version of events.
In this addition of "The Back Paddle" Integrity C Cronkite painfully sat down with the astronomically cowardly Former Captain Francesco Schettino from the ill-fated former cruise-liner, the "Costa Concordia", to let that son of a bitch harp on how he saw it that day.
Integrity C. C - Francesco, I'd say it's nice to meet you but I make a habit of only lying to my friends and family so let's just get into it hey?
Francesco - Please I insist, my version must be heard.
Integrity C. C - This is how it's going to work. I'll be giving you the widely believed, documented, witnessed and judiciously convicted version of events and then for some insane shit-stained, trench-coat wearing, David Helfgott of a reason, we'll let you hot fart up your side of events. Got it?
Francecso - Yes.
Integrity C. C: On the 13 January 2013 the then Captain Francesco Schettino should have been on the bridge of the nine hundred and sixty two foot, one hundred and fourteen thousand ton vessel overseeing operations and the navigation of a very touchy, complex and high risk section of briny deep just off the coastline of Isola Del Giglio (an island off Italy).
Instead Francesco was to be found in his lurid and ostentatiously decorated quarters, wearing pure Italian leather loafers bent over a bronze gilded Italian marble tallboy annihilating the last of a gargantuan sized caterpillar of premium Colombian booger sugar.
At approx 7:18pm the big bitch ran aground over rocks reminiscent of Shane MacGowan's teeth. Suddenly letting out an ass tightening guttural tear of a noise that if at all possible would have in-arguably translated to "FUUUUUUCK!!!", the Old Girl had a one hundred and sixty five foot brand new asshole torn into her hull and rolled over on her side like a $570 million dollar sea slug sinking deep into the K-hole. Ok Francesco, you piece of shit. Let's throw to you.
Francesco - Everything about that side of the story is incorrect and simply untrue apart from your description of my loafers. I was not present on the bridge as earlier that week I'd eaten an exceptionally large amount of red castello cheese which left me backed up and sealed tighter than the Vatican at closing time. At exactly 6:47pm my holy-seal broke and I made for the toilets as to avoid disgracing myself in front of the crew. I was just in the middle of freshening up with my Salsa Sling (Pierre Cardin), when she ran aground.
Integrity C. C - Yep, well that differs, however ill push on.
Now from it's new orientation of 45 degrees west to the cock of failure, the Costa Concordia started consuming the majestic blue at a rate quicker than acclaimed opera tenor Luciano Pavarotti consumed Moroccan boys. By 10:28pm she was more perilously incapacitated then Forest Whitaker's eye and those of the 4229 on board lucky enough to have avoided been shelved by Poseidon himself evacuated to shore. Over to you Francesco.
Francesco - This I remember, ahhhh yes, I was on the main rear pavilion deck helping load a group of PTSD'd, special need, crippled war vets onto the life rafts. All at once a torrent of Neptune's juice came rushing at us like an enraged ice affected Australian abroad, there was nothing I could do, not unlike said Australian metaphor, it was unavoidable. The torrent swept me up then tossed, turned and rolled me about like a boiled lolly in John Candy's jowly eat hole. I must have been knocked out from the turmoil for when I woke I was safely ashore and miraculously ,the deep had showed me mercy and deposited me right at the seat of table 32 at the famed Trattoria Doria. Who would have thought, eh? I firmly believe that The Sweet Baby Jesus himself blessed me that night for my selfless valour in the rescue.
Integrity C.C: Odin's balls do you even believe that shit?
The facts state once all survivors were accounted for it became more and more apparent Captain Francesco Schettino was not among them. Grief and concern for the missing Captain abruptly ended when several passengers came forward with eyewitness accounts of the Captain shamelessly hurling his girth into a life raft, his large Sicilian frame pancaking a small child.
Eyewitness accounts tell of the "Captain" then proceeded to raise the child above his head and launch this big, blue eyed projectile of youthful innocence back into the doomed vessel.
So hearing this identical eyewitness re-telling of the Captain's ass clenching shameful and ludicrous dodging of responsibility, the crowd became enraged and spread out to search for the woeful dingus, where he was found enjoying a flavored mineral water and a prosciutto on pappardelle at one of Giglio's finest restaurants. Angered beyond the heights of what Hillary Clinton felt when Trump won the election, or what Trump felt when Trump won the election or what Bill felt when he was caught fucking Monica, then lying about it, then fucking her again....with an illegally imported Cuban cigar. Anyway the point is they were angry. It was reported that by the time authorities managed to wrangle Francesco's battered bonce back from the heart of the heaving lynch mob, he was cratered more than Mickey Rourke's cock.
Francesco - From where I was I could co-ordinate the evacuation perfectly. Also do you know what sea water does to pure leather loafers? I stand by my claims.
Integrity C. C - Yeah we don't. A jury didn't either, which brings us to the end of this uncomfortable rendezvous. Thanks for the rambunctious re-telling Francesco, it's been fake.
Well readers, this is clear. I saw that spineless fucker and I saw into his soul.
Back paddle verdict
Integrity C. Cronkite