Sergei II, The Re-sergi-ence

This morning finds both your humble Clameditors suffering not-insignificant hand injuries resulting from a drunken dare to  re-create of the “knife scene” in  the Sci-fi horror classic “Aliens.” Thus we give today’s The Clam over once  again to Sergei Nakhimov, Chief Warrant Officer Second Class of the Russian Federation submarine Vladikavakz. Sergei and crew have been stationed off Gloucester monitoring our communications for the past six months on a mysterious reconnaissance mission ordered by Russian president Vladimir Putin. He has recovered enough from One Direction member Zayn’s retirement to finally grace us with a new post.

Hello Clam humor blog persons! Is again I, your funny friend from under-the-sea who is not adorable singing lobster. Still we are stuck offshore your coast of Gloucester, still I am in communications room monitoring you signals and taking the quiz of Buzzfeed. Apparently ideal DJ name for me is “MC Ramp Dusky.” Okey Dokey!

This Ursula is my kind of babushka. I must go meet her.

This Ursula is my kind of babushka. I must go meet her.

Welcome to your summer Yankee dogs! I am hoping you have all feasted on traditional burned meats and salad of potato while wearing logo T-shirt of major corporation as is your custom. In Russia on day of remembrance of Great Patriotic War we dress up in best suit and watch military equipment parade and soldiers kick-marching in shiny boots. Of course, since President Putin is in power this is also how we celebrate Christmas, Mother’s Day, Agricultural Collective Awareness Day and Adopt a Pet Week.

From periscope of submarine I see you have attached many flag to your Stacey Boulevard adjacent to the sea that is my watery prison. I must say is many, many flag. This is something of America I don’t understand. You think if there is one good thing, then better is to have one hundred of good thing. And if one hundred is good then why not one thousand? You see where this goes, Da? At what point is too many flag? Ah, who am I kidding, you are American there is no such thing as “too many.” Point for you is to be able to say “I have more flag than you, face of jerk!” and not to worry when beautiful ocean-side walkway begins to look like more used car dealership in Parsippany New Jersey.


Speaking of pastime, I see on Internet your favorite sport of padded steroid-eating concussion-men is in much trouble for letting air out of ball. This is something you talk endlessly about, for weeks on end. Constant discussion of this has raised anger of chief weapons officer Alexei who sometimes comes by communication bay to watch amusing cat video and to offer me his special drink mixture of refrigeration fluid and fermented beet juice he brew in forward toilet compartment. “Maybe I will turn their city into sea of fire and see how much shit they give about air in ball!” he mumbled a few days ago, holding up key around neck used to launch hydrogen bomb missile and stormed off toward his control station.

He is much kidder, Alexei! First mate and he had good laugh after he was able wrench key from Alexei’s hand and remove from control slot. “For future reference, use half as much refrigeration fluid,” I tell Alexei later when he comes out of coma.

Living in submarine for months with 56 other sailors is sometimes a great challenge for your friend Sergei. Sometime I would watch collectivist family of Duggars on TLC to make self feel better about being confined in small space with so many bodies smelling of sweat and borscht. Show always made Sergei feel happy because even though these many children were squashed together like last traincar out of Norolisk before winter, they always seem happy and are singing and making plays and schooling at home as is the way of your southern United States because they hate so much the fact of science that Jesus could not ride dinosaur.

Is total mystery why your southern states lag behind entire world in education

Is total mystery why your southern states lag behind entire world in education


But now we learn oldest boy Josh is terrible man and has been hurting sisters in gross way (Sergei always found him to be creepy like political officer on Boat who is former KGB). We also learn Josh went to lead something called “Family Research Council.” Sergei studied much science in high school and in Navy to become technical member of nuclear submarine crew. Sergei thinks whatever experiments Josh creep started in “family research” should be halted because his previous experiments are not good to nice girls in family. He is bad scientist of family. Very bad.

In sadness I suggest to Alexei we bomb Josh and maybe also father Jim Bob who is also makes Sergei taste herring pie from last night’s dinner in mouth, but Alexei only said “Worse for America if we let them live!” and then he laughed so many times. As I say, he is great kidder, Alexei.

On last topic, I see in provincial propaganda newspaper Gloucester Daily Times you have election coming. Two men must decide if they truly wish to challenge current unelected mayor who is may or maybe not going to go for voting and also has nickname that ties to gangs of criminal-types. My friends I must tell you this makes me so homesick! Tear comes to eye of Sergei. How I long for us to be heading home to Russia when I read of political situation in Gloucester.

Perhaps next time we talk I will be writing from my own small, cramped apartment in Soviet apartment block rather than small, cramped communication room of Soviet-built submarine. We can only hope! Until then Dosvedanya Tovarisch!



There are approximately one zillion flags on Stacey Boulevard. There was a flag so big there the other day it was touching the ground (bad form). Also we have a snappy new WW II Memorial, which is great.

But we at The Clam would love it if you’d also stop by the Gloucester Vietnam Veterans Memorial at the High School and pay your respects today. Like a lot of the vets from that war, this memorial is sort of tucked out of the way.

To be honest, The Clam supports digging that memorial right the fuck up and putting it next to the WW II one. Those guys deserve no less.

From us, to all our Vets and families a sincere thank you. And especially to those from a war some would rather forget.

Matthew P. Amaral III Killed 12/14/1967

Matthew P. Amaral III
Killed 12/14/1967

Year of the Clam

[From Your Fearless Clam Editors Jim and KT]

The first post on this blog was on May 5 2014, over a year ago. Your humble clameditors had been bouncing around the same threads on Facebook, cracking people up to the point where there were numerous cries of “You two should go start a blog!” In retrospect this may have just been friends trying to stop us from filling their feeds with obscene references to the alien races of Star Wars (“Is Wookie-style” a sexual position?”) and photos of the the life-sized David Hasselhoff mannequin we found on the Internet which was endlessly amusing to us for obvious reasons and turned into an elaborate murder-mystery. Well the joke’s on you guys! We did it! Ha!

The Hoffcart approves

The Hoffcart approves, and then results in your mysterious untimely death.

Since then it’s been an insanely amusing ride. People have stopped each of us on the street to say, “I love your blog!” Fans have contributed real cash money to help pay for hosting and some of our operating expenses (read: scorpion bowls at Midori that one time, and mostly the Clam parties (so). KT wrote a piece on the Market Basket controversy last summer that literally had hundreds of thousands of hits and was picked up by Esquire and other real news outlets staffed by actual journalists and not just two local wags trying to find mildly off-color mashups of 90’s alt hits and local landmarks (I just went down Stacy’s Mom Boulevard).

We knew going in we wanted to be an alternate voice. Slightly punk rock, edgy, shouty and PG-13 (language). We felt at the time, and even more so a year out, that Gloucester needs a little shaking up. It needs to have its assumptions questioned and to laugh at itself more. 99.9% of you agree, even some well known local figures who call or email or text and say, “I love what you guys are doing, dear God never stop, but of course I can’t put my name behind that so don’t quote me.”

There have been haters too, of course. That’s fine. It’s a big Internet, they can go somewhere else and complain about us or whatever. Oh, and of course (this being Gloucester) there are also one million experts in everything who keep telling us what to do. Apparently they know for a fact we would “do better,” for instance, if we stopped swearing so much. Or that young fellow KT should learn to respect women. Or that Jim Dowd never should have been elected to Parliament as the Labor MP from Lewisham (He has also failed to bring the funk). Their “expertise” is betrayed by our hit stats which plainly demonstrate you people like pretty much two things: Swearing and dirty lists, especially on Friday afternoons (our stats suggest most of you are surfing the web completely plowed by 2:00 pm any given Friday).

Here is a short list of our biggest surprises:

  1. How widespread our readership is: Who the fuck are you people in New York City? We see you on our analytics, hundreds a day. We’re probably coming down there at some point and having a drink with you all, unless it turns out reading The Clam aloud in some basement dungeon on Christoper Street is the daily ritual of a creepy fetish group. Actually, if that’s the case we’re definitely coming down. Looking at the Google we see consistent readers in LA, Chicago, London, Australia, Portland Oregon, Russia and Finland. A bunch in Finland, actually. WHY FINLAND? WHY????
  2. How mobile our readers are: Most of you guys apparently read us on your phones or tablets. We assume killing time while you are waiting for your arraignment or something. It helps confirm for us most readers consume The Clam as an “infosnack” between things. We try and respect that.
  3. How easy it’s been to come up with content: We worried hard about doing this daily. Every couple of weeks KT would text Jim and say, “Holy fuck we have nothing for next week!” Jim, playing the role of the sage old hand would say, “Don’t worry, some crazy bullshit will happen in the next 72 hours and we’ll have a topic.” This came true EVERY TIME. We had flat-out zip to write about the day before Beardy McCrimespree robbed the Ipswich Bank downtown and fled by taxi. There were snowstorms, strikes, school craziness, elections and drones. Lord so much drones. And more drone-nerdery is coming. This will be a full-on drone erotica site by July. But the point is, drones aside, Gloucester is a rich well of topics for a satire blog and for that we are eternally grateful.

    "Amazon said the craft would be 'unmanned' but oh how wrong they were..."

    “Amazon said the craft would be ‘unmanned’ but oh how wrong they were…”

  4. The number of people who assumed we were bonking: This came as a disappointment. There was apparently furtive talk in some corners about “what was going on” between us because known science clearly states two people of opposing genders can’t write comedy together or work closely together without a genital interchange of some type. We confronted a few folks when we heard the scuttlebutt, and somehow were given the impression that its up to us to prove to the world we’re NOT bonking. Okay….we’re open to suggestions on how to prove a negative, something every logical system says you can’t do, but sure. We’ll get right on that. Also feminist fail from folks who know better, and who should let two humans who work well together just do that and not have it be all be about what junk they happen to have. Sadface on this one, people.
  5. The real, serious shit we talked about: Some of our best work came from thorny issues many of which we were initially loath to cover. We talked about the Ferguson violence, Robin Williams’ suicide, telling the truth about the schools (they are pretty damn good!), gun violence, the general crappiness of the Gloucester Daily Times and the massive third rail of a Gloucester future where groundfishing is a minor part of the economic equation. People got mad at us sometimes, but lots and lots more said, “I’m so glad someone is finally talking about this…” Basically we’ve become that obnoxious knowitall punk kid at Thanksgiving who blurts out, “Are we really going to let Grandma live in that big house at the edge of town all alone? Isn’t that sort of stupid?” That kid is a total pain in the ass (also what’s with the hair?) but they are frequently right about stuff, or at least right that the stuff needs to be talked about and not left as is. It’s a role we both know well.

    Find The Clam in this picture

    Find The Clam in this picture

  6. How many people don’t get humor: Did you know there are people who don’t understand humor? Did you further know a substantial subset of this group regularly contact those who create actual comedy to explain the extent to which they don’t get it? I guess everyone has hobbies, but you don’t find either of us posting on the official website of the International Cricket Council to inform them we don’t get the concept of “rounders.”
  7. The things we really liked that bombed: KT had this bit called “Sporthorse” we both loved. We were the only ones, apparently (except Paul Morrison: We love you, Paul). Jim wrote these Star Wars narratives he thought were the most amusing combinations of words every committed to electronic media, but KT’s eyes glazed over and she would start banging her head against the walls at ClamMedia Tower (TM). Stats show more people have read the Necronomicon and lived than those posts. It’s a strange thing sometimes, finding that place where what we think is funny and what you all will think is funny overlap. We try and strike a balance, to be honest. Sometimes you just gotta write what you like and to hell with the hits. But then again, there is an audience who is giving you the incredible privilege of their attention and it’s really shitty to take advantage of that.

    Now we will never learn the true identity of Sporthorse

    Now we will never learn the true identity of Sporthorse

  8. We blew it also too: We’re not going to go too in-depth on this just to say we know there were a couple of times we went over the line, said the wrong thing, got the story wrong or were dicks about something we should have been less dickish about. We actually fret about this a lot more than you might imagine. In our defense, and we know some will laugh, but we actually believe The Clam has a not unimportant mission. And we believe that mission of afflicting the comfortable and comforting the afflicted is worth the risk of stepping on occasional toes and making ourselves look like assholes in the process. We’re going to try not to, we’ve learned a lot this past year, but somebody’s gotta say some of this stuff out loud or it’s never going to get fixed.

That’s it. Huge thanks to our Clamtributors: Brooke, Jeremy, Josh, Stevens and Adam (and a few others who have given us one-off submissions). I know we’re all over the place, but you guys have been a huge help in riding this thing out of the gate. And major thanks to the people who’ve read, laughed, forgiven and supported us. It’s been a privilege, and we’ve gotten more from this project than we ever thought possible.

More great things to come, folks. We’ve been working on some pretty crazy stuff.

–KT and Jim


KT’s Wicked Tuna Recap: S4 Episode 8, “Battle At Midway”.

Oh for god’s sakes here we go again with another episode of Wicked Tuna. Listen I’m sure most of these guys are interesting in real life, but this show is pretty much the least compelling thing on TV besides whatever’s on C-Span. Anyway this season is the midway point, which means soon enough I can stop watching this show. Hooray! I’m literally a month behind because my internet is spotty out here in no man’s land. I’m sure you’re all just chomping at the bit for me to catch up. So here we go. A collective sigh.

We start off with bagpipes. Why? Why? I’m Irish and I’ve lived within 30 miles or closer of Boston my whole life and NOT MANY PEOPLE HERE LISTEN TO BAGPIPES ON THE REGS. But it’s like, sunrise, so I guess they’re going for something dramatic. I guess.

Oh there’s Dramaboat with that dreamy dudecaptainguy! Woo! Now I’m paying attention. Whoa, whoa, whoa, Tyler on StonahBoat has cut his hair. Whoa. Up is down, down is up, cats and dogs are living together in sin.

i have no words.

i have no words.

Who is this well-coiffed young man telling me about ways of the sea? I actually like shaggy hair, because I am a weird person, so I am a bit sad. But you look good, Tyler, don’t worry. His crewmember, David, is lamenting that he isn’t getting enough time with his two young kids and his wife, who is undoubtedly at her wit’s end. He’s like “this is hard”, and I completely understand. It’s almost like fishing really isn’t the best job when you have little kids, because you’re away for like 8 days at a time. He realizes exactly that, and has to figure out his options. I feel you, man. Seriously, I’m not even being snarky. I own two small children myself. That shit’s harrrd.

be still, my ladycrotch.

be still, my ladycrotch.

Oh, hello, suddenly we are transported over to HotBoat. I know I mentioned this last time, but damn if the producers of Wicked Tuna didn’t say “hey, this show is filled with some real 3/10’s, let’s get a box of hot in here.” Why, thank you, now I’ll watch only 80% ironically. Okay, hotstuff, what’s coming out of your facehole? Oh, words about fishing and shit. They tried to catch a fish and failed at the last minute. They’re mad. They needed that fish, it turns out.

With reggae music comes Stonerboat, who lost a fish due to “faulty tackle” which sounds a lot like a problem our contributor Adam has dealt with.

All of a sudden there’s another boat, the Bounty Hunter, which I swear to god has to be docked where I see it every day because I know I’ve seen that name and people wearing the shirts, but I literally do not pay attention to anything at all unless it’s food so who knows.

I know, tuna is food. Shush.

Anyway this boat now has one of the harpoon guys on it. “Hey, let’s do more reality TV!” said someone for some reason. Hooray. This part of the episode is basically “aging, pudgy white guys yell a lot and swear.” You people get on my case about my profanity, but this is like, TV. National Geographic. A formerly distinguished nature and science channel. Now we watch guys in dad socks scream “bitch” at the ocean. Awesome.

“I don’t think there’s any worse feeling than when you fight this fish and see that rod pop up and know you lost it.” Dude, really? REALLY? I know this is Dramz For the TVz but that would be like me saying “The worst feeling in the world is when WordPress eats one of my blog posts.” Not like, death, or loss, or the creeping spectre of global warming’s catastrophic outcomes, but a rod snapping. Cool.

[At this point, I actually ragequit the episode. I just can’t. Not without strong drugs.]