A friend sent me this poem, its an oldie but still a goodie....

What is a Commercial Oilfield Diver?

They come in assorted sizes, in trucks, in helicopters, in supply boats, in "cut-off" jeans, in love, in debt, and indiscriminately. Girls love them, whores take them, St. John's tolerate them and governments support them.

They are laziness with a pack of cards, bravery with a bottle of rum, and the saviours of humanity on empty pockets. They have the enthusiasm of a turtle, the stories of a sea captain, the inspiration of a born liar, and the charm of Casanova.

No other breed of men can cram into one pocket: a calculator, a packet of condoms, a copy of playboy, a can of beer, a bottle opener, deportation papers, a return airline ticket, and half a case of chewing tobacco.

Their likes are: girls, women, dames, chicks, females, skirts. Their dislikes are: answering letters, alimony, long flights, dry hotels, and faxes from Houston. They like to spend their money on girls, beer, gambling and fast cars. What's left, they squander.

So what is a diver?
He's that magical creature that's here today and gone tomorrow; that's equally at home on land or water; that's never around when you need him, that's always around when you don't and seems to spend his life drifting unconcerned between childhood and adultery.

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