I’M NOT BEING CHASED, BUT I AM RUNNING (THE WOODSTOCK EDITION)

As lyricist Robert Hunter said in the Grateful Dead hit Truckin’, what a long, strange trip it’s been.

Today (August 15, 2019) marks the 50th anniversary of the Aquarian Music Festival, more commonly known to the world as Woodstock, which started on this date and continued for three days in the up-state New York town of Bethel, which is 43 miles southwest of the eponymous city, which certainly in my mind would beg the question, “why the hell wasn’t it called ‘Bethel’, rather than ‘Woodstock’”? Sounds to me like Bethel NY was the victim of “selective marketing”, to coin a phrase.

I’ll skip reiterating all the sociological significance of the festival; it’s been done a bajillion times already, by writers/sociologists much more astute and experienced in that field than I will ever be. Suffice to say, as far as I’m concerned, Woodstock was the end and culmination of the 60s and the so-called “hippie movement”. Despite the struggles over Vietnam, women’s rights, civil rights, societal values, the 1968 Democratic Convention fiasco and the whole “love, dope and hippie beads” thing, there was still an innocence, a naiveté if you will that wasn’t completely negated until nine months later at Kent State University…it started in Chicago during that hot summer of ’68, but it became real in Ohio on May 4th, 1970.

I can never remember if the plural of “data” is “data” or vice-versa, one being pronounced “dayta” and the other “daata”, but whatever it is, I don’t have any on the number of people today who say they attended the festival, but I suspect the count has to be in the gajillions…as you can see from the photo below, claims notwithstanding, there were a shitload of attendees. My friend Ron was there, as you can further see from the photo (I circled him, down in the right-hand corner). I wasn’t there, not having been invited. (WikiPedia says there were “more than 400,000” in attendance, but doesn’t offer any evidence to support that number.) There being no way to verify the validity of someone saying today, hell yeah, I was there, we’ll never know, and let’s face it, according to my parent’s generation, all hippies/long-haired kids were liars, perverts and drug-abusers (right on two out of three) anyway.

I was living in Southern California at the time of the festival, an 18-year old, long-haired soon-to-be college student. I don’t remember hearing about the concert prior but reading about what took place afterwards. I wouldn’t have attended even had I known in advance about it, being too busy preparing for school, working, avoiding the draft and trying to screw everything in a short skirt in those days, with little success in the latter.

At just barely eighteen that summer and not having paid my dues, I was on the very outer limits of the so-called “Baby Boomer” generation, a group of people nowadays epitomized by guys like Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, who look like parodies of themselves and who apparently don’t have the good sense and decency to “go gentle into that good night”, as the poet Dylan Thomas once said. (And speaking of Dylan, there’s another guy who these days looks like he could use the services of a good embalmer.)

Babies were born, two people died (one of an overdose of happiness and another run over by a tractor), legends were made (see Richie Havens, Santana and Jimi Hendrix), cows mingled with concert-goers, drugs were consumed in mass quantities, Country Joe taught us how to spell, the promoters “took a bit of a bath” as reported from onstage by MC and production coordinator John Morris and in general a peaceful chaos reigned supreme.

(One of the best stories to come out of the concert…the band Iron Butterfly was scheduled to perform, got stranded at LaGuardia airport and couldn’t find a way into Bethel, due to the ungodly traffic tie-ups the concert produced on local highways. Their agent contacted Michael Lang, one of the organizers of the event, and with an excess of attitude, demanded a helicopter as a conveyance into and out of the site for the band. Lang, up to his cojones in other problems at that moment, told Morris to respond with a “thanks, no thanks.” Here’s the telegram that Morris sent the agent in response:

                “F or reasons I can’t go into

                 U ntil you are here

                 C larifying your situation

                 K nowing you are having problems

                 Y ou will have to find

                 O ther transportation

                 U nless you plan not to come”

Morris is my kind of guy.

What a long, strange trip it’s been indeed.

Fast forward to the 21st century and current events, and it’s becomes time for me to, once again, remind all of you that, like the 247 disparate individuals from the Democratic Party, your Cap’n (that would be me) is running for President in 2020 as the Hearty Party candidate…that’s right, exhaust fans, my name is Cap’n John and I ain’t kidding. (That’s my campaign slogan…catchy, huh?)

I thought I would take a moment and reiterate some of my positions on the various issues, give you the “planks” of my platform, as it were. So I’ll dive right in, having no idea how deep the pool is.

GLOBAL WARMING

                I don’t know about the rest of the globe, but it’s been hotter than Habanero pepper here in Central Florida recently, with several days just last week having a “heat index” of, depending on which usually inaccurate weather reporting service you choose, between 108 and 110°, coupled with completely unseasonable rain EVERY FUCKIN’ DAY THIS SUMMER, which I have to believe is somehow connected to the extreme heat. When I am elected President, I will ask Congress to enact legislation that will require sending Federal troops to the homes of “climate deniers”, have said troops take the said deniers out into the country where it’s quiet and then whack their peenies with a meat tenderizing mallet repeatedly.

LEGALIZATION OF MARIJUANA

As your President, I will send a bill to Congress making cannabis legal in 47 states, other than Wisconsin, Michigan and Pennsylvania; since the asshats in those states supported Donald Trump and put him in the White House in 2016, screw’em. And piss on Mitch McConnell too as long as I’m at it.

THE ECONOMY

                After I am elected the 46th President of this great country, having been remade so by my predecessor Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump (at least in his mind), I will immediately lift all the incredibly stoopid tariffs imposed by PTB on imported Chinese products, causing the Chinese to respond in kind, which will allow the farmers, consumers and the stock market to get back to normalcy, which means the famers will be able to make a profit from their efforts, consumers will quit taking it in the shorts and the market will return to some semblance of sanity. And you needn’t worry about Mr. Trump, post-Presidency…he won’t starve, always having Daddy’s money to fall back on, as he has done all his life.

SOCCER BAN

                  That’s right, circulating fans, as soon as I am elected President, I will immediately impose a ban on the playing of soccer, in any form at any level, in this country. It’s a stoopid, boring game that has no place in modern American sports. Let them play it in countries that don’t have Major League Baseball, REAL football, the NBA, women’s college fast-pitch softball and tiddlywinks. (Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth for AN HOUR AND A HALF. Geez.)

TIDDLYWINKS DAY

                Speaking of tiddlywinks, as President, I will issue a proclamation declaring February 23rd as National Tiddlywink Day, with all the attendant celebrations and general tomfoolery thereto. Why 2/23? Besides being my birthday, which should be reason enough, it’s also the day, in 1997, that “scientists” announced the first successful cloning of an animal, a lamb named Dolly, making her the Dolly Lamba.

LEGALIZATION OF MARIJUANA

                As your President, wait, I already did this one, didn’t I? Shit.

As the election draws nearer over the next 12 months or so, I will be expounding further on other pertinent issues that face our nation; you can be assured that my positions on these matters will be as cogent and relevant as the ones above.

At this early stage in the electoral process, I believe you could best characterize my candidacy by quoting Joseph Heller, from his brilliant anti-war novel Catch-22:

“He was a self-made man who owed his lack of success to nobody.”

Yes.

“Gimme an F…”

Love and “The Star Spangled Banner”,

Cap’n John

Post Script…the pic above? One of the bands that didn’t play at Woodstock.

ADVICE FOR THOSE WHO AREN’T GETTING ANY, AND I DON’T MEAN ADVICE_VOL X

(Editor’s note: Today’s post is dedicated to a young man for whom I have a truckload of respect and admiration, my soon to be “ex-boss” at the Publix grocery store where I work part-time, Brian K. He’s leaving us, to move onward and upward, and will be sorely missed. Good luck, buddy, and remember, you can call me any time you need help or advice.

The philosopher and novelist George Santayana has been quoted as saying that “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it”, which at once sounds both quite sage and the best explanation for people falling prey to multiple marriages. 

According to Karl Marx, patron saint of the Communist movement and brother to Groucho, Harpo and Chico, “History repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce”, words we will remember on Wednesday, November 4th, 2020 should this country lose its collective mind and reelect Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump for another four years as President. You will also recall that Obi-Wan Kenobi urged Luke Skywalker to use it.

And as Rodney Dangerfield once said, a comment I have often quoted, “I’m so old, when I was in school we didn’t even HAVE history.”

So history will be the theme of today’s post; I considered writing about “llama intestines” as a theme, but in deference to the delicate sensibilities of my loyal readers (all several of you), I decided against that idea. I’m sure some of you, sensibilities notwithstanding, will be disappointed.

You know who you are.

On this date in history:

~In 1974, then President Richard M. Nixon, facing almost certain impeachment for his role in the Watergate break-in fiasco, announced that he was resigning from office effective immediately. Had it been prohibited by our Constitution, Mr. Nixon could easily have been impeached for being arrogant and inept, an ugly combination in any human being, as we’re seeing with the current resident of the White House. As it was, the charges against him were Obstruction of Justice, Contempt of Congress, Failure to Reduce Speed, Being a Republican and General Mopery, who did it in the Conservatory with the Revolver. (Sorry, that was Colonel Mustard…I get those two confused sometimes. I did write about the board game Clue last week, if you’re interested.) Here’s hoping someone at the White House mentions this bit of history to Mr. Trump, and that he then has a sudden and quite unexpected 180° change of heart and follows Mr. Nixon’s example. As comedian Judy Tenuta often says, “Hey, it could happen.”

~In 1879, in the Mexican state of Morelos, Emiliano Zapata was born. He was renowned for a) being a key figure in the peasant revolution of 1910 against the land-owning hacendados in Morelos, b) having an awesome ‘stache and c) since “zapata” in Spanish means “shoe”, being the first revolutionary leader in the world to be named for footwear.

~In 1846, in an attempt to prohibit the expansion of slavery to the new territories in the West, the Wilmot Proviso was proposed in Congress, and in the debate that followed, much to our chagrin today, the Republican Party was born. Several current historians have suggested that we go back, exhume the various Congressional leaders of that time, give each of them a good smack on the side of the head and then rebury them. And here’s some food for thought…the same Republican Party that gave us Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt and Dwight Eisenhower has now graced us with Donald Trump and Mitch McConnell, which if we were to use a food analogy for the genealogy of the GOP, could be considered “chocolate-covered dog turds”.

~In 1588, the English armada, led by Commodore Lionel Ritchie, in one of those interminable wars that they seemed to fight incessantly over there in Europe in those days, defeated the Spanish fleet in a decisive battle off the northern coast of France. (And as a nod to Mr. Ritchie, the town I live in here in Central Florida, New Port Richey, is named for his brother, who was at one time a prominent local proctologist.)

~And in 1096, a Slabovian peasant named Elwood Pudlooper decided, after much soul searching and contemplation, that he would follow Knight and Lord of the local fief Sir Sean of Connery on a crusade to liberate the Holy Lands from the heathens of SPECTRE, at least according to novelist and accidental historian Sir Ian Fleming. (Geez, is there anyone over there in the UK that they HAVEN’T made a Knight? Sir Elton John, are you kidding me?)

And in the history of the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog, I have received and continue to receive many letters, emails, texts, telegrams and carrier pigeon messages from my loyal readers seeking advice about their love lives, or the obvious lack thereof. I thought, for your edification, that I would share with you some of the more pathetic, err, excuse me, of the more heart-rending of these missives.

Of course, asking me for advice on affaires de coeur is rather like asking your dog to explain Einstein’s theory of relativity. Or as comedian Larry the Cable Guy once put it, “It’s like wiping before you poop, it don’t make no sense.”

Yes.

“Cap’n John:

                I am an author of political manifestos, single and in my early 30’s, and although I believe that “religion is the opium of the people”, I am having no luck finding a suitable female partner with whom to share everything I have, my work and life. I thought that I might eventually meet my “special someone” at a political rally or a Bund meeting, for I am a very “social” person, but I have had no luck. My partner Friedrich even offered to fix me up with his sister Helga, but the Engels are a strict German family and wouldn’t allow it. I’m lonely in my “worker’s paradise”. Can you help me, Cap’n John?

                                Groucho’s Younger Bother Karl”

Dear Brother:

                Yawohl, you Marxist asshat, have you tried living in a commune? Maybe if there’s a group of women from which you can choose your luck might be better. Just don’t try to impress any of them with your money.

“Dear Cap’n John:

                I’m female, 22 years old and a student at a local college, working part-time at a grocery store as a cashier to pay for my education. Lately I find myself VERY attracted to one of my co-workers, a young man in his late 20’s who is quite handsome, very nice and, according to several of his buddies, hung like a stud horse. We’ve spoken on many occasions, had some good conversations and he seems interested in me, but it also seems like something is holding him back. So here’s my question: didn’t it creep you out to the max when Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia were in a serious lip-lock in The Empire Strikes Out On A 3-2 Slider and then we learn they’re brother and sister in the Return of the Jed Clampetts?

                                Megan the Merciless, Ruler of the Galaxy”

Dear Ruler:

                Hey, being “hung like a stud horse” is all well and good, but does your potential suitor know that there was an apartment house in my neighborhood out in L.A. that was named “Los Huevos”, which in Spanish means “The Eggs”? What the hell kind of a name is that for a building? Next thing you know, some guy named after footwear will being charging around leading revolutions.

“Cap’n John Krissongs:

                You continue to ignore our repeated attempts to collect this debt…”

Okay, never mind that one.

“Dear CJK:

                I just can’t believe that, according to scientists, the Moon moves away from the Earth at a rate of 1.48 inches annually, or at about the same rate that a person’s fingernails grow. If this is true, and I really don’t think it is, ‘cause who the hell has a tape measure that long, then how come I can’t find a good-looking woman to walk down the aisle with? I’m in my late 20’s, told that I’m good-looking by my friends, who are notorious liars, have all my own hair and teeth, and pardon my bragging, hung like a stud horse, so I can’t understand this total failure with women. There’s this one girl at work that looks interesting, but she recently told me that she has three nipples and is a Republican as well, and that sure brought things to a grinding halt. How can I take her home to my Mom, who plays linebacker for the Packers and hates Republicans? How about some help here, Cap’n?

                                Terry the Trojan Horse”

Dear Horse:

                Have you tried using a 56mm left-handed kroysening wrench?

Well, gang, I see by the old word-counter down in the lower left of my computer screen that it’s half-past August and time to move on to bigger and better things. And remember the famous words of George Orwell in his incomparable book Brave New World, quoting Henry Ford, who once said that “History is bunk beds.”

At least I think that’s what he said.

Love and geography,

Cap’n John

Post Script…and how about that segue this week, “And in the history of the Welcome Aboard yada, yada, yada”…pretty slick, huh?

Post Post Script…that thing about the Moon moving away from the Earth at the same rate as the growth of a person’s fingernails is true…check it out.

MISSILE ANUSES

Now before I get started here, let me just say this…anyone who laughs at what they’re about to read will a) hurt my feelings, b) reveal him/herself to be an insensitive asshat, which I’m sure NONE of my loyal readers are and c) receive a visit from several large, ‘roided-out muscular men with poor attitudes and gonads the size of BBs, who will remove you from your home, take you out in the country where it’s quiet and repeatedly whack your peenie with a short length of 5/8” garden hose.

Back in the Jurassic Park days when I was a kid, when we weren’t chasing dinosaurs or learning to walk upright, we played board games, especially on those rainy days when outdoor activities were cancelled due to weather. Monopoly (or as my mother referred to it, “Monotony”) was a big fave, as was Life. The Big Three was rounded out by my personal favorite, Clue.

I was excellent at Clue…still am.

Yes, I did. I recently purchased the digital version of the game to play on my desktop computer, and have been playing frequently ever since. Okay, compared to Grand Theft Auto or Fortnite or one of those other violent, gun-laden, blow-up everything in the world grotesqueries that seem so popular these days with the Neanderthal crowd, Clue is quiet and boring. It requires you, and ah, the horror of it all, to think, to reason, to deduce. (Recent polls show that Clue is not well-liked by supporters of our President, Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump.)

Besides, I like “murder mysteries”; I’ve read all the Sherlock Holmes stories by Arthur Conan Doyle, several Agatha Christies’, the Maltese Falcon as well as the Thin Man series by Dashiell Hammett, everything that Stephen King has written on the subject, in between ghosts, vampires and rabid dogs, a bunch of John MacDonald’s “Travis McGee” books and more.

Now I admit that the game is really nothing more than a remake of the old kid’s card game Go Fish…you roll, you move, you “suggest” and you try to get the other players to have to remove an article of clothing. Ah, okay, sorry, wrong game. No, you try to compel the other players to reveal their cards, by skillful bluffs and feints, while trying to reveal at little as possible about your cards and eventually figure out the “murder” was committed by Captain Ketchup with the chain-saw in the outhouse.

So to speak.

The one thing I’ve never been able to understand is why the creators of the game didn’t have the players use the names of independent investigators, detectives or “private eyes”, rather than the characters in the “plot”…I mean, come on, Mrs. Peacock goes into the Conservatory and immediately declares that, yep, the murder was done in this room using the Knife by, that’s right, it was me, Mrs. Peacock, yes sir, I did it, I was there when the crime was committed so I should know, I’m the one, lock me up.

Stoopid.

They could have done it like Neil Simon did in his outstanding movie Murder By Death…if you’re not familiar with the flick, a mysterious millionaire, Lionel Twain, played by author Truman Capote, who proved with his performance that as an actor he’d make a fine mailman, invites all of the world’s greatest detectives to his mansion to solve a “murder that will take place at midnight”. Milo Perrier (Hercule Poirot), Sam Diamond (Sam Spade), Dick and Dora Charleston (Nick and Nora Charles of the Thin Man series) and Sidney Wang (Charlie Chan, played hysterically by Peter Sellers), are among the “experts” who are summoned. The detectives could have moved from room to room, made their “suggestions” and then eventually caught the person responsible. (They didn’t in the movie, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Yes, that’s correct, I’m Ms. Scarlett and I bumped off Mr. Boddy (the dead millionaire guy) in the Kitchen with the Lead Pipe. Of course, I could have used one of those sharp butcher knives hanging on the rack on the wall above his head, but that would have been too easy…better to drag a conspicuous piece of plumbing throughout the mansion on my way to the killing.

It’s still a fun game, and I’m good at it, which of course certainly helps the enjoyment factor.

Moving along, I found this last week in an article about avoiding being bitten by an alligator here in the Gunshine State; I managed to misplace the link, but I wrote down the quote I wanted to use, so all isn’t lost. To wit:

“To avoid being bitten by an alligator, experts advise staying out of bodies of water.”

And thank you, Mr. Obvious Man…really, that’s your expert “advice”, stay out of the water, in a state where any body of water more than 3” deep could have a 12 foot ‘gator in it, hiding behind a couple of pebbles, pissed off that he hasn’t eaten a nice, soft, juicy homo sapien for a couple of weeks? Yeah, I feel MUCH safer now for sure.

And once again moving along, I saw a photo on FaceBook the other day of two female friends, who were hugging each other and laughing at the camera in that goofy way we all seem to take on these days whenever we or someone we know aims a cellphone camera at us, posted on the one lady’s time line. And by sheer coincidence, both of these ladies, and I don’t want to be indelicate or come across as a male chauvinist pig snot-wad here, are well-endowed. The pic shows them cheek to cheek and mammary gland to mammary gland, and although there is nothing sexual or “suggestive’ about the photo, it’s hard not to see the obvious physicality of the subjects.

And that got me to thinking about what a pain in the ass a really big set of breasts must be to women who possess same…how to do ladies keep from running into things with them all the time? Aren’t they constantly in the way? I mean, if I’m a big-breasted women, I’d be inclined to sling them over my shoulder when I was trying to do something that caused my boobs to droop down in the way. Lying on your back reading a book has to be an adventure…if you rest the book on your stomach you can’t see it, and if you put it on the other side, closer to your face, it’s too near to be able to make out the words on the page. The House of Representatives has been considering a bill to make it illegal for a women to have breasts larger than a “C” cup, but His Eminence, President “Tweety Bird”, has been quoted as saying that he will veto any legislation that reaches his desk that limits breast size for women. “Based on my experience with women such as Stormy Daniels and Karen McDougal, I believe that large-breasted women are a benefit to America, and I say more power to them. And unlike the Media, in this case “fake” is okay. NO COLLUSION, SEND’EM BACK!”

According to comedian Jeff Foxworthy, if you think 401(k) is your mother-in-law’s bra size, you might be a redneck.

And moving along yet once again, I had occasion to visit my new PCP doctor a few weeks ago (I left my former doctor when the thieves in his billing department decided that arguing over a crummy $50 bill, which I could prove I paid and they refused to acknowledge, was more important than maintaining good patient relationships…greedy cocksuckers), to become acquainted and to make sure I’m not dying of sclerosis of the blowhole or some malady equally distasteful. In the process of being poked and prodded, tested and checked and learning that I’m shrinking vertically and growing horizontally, my new lady doctor asked me if I had ever had a colonoscopy, which I have not, nor, as I informed her, was I intending to do so. Ever. Sorry, but (pardon the pun) to my way of thinking, that orifice is meant to be outbound only…”inbound” traffic does not have clearance to land on this runway.

Since I voiced my reluctance (refusal) to subject myself to this ignominy, Dr. M stated that the “insurance carrier” (when did these assholes start running the world?) would most likely require proof that I am not afflicted with colon cancer, polyps, tumors, stalagmites, termites or the above mentioned sclerosis, and told me that she would provide me with a “collection” kit that would enable me to test myself for “human hemoglobin from lower gastrointestinal bleeding”.

Yeah, except that, once you get to reading the fine print on the test instructions, it’s a “poopie test”…you get a card, a brush, a return envelope and 25 pages of gibberish, all of which allows you check your own stool, sans the doctor, the operating room, the “flexible tube placed through the rectum into the colon”, etc.

Sorry, Doc, but this one is a non-starter for me as well, just like the colonoscopy…I’ll take my chances, and screw the “insurance carrier”.

A buddy of mine had to take one of these “poopie tests” once, right around Christmas, and being a clever individual with an unusual sense of humor, he wrote “Happy Holidays!” on the sample card, complete with sample, that he returned to the lab.

Sometimes I don’t think these doctors and insurance people have a Clue…

Love and miscellaneous,

Cap’n John

Post Script…”PCP” above means Primary Care Physician; it does not mean that my new doctor takes mind-altering drugs, although if I had to deal with “insurance carriers” all day long, I might consider it.

I’M NOT LAUGHING ANYMORE

Author Stephen King, one of my fave writers and one of my not-fave liberal snot-wads, has written a number of essays on the mechanics of “writing”; in fact, he’s written almost as many of those as he has books, being apparently obsessed with “writing” to the point of distraction. In one of these numerous treatments, he spoke (at great length, on-and-on at great length, like Charles Dickens at his worst please STFU at great length) about how a writer should be obsessed with words, to want to wallow around in words. I’m sure it would be to SK’s great satisfaction to know that I wholeheartedly agree with him. (Although I don’t rattle on about it.)

I love words…I don’t care to have sex with them, but I have great affection for language, for the actual “words” themselves. I enjoy playing with words, with phrases, with their connectivity and their weightiness.

I see dead people in words. (Okay, that’s not true, I just threw that in there to make sure you were paying attention.)

When I was living in the San Fernando Valley in Los Angeles, some years ago, there was a street in my neighborhood named “Moorpark”; as I was driving past one day, seeing the street sign, I realized that Moorpark backwards is “kraproom”.

Yeah, I see words in ways others don’t. And I believe that words have specific meanings which are not near as “gray area” as many people believe, that words can cut surgically, can evoke emotions and are to be wielded carefully.

So it drives me a little bat-shit when I see words being used profligately, or sloppily, without care. And I really don’t like the trend I’m seeing these days to “make up” words, just for their advertising or PR value, just to attract attention to something when the word has no relevance to that thing.

Like google.

I hate the word “google”. (Not that I don’t do it several dozen times a day, like most people on the planet.)

Supposedly, there is a back-story to how this obnoxious word came into existence, which you can read about on your own; frankly, I don’t buy it. I figure some smart Marketing person someplace convinced Larry Page and Sergey Brin, the two guys who founded the company, that they needed a “catchy” name to attract attention, something that people would remember but didn’t necessarily have to have anything to do with Web searching. I know its good marketing, but it’s an affront to language. (Good thing this isn’t Orwell’s 1984 or I’d call the Thought Police on them.)

“Memes” is another one…yeah, same routine, there’s supposedly a back-story to this one as well but it also sounds like horseshit. Hell, it isn’t even spelled correctly, for crissake. S-e-e-m-s is pronounced “seems” and d-e-e-m-s is pronounced “deems” and t-e-e-m-s is pronounced “kanooten” so why the hell isn’t is “m-e-e-m-s”? Geez.

So in my great dissatisfaction with this fabricated word, I have unilaterally decided to change it…if it has to be a “made-up” name, it should at least be something interesting. So from now on, they are no longer to be known as “meems”, using the phonetically correct spelling; starting today, any “humorous video, image, piece of text, etc. that is copied (often with slight variations) and spread rapidly by Internet users” (the Web Dictionary definition) is now to be called and referred to as…

…”gruwals”.

Gruwals. Please make a note of it.

Thank you. And screw your “meems” bullshit, and the horse you rode in on.

You’ll also note, if you’re paying attention, and if you aren’t please do so, as there will be a quiz on this material next week, that I am using a number of gruwals in this week’s post, all of them having the same subject matter, His Eminence, the Lord High Ruler of the Universe, Duke of Earl and Marquis of Queensbury, Exalted Grand Poohah of All He Surveys and Prince of Thieves, our President, Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump.

You will recall that I received a letter from his Head Lackey, Rudy Giuliani, which I shared with you last week, ordering me, err, sorry, asking me politely to be available on Wednesday, 7/17, at 1:00PM EST to receive a phone call from His Wonderfulness, to engage me in conversation…be still my beating heart.

And sure enough, just a few minutes past 1:00 (I would have thought the Commander In Thief would run a tighter ship than that), my phone rang and the number 202-456-1111 appeared on the Caller ID screen.

The White House.

Since my First Mate Taffie Wetzel was off battening down hatches, I was forced to answer my own phone.

“Cap’n John…”

“Please hold for His Majesty, Supreme Highness Trump…”

(His “hold” music is the tune “Hail To The Chief”…subtle.)

And then I heard that high-pitched, nasally voice come over the line…

“Cap’n John? Can I call you Cap’n John?”

“Mr. President, you have called me twice before and we’ve discussed this both times…you can call me “Cap’n John” if I can call you “Donald”, otherwise it’s Cap’n Krissongs.”

“Well, that’s awfully disrespectful, don’t you think? After all, I am the Supreme Ruler of the World, err, excuse me, President,” he responded, sounding a little miffed.

“Coming from the man who called Senator John McCain a “loser”, who said he “wasn’t a war hero” and that said about women that you just “grab them by the pussy”, a lecture from you about disrespect is a little disingenuous, don’t you think?”

“Well, I’m glad you agree that I’m a stable genius, anyway.”

“That isn’t what I said. Disingenuous means, shit, never mind,” I said, already exasperated. “What can I do for you today?”

        **********************************************************************************

I wrote the above on Sunday, 7/14, thinking to finish the following day; this is common for me, as I like to review what I’ve come up with from the fresh eye of a new day. It was also done just prior to President Donald Trump’s now infamous tweet directed at the “four Congresswomen” to “go back” where they came from if they didn’t like America. And I am so outraged and sickened by what he said, that I just can’t find it in my heart to finish this post.

A couple of points here…first, I don’t agree with most of what these four women, Representatives Alexandria Cortez-Ocasio of New York, Ilhan Omar of Minnesota, Ayanna Pressley of Massachusetts and Rashida Tlaib of Michigan, the alleged targets of the message and self-proclaimed as the “squad”, have to say; they are all far-left, “progressive” Democrats, and their mix of socialism, liberal politics and Democratic “tax and spend” doesn’t appeal to me in the least.

Second, I suspect that in the President’s mind his comments were not, as he has claimed, “racist”…I emphasize the phrase “in his mind”. Mr. Trump says he isn’t a racist, but his words and actions certainly seem to indicate to the contrary.

That Donald Trump is a misogynist and a liar there is no doubt, and while those things do not have any direct relationship to his most recent remarks, with the addition of “racist” to the litany of charges against this man, the bottom-line sum is a person who is not qualified to hold the office of President of the United States.

He is an embarrassment to our country and a blight on humanity.

What is even more troubling for me is not only the uptick in his approval numbers in polls taken just this week, but seeing his misguided supporters chanting “Lock her up!” at a rally he held down in North Carolina yesterday.

I could not be more disgusted.

Because the First Amendment of our Constitution says that these women, no matter how much we might not agree with what they say, no matter how much their words may anger us, have a right to speak; they don’t need Donald Trump’s approval in advance, and if he doesn’t like their points of view, tough. I don’t like what they’re saying either.

He’s playing to his base, who is as racist as he is, in preparation for the 2020 election, and his base is responding, and that is disturbing to say the least.

I write the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog with one sole purpose…to make people laugh, to give my readers (all three of you, as I like to joke) a few moments of respite from an increasingly unhappy, frantic world. I’m sorry that I failed you this week, but there is nothing funny in the actions and words of Donald Trump.

I’ll try again next week, with a completely different subject, and I’m sure I’ll continue to poke fun at Mr. Trump from time to time in the future; he is, after all, a buffoon, and typically there is humor in buffoonery.

Just not this week.

You guys are awesome…thank you for allowing me to fall off the humor bandwagon for a moment.

#IStandWithIlhan

Love and the First Amendment,

Cap’n John

I GET LETTERS_VOL IV

After all the years of training, the studying and privations, the seemingly endless, agonizing drills, the time had finally come.

He stared at me with his steely gray eyes, and then spoke in a voice that was hard with intent.

“You have your orders, soldier…this isn’t a drill,” he said, as he handed me a wrench.

“No, sir,” I responded, “it’s a 56mm left-handed kroysening wrench, sir.”

“You know what to do, Lieutenant,” he said, as he raised his right hand to his forehead in salute. “Dismissed.”

I snapped to attention and returned his salute, then spun on my heel to leave. As I got to the door, I turned back to him.

“Sir, excuse me, but I think you look wonderful in that cerise bikini.”

Back in November of last year, motivated by a remark made by an uber-sweetie person named Katrina, who is my boss at the Publix grocery store where I work as a part-time Front Service Clerk, after she had read some of my posts on the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog, I explored the idea that I might have a “for-real” author lurking about inside my cranium, searching for a story idea and struggling to break free of the restraints of writing “humor”; sadly, I came to the conclusion then, and certainly the above supports that conclusion, that I’m incapable of being serious for more than a few moments at a time, rendering it difficult to write anything of any substance.

It’s not that I’m unhappy with writing humor…shit, I think I’m hysterical; I go back and read old posts of mine and laugh like a crazed loon. Besides, I seem to be fairly good at it…hey, would a media guru like Anuj Agarwal (who?) of the RSS and website ranking service Feedspot.com have named WATRUK to their TOP 100 HUMOR BLOGS ON THE INTERNET if I wasn’t the second coming of Dave Barry, whose blog by the way is also on the list? (Okay, I had to bribe AA for the ranking…I gave him a bajillion dollars and lifetime free beer to get added.) (Okay, that’s a lie, I didn’t give him a bajillion dollars, but I did promise him the beer.) (Okay, I didn’t promise him any beer, I just submitted the WATRUK blog for their perusal, they perused and the rest is geography. Though I did beg and cry like a sissy-mary to be included.)

Damn good thing I don’t suffer from the agony of false humility, isn’t it?

I enjoy writing, something I came to in the “sunset” of my life…I enjoy sex too, but being in the “sunset” of my life, writing is a helluva lot easier to come by these days. Besides, when it comes to women, I’m like a dog chasing a car…if I caught one, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.

I used to be compelled, back in my youth, to do really mean things to my pet guinea pig, Alphonse, with a Dremel tool, but I finally outgrew that and now find my day-to-day compulsion to be writing. I seem to get all fuzzy and twitchy when I’m not putting words on paper (okay, words on a computer screen).

****SPECIAL BULLETIN****

Sorry to break into the narrative here, but something occurred to me earlier that I just have to get off my chest…you guys heard about this lunatic Joey Chestnut, the guy who won the Famous Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest last Thursday on the 4th? Yeah, this nimrod ate 71 HOT DOGS (WITH BUNS) IN ONE SITTING to win this year’s contest.

SEVENTY ONE HOT DOGS (WITH BUNS).

****CONTENT WARNING****

(I’m about to say something gross.)

So here’s what I was pondering after I read about Mr. Glutton of the Century Chestnut…can you imagine the dump that guy must have to take the next day? EEEEEEEYEWWWWW. “Children, can you say plunger?”

Sorry.

****WE RETURN YOU NOW TO YOUR REGULAR PROGRAMMED BLOG POST****

Besides the HIGHLY PRESTIGIOUS Feedspot ranking (HIGHLY PRESTIGIOUS!) for the WATRUK blog, I also recently received a PM from a really nice lady I know down in the Lone Star State (every time the phrase “Lone Star” comes up on my radar I think about the movie Spaceballs by Mel Brooks…Google it so you understand and save me the explanation if you would) who besides being a published poet is a big fan of the WATURK blog, who said to me, “You are as funny as Dave Barry but with the wonderful dark chaos of the Marx Brothers.”

I sent her five bucks. (Seriously, what a nice thing for her to say.)

Speaking of writing (Holy John Steinbeck, Batman, that’s one of my smoothest segues ever), I’m getting a lot of feedback in the form of letters, emails, texts, carrier pigeon messages, etc., pissing and moaning, err, excuse me, commenting on a couple of columns I posted recently…mostly from whiners.

I thought to share them with you.

“Dear Cap’n Krissongs:

                This letter is in response to the remarks in your post of 6/20, wherein you viciously malign our starting quarterback, Jameis Winston; although I agree with most of what you said, as the new head coach of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, I felt I should offer some feedback. It’s true that, sadly, Jameis has been “diagnosed with ‘Dumbfuck disease’” and that the “long-term expectations that he will ever amount to a cup of warm spit are pretty much nil”…well, now that I think about it, given the above, I guess I don’t have any response after all. You’re right, Jameis is pretty much useless. Never mind.

                                Bruce Ariens, Head Coach

                                Tampa Bay Buccaneers”

“Dear Cap’n John:

                As planetary spokesperson for Zatox (“The Best Little Planet In The Galaxy”), I have been directed by planetary officials to issue to Earth our most sincere apology for the return of Earthling Dennis Rodman to you after we abducted him many years ago; in retrospect, we now realize that, in the interest of improved relations between worlds here in the Galaxy and the elimination of an eyesore, rather than return him to you, we should have stuffed the ugly cross-dressing freak into the air-lock and shipped his butt off into the deepest reaches of outer space. We goofed…sorry about that. If you want, we can return Amelia Earhart as compensation; she’s a real sweetie and a helluva’ pilot and we’d miss her, but we figure we owe you one. Let us know, please.

                                Regards,

                                Wq56HH[rt] YYYY<>95hj, Planetary Spokesperson

                                Planet Zatox”

“Cap’n John Krissongs:

                As head of the 556-person legal team that represents President Donald Trump, I have been directed by His Eminence to inform you that He is aware of the malicious and unwarranted comments you wrote on your blog recently re the attendance and general make-up of the events and participants at the gala “Celebration of America” here in Washington on July 4th, but rather than address these in His usual manner by tweeting something that is either inane or a bare-faced lie, excuse me, by tweeting a contradiction, in an effort at conciliation with the “Fake News Press”, of which He considers you a member, His Worship has decided to speak with you directly and asks that you make yourself available on Wednesday, 7/17, for a personal phone call. His Eminence will speak with you at 1:00pm EST, just after His normal lunch of several Big Macs, three pounds of fries and a chocolate shake.

                                Sincerely,

                                Rudy Giuliani, Head Lackey

                                The White House”

“Dear Cap’n Krissongs:

                My name is I. Dontknow Howe, of the law firm Dewey Cheatem and Howe and I represent Mr. Boris Badenov and Ms. Natasha Fatale; I have been asked by my clients to contact you and to advise you that, should you continue your libelous and defamatory remarks re my clients having been in contact with President Donald Trump’s campaign manager Brad Parscale to offer their assistance in the re-election of the President in your blog post of 7/4, they will be forced to pursue whatever legal remedies are available to them. Despite the fact that Mr. Badenov and Ms. Fatale are cartoon characters, they are offended by the alleged connection to the Trump campaign and feel that their “brand” has been damaged by this connection. While it is true that both Badenov and Fatale were spies/agents for an undisclosed Eastern Bloc Commie country during the Cold War, and worked vigorously for the downfall of “moose and squirrel”, they believe that any dealings with someone as unscrupulous, dishonest and altogether “stoopid” as President Trump is an awful reflection on their limited character…they may be sleezy, but they’re saints compared to Mr. Trump.

                Thank you for your cooperation in advance.

                 I. Dontknow Howe, Attorney

                 Dewey Cheatem and Howe”

Well, I can’t wait to hear what President “Twetty Bird” has to say to me on the 17th…probably not anything I want to hear, but then, that pretty much is the case every time he opens his yap to speak.

And you know what, I feel bad about Boris and Natasha…I always liked them when they were on with Rocky and Bullwinkle; back in those days, cartoon characters were cute, clever and funny. The cartoon characters in Washington these days? Not so much.

Love and the Postal Service,

Cap’n John

IT SAID “PRESS RELEASE” SO I DID

****FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE****

July 2, 2019

“Mr. Anuj Agarwal, founder and president of Feedspot.com, the RSS and website ranking service, announced today that the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog has been added to their TOP 100 HUMOR BLOGS ON THE INTERNET list, effective immediately.

When asked to comment on the prestigious addition, Captain and Master of the R U Kidding as well as editor of the WATRUK blog Cap’n John Krissongs was quoted as saying, “Wow, I haven’t been this excited since Missy Wallace lost her top doing a half-gainer off the 10-meter board at our local pool back in 10th grade.” Cap’n John went on to say that with this inclusion and a five dollar bill, he could buy a Vente Frappuccino almond latte with no foam, no WD40, no soy, extra Frisbees with a shot of mitten sauce.

Memorial arrangements were incomplete pending notification of the next-of-kin.”

I checked out Mr. Agarwal’s site after I received his email advising me of this “prestigious addition” the other day and found that the WATRUK blog was actually #110 on the Feedspot Humor Blog Hit Parade, with a bullet, so either AA fibbed a little or he can’t count for shit.

But that’s okay, because if his site and their “rankings list” brings more readers to the WATRUK blog, I’m all for it. For some time now I’ve wanted to increase my number of loyal readers from the current level (three) to something more significant (four) and hopefully this is a giant step towards achieving that goal.

I Googled “what is RSS” just before I started writing this post and spent several minutes attempting to decipher the digital-age gibberish, to little avail. I remember a time, back in the 1800s, when I considered myself fairly savvy vis-à-vis anything “computer” but these days I get the feeling that I’m qualified to be Tampa Bay’s entrant in the 2019 “Digital Moron of the Year” contest.

Shit.

Anyway, to all the faithful Kidders out there in DigitalLand, happy 4th of July.

According to various history books, online sites such as WikiPedia, noted defragmenters and mega-hertz graphics hierarchies (beats me, I told you I was a computer moron), the Declaration of Independence of the American colonies from the mother-ship Great Britain was only ADOPTED on 7/4; it wasn’t actually signed by all 54 notaries until August 2nd, 1776, due to some delay in the cross-platform. Not only did I learn all this from my research on the July 4th holiday, I also learned that, per the biometrics, over 150 MILLION hot dogs are consumed by Americans each 4th, which if placed end to end, would stretch from L.A. to Washington D.C. and back five times. I’m assuming the 150M number would include the 71 eaten today by this year’s Famous Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest winner Joey Chestnut, which has to be one the most disgusting things I’ve ever heard. I wanna’ go out back and yark in the azaleas just thinking about eating SEVENTY-ONE HOT DOGS AT ONE SITTING.

Gross.

But since it’s newsworthy, R U Kidding Media Events will be sending correspondent Al Pinevalley to cover the festivities at New York’s Coney Island this year. Better known by its acronym RUKME (pronounced as one word…think Scooby Do), you will recall that the most recent addition to the world of online news sites was launched back on 5/17/19, and has been providing up-to-the-minute reporting on such media events as the Nathan’s Contest (see above, above), the signing of the Dec of Inde and the recent screening of the new flick from filmmaker Wade Ingpool, “Zombie Sluts From Cleveland”, which is already being given some Academy Award consideration in the “Blockchain Cache” category.

Which leads me right into this week’s topic, recent news headlines, which is easily the smoothest segue you’ll ever see on the WATRUK blog, believe me.

Denary desk-checking.

~Dateline Washington D. C.:

                “Only 14 People Attend Massive 4th Of July Celebration In Nation’s Capital!”

                Despite spending $250 gazillion of the taxpayer’s money and inviting and providing free tickets to every conservative asshat in the country, only 14 people showed up at the supposed-to-be gala Independence Day Celebration orchestrated by President Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump on Thursday, 7/4. Although the mega-event was billed as a “Celebration of America” rather than the political rally it actually was, it featured U.S. military tanks and other rolling hardware on parade, flyovers by Air Force One and the Blue Angels Flight Demonstration Squad, various GOP members of Congress dressed and made-up as clowns (normal attire), dancing bears, women in skimpy outfits, each with their own bodyguard to protect them from the President and rock legend-in-his-own-mind Ted Nugent playing “America the Beautiful” on guitar while dressed in a red, white and blue jockstrap. When asked about the abysmal attendance, the President stated that it was the “largest crowd to ever witness a spectacle in D.C. history, just like my inauguration.” (PTB had asked Russian President For Life Vladimir Putin to provide Russian tanks and hardware for the festivities, but Dictator and Trump BFF Putin declined, stating that “Donnie is my good friend but he’s such a crook he’d probably keep everything we sent over.”)

~Dateline Washington D.C. (again):

                “DNC Says Another Debate Planned In Response To Trump’s Failed July 4th Celebration”

                Democratic National Committee Chairperson Tom “Republicans Are Lying Snotwads” Perez announced today that, in response to what he called the “partisan and completely bogus” 4th of July celebration staged today in the nation’s capital by President Trump, all 356 Democratic Presidential hopefuls would be invited to participate in another debate next week. When questioned in an exclusive interview with RUKME correspondent Marshall Law about including ALL the current candidates in one giant cluster-fuck, thus limiting their response times dramatically, Perez said, “All Americans need to see and hear the Demo…” as his time ran out. Senator Bernie “Colonel” Sanders, one of the huge group of Democrats hoping for the party’s 2020 nomination, immediately tweeted that he would only participate if “we can give away a bajillion dollars to each and every taxpayer in the country.”

~Dateline Washington D.C. (once more):

                “Cold War Spies Boris and Natasha Offer To Assist President Trump With Dirt On 2020 Dem Candidate”

                RUKME has learned that, in response to President Trump’s comments several weeks ago that he would be willing to listen to any “dirt” on his Democratic opponent in the 2020 Presidential campaign from foreign sources, Trump Campaign Manager Brad “I Have No Shame” Parscale was contacted by Cold War spies/Russian agents Boris Badenov and Natasha Fatale, who offered to provide “dirt” to the President’s campaign on any Democratic nominee. Badenov and Fatale, besides being spies, were also featured in the “Rocky and Bullwinkle” cartoons in the 1960s, which would make them perfect conspirators for the Trump reelection effort. When contacted by RUKME correspondent Warren Peace, both Badenov and Fatale said that they just wanted to get even with “moose and squirrel”, alluding to Rocky the Flying Squirrel and Bullwinkle Moose, who are both Democrats, and then declined further comment.

~Dateline Pyongyang North Korea:

                “Kim Says Will Halt Nuclear Proliferation If Given California”

                Chairman of the State Affairs Commission of North Korea and “great person born of heaven” Kim Jong-un said today that, in return for America giving him the State of California, he would voluntarily halt all nuclear testing in his country, effective “sometime, maybe tomorrow or in the next century perhaps”. The North Korean dictator and BFF to American President Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump further stated that if he wasn’t given title to the “Golden State” he would immediately launch missiles on San Francisco, despite the fact that his nuclear arsenal only has the capability of reaching halfway across the Pacific, even with a tail-wind. When asked by RUKME correspondent Jena Rator about the lack of distance capability of his rockets, Kim said “no comment” and then rushed off to play with his G.I. Joe Action Figures.

~Dateline Forest City IA:

                “RV Manufacturer Announces New ‘Mitch McConnell’ Line of RVs”

                Recreational vehicle manufacturer Winnebago announced today that it will be launching its new “Mitch McConnell” line of RVs in the immediate future. Company President Chuck Wagon stated that Winnebago was motivated to create the “new and exciting” line of campers to represent the “integrity and honesty” of the current Senate Majority Leader, and that they expected huge sales of the new vehicle. Wagon went on to say that the camper (pictured below) would be available in only one color, Republican Red, and that it would have no options, just an empty space in the rear, in keeping with McConnell’s far right-wing legislative programs.

Well, at least if His Eminence, our dear President, decided to declare RUKME stories “fake news”, he’d actually be right for once.

Love and Betsy Ross,

Cap’n John

REMINDERS (FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DON’T USE POST-ITS)

FOR ALL MY LOYAL READERS…

A) Don’t forget you can follow the Cap’n on Facebook (click the icon), or on Twitter (click the icon). Please leave comments…unlike rock musicians, I like feedback.

B) Or you can email me (remember email…seems almost quaint anymore) directly at krissongs@hotmail.com…send me a message and I promise to respond.

C) If you do decide to follow me or email me, I will send you free beer. (Okay, that’s a lie, I won’t send you free beer, but I will send you an autographed nude photo of myself.) (Okay, that’s a lie as well…it won’t be autographed.)

D) Is that a great picture or what (above)?

Love and free beer,

Cap’n John

SPORTS, HISTORY AND WHY SOCCER IS REALLY “STOOPID”

(Editor’s note: this week’s post is dedicated to my newest fan, although I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know she’s a fan just yet, my buddy and co-worker at Publix, Ms. Sarah. Even though we all keep telling her what a crappy attitude she has, she’s really a good kid and hard worker, both in school and at the store. Happy summer, sweetie.)

As I mentioned in last week’s column, and have mentioned numerous times in the past here on the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog, your Cap’n (that would be me) is a major sports fan, which is not to be confused with ceiling, exhaust, circulating or radiator. I’m also a bit of a history buff, and find the origins of sports to be quite interesting.

(And just for the sake of saying it, “interesting” has to be one of the most boring, mundane and uninteresting words in the English language, much like “yarn” or “Congress”.)

Anyway, as a PSA for all my loyal readers (all several of you), I thought I would take a moment today and discuss the origins and inventors of the various major sports. (The creators of the board game “Clue” were going to name one of the suspects “Major Sports”, but upon further deflection, decided on “Colonel Mustard” instead, who of course not only outranked the Major but did it in the Conservatory with the Revolver.)

Since I’m an enormous baseball fan, I thought I would start with America’s Pastime. (Actually, I’m pretty sure America’s Pastime is sex, but back in 1916, boring, mundane and uninteresting Congress passed the Make Baseball America’s Official Pastime Since Sex Is Dirty, Messy and Disgusting and Makes Americans Sound Like Pervs Act, a bill that was introduced in the House by Congressman Twono Trump, a distant relative of our current President and alleged serial woman abuser, Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump. The legislation passed both houses by overwhelming votes.)

(Phone rings in the background)

Excuse me…

“Cap’n John…”

“Yes, First Mate.”

“I said what?”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed. I’ll correct that right away. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

That was my First Mate Taffie Wetzel; she monitors my posts in real-time to assist me and to keep me from stepping on my crank too often. Apparently, the word I wanted above was “reflection”. (She’s a snot.)

Baseball was allegedly invented by a man named Abner Doubleday, WAY back in the late 1800s, and as the myth goes, this was done in the small upstate New York town of Cooperstown, which back in those days was about as for off the beaten path as you could get. Recently however, historical documents have come to light challenging Doubleday’s claim to fame, and in fact suggest that rules for and the general organization of the game were written by a man named Daniel “Doc” Adams back in 1857, and that the L.A. Dodgers immediately tanked that season and blew the World Series by being swept by the Effingham Mudbutts, 4 games to 0. And what I meant by saying that I’m “an enormous baseball fan” back there in Paragraph 5 was that I really enjoy baseball a lot…I didn’t mean that I’m enormous, I mean, I’m a little overweight but, well shit, never mind.

We know for sure, since it happened more recently, that American football, or “gridiron” football for the way that the batter, which is also a term used in baseball, is poured on the “iron” and then baked into pancakes with treads, thus greatly improving the player’s traction on the field, was invented back in the late 1800s by a Yale undergrad named Walter Camp. Mr. Camp had a brother named Caleb “Training” Camp who, in 1920, went on to become the head coach of the Rockdale Snorkels in the then newly formed National Football League, who immediately trounced the L.A. Dodgers in Super Bowl –LLLXXXIII, 85-0. The League was formed in just-as-far-off-the-beaten-path-as-Cooperstown-NY Canton OH, which besides being the home of the NFL Hall Of Fame, was also the home of our 25th President, William McKinley, who as far as anyone knows was not a serial abuser of women like some guys in the White House, as well as the site of the National First Ladies’ Library, another one of those ambiguous phrases like “an enormous baseball fan” that could mean it was the first library for ladies or was the First Lady’s Library, since McKinley was a married man, therefore having a First Lady, who could have had a library, I suppose.

(Phone rings in background)

Shit…excuse me again.

“Cap’n John…”

“Yes, First Mate Wetzel…”

“I’m sorry, I said what?”

“Yes, Ms. Wetzel, I’ll correct that right away. Thank you.”

Apparently I confused “waffle iron” with “gridiron” in the last paragraph…it’s called a gridiron because of the lines on the field. (You know that word that rhymes with “witch”? Yeah.)

Another Major Sport that is followed by many people here in America, as well as around the globe, is basketball, which was created by a guy named James Naismith back in 1891, using peach baskets and a “soccer-type” ball. Naismith was a physical education instructor and peach farmer, as well as being the founder of the basketball program at the University of Kansas, who annihilated the L.A. Dodgers in the Final Four Championship in 1911 by a score of 119-23. The game evolved from a collegiate sport to a professional one with the formation of the National Basketball Association in 1936, which only seventeen people in America had ever heard of prior to 1984, when the Chicago Bulls drafted a guy named Michael Jordan from the University of North Carolina, and the rest, as they say, is geography. (Jordan went on the become the Greatest Player Of All Time, won a bajillion titles, scored several gazillion points , won the MVP trophy 47 times and had a shoe named after him…anybody ever hear of Air LeBron? Yeah, I didn’t think so.)

Then there’s hockey, which was invented back in 1917 by a bunch of prize fighters from Canada, who had very few teeth, no brains, said “yah, hey dere” a lot and decided that staging prize fights while ice-skating simultaneously would be interesting (there’s that word again), proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that all Canadians are dweebs.

Another “sport”, using the term loosely, that has gotten a great deal of attention in this country in recent years is soccer, which is not to be confused with the word “succor”, which means “any game that has the players run back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth on a huge field for over an hour without anything happening is boring and stoopid”. No one knows when soccer was invented because no one with an IQ above that of a doorknob gives a crap. At least hockey is “interesting”.

(Phone rings in the background)

Shit…excuse me again.

“Cap’n John…”

“What is it, First Mate?”

“Thank you.” (I really don’t like that woman.)

According to my extremely irritating First Mate, the word “succor” actually means “to give assistance in time of need or distress; to help, aid or relieve.” Consider me corrected.

Modern tennis has evolved from a game called “paume”, which is French for “snot-wad”, and was played as far back as the 12th century BCE by cavemen using peach baskets and “soccer-type” balls on a covered indoor court, into the fast-paced, tirade-laced game it has become today. Sadly, the inventors of “tennis” didn’t have the good sense to put the freakin’ net AROUND the court rather than across the middle where’s its smack in the way…stoopid. “Real tennis” or royal tennis was much loved by kings and nobles, who would begin games by yelling the word “tenez”, which is Swahili for “You people REALLY elected Donald Trump President? Really?”. Today’s version of tennis is referred to as “lawn tennis”, since it is now played on a grass or clay court outdoors by players in skimpy outfits with crappy attitudes. (The players have crappy attitudes, not the outfits.)

(Phone rings in the background)

I’m going to kill her…

“Cap’n John…”

“YES, First Mate, what is it now?”

“Fine, I’ll correct those errors right away. But Ms. Wetzel, if you interrupt me again, I’ll have you thrown in the brig, drawn and halved and then force you to watch Major League Soccer (boy, THERE’S an oxymoron for you) for the next 48 hours non-stop.”

According to Ms. Know-It-All, the word “paume” means “palm” in French, since tennis was originally played bare-handed without rackets, plus it wasn’t played with “peach baskets and a soccer-type ball”, and the word “tenez” is French for “play”.

(Phone rings in the background)

“WHAT?!?”

“Fine.”

Excuse me, its “drawn and quartered”, not “drawn and halved”.

I’m gonna’ go watch the Dodgers…they’re playing a Little League team from the San Fernando Valley, which is the home of former Dodger great Fernando Valenzuela. They might be able to beat these guys…but don’t count on it.

Love and jockstraps,

Cap’n John

Post Script…(phone rings in the background several times…answering machine voice says to leave a message)…”Cap’n John, this is First Mate Wetzel again. Fernando Valenzuela was from Mexico, sir.”

SPORTS REPORTING, AND OTHER SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITIES

I am a huge baseball/sports fan, like many in my family.

I was thinking of my Uncle Ed recently, on the 75th anniversary of D-Day; although he fought in the Pacific, he and my Dad, who was in the ETO, and so many other incredibly courageous men and women went overseas to fight Fascism, and I admired both of them greatly.

My uncle was a character, an optometrist, a sports fan and a fabulous story-teller, not in that order.

Ed grew up in a little town in Southern Indiana back in the Depression, and had the usual cast of characters most of us have as friends growing up. The following story involves two of them, Benjamin Turley, known to all as Benny, and the local bully, Roger Askholt.

According to UE, as he told the story one afternoon on the front porch of their home in Seymour IN to my cousins Eddie and Jimmy and myself (we were 12, 10 and 9 respectively), nobody liked Roger; everyone called him Asshole (behind his back) a) because of his last name and b) because he apparently was a rather large one.

Even though Roger routinely beat the snot out of Benny, the beatee followed the beater around like a small puppy dog. Their friendship was of mutual isolation; nobody liked Roger, and Benny was a nervous, highly excitable nerd-sickle who stuttered when he talked and picked his nose when he didn’t.

One hot summer day, the boys decided to go fishing; they gathered up their poles, a couple of sammichs each, some worms (in case the sammichs weren’t enough) and headed for their fave fishing hole, about a three mile walk out from town.

The boys arrived at the spot, baited their hooks, threw them in the water and sat down to wait.

“I suh-sure hope we ca-catch su-sumpin’, Roger,” Benny stuttered. Benny never, ever called his friend by the nickname all the other boys used.

“Shut up, Benny,” said Roger, a/k/a Asshole.

After a while they ate their sammichs, and after another while, Roger had to take an enormous dump. Telling Benny to watch his pole, Roger ambled off behind some bushes at the edge of the pond, dropped trou and let fly.

Now there’s only a few poisonous snakes indigenous to Southern Indiana, the copperhead being one; it’s only found in the southern part of the state, and then rarely, but that fateful day, Roger managed to stumble onto one. Just as he was finishing his business, the only copperhead snake in a 10 mile radius found him, decided he looked likely and proceeded to bite him.

Right on the scrotum.

Now the bite of a copperhead is painful yet seldom fatal, unless left untreated for a long period of time. Of course, the boys didn’t know this.

Roger let out a humongous yell, fell to his side (away from his recent excretory effort, fortunately), cupped his balls with his hands and started writhing wildly. Benny ran into the weeds to his friend, who screamed that he had been “bit by a rattler”, which was highly improbable, given their non-existence in Indiana.

Benny began to run about wildly, waving his arms and shaking his head, not knowing how to help his friend. Roger screamed again, this time telling Benny to run into town to fetch Doc Soames. Since Benny had no better plan, he immediately set off at a run. Now Benny was a nerd, a stutterer and a nose-picker, but he was also the school track and field guy; he could run like the wind.

He ran the three miles back to town, directly to the office of the only doctor in the county, that of old Dr. Soames. As he rushed into the waiting room, he was astonished to find it empty; no nurse, no waiting patients, no one. He frantically rang the bell on the reception desk, and after a few moments, Doc Soames’ nurse charged out the back room and informed Benny, who managed to stammer out the emergency, failing to mention where Roger had been bitten, that Doc was in the back delivering a baby and would not be able to come to help for some time.

She told Benny to wait, disappeared through the door, came back a moment later and informed Benny that “Doc says to clean the bite and then suck the venom out, otherwise he might die”, then turned abruptly and disappeared again into the delivery room. (She apparently thought the boys were goofin’ on her.)

Benny stood for a minute, digesting what he had been told. He then proceeded to run back to where he left Roger, worrying all the way about how he was going to perform the necessary procedure on his bullying friend. He fretted and stewed, shaking his head as he ran, and couldn’t think of any way he could avoid the inevitable.

When he finally got back to his friend, he found Roger still writhing in pain on the ground.

“Where’s Doc Soames? What did he say?” screamed Roger.

And poor Benny, overexcited, overloaded and overwhelmed by it all, screamed back, “He says you’re gonna’ duh-die, Asshole.”

My loyal readers (all a couple of you) will recall that the WATRUK blog launched the RUKME News Service recently (that’s RUKME, pronounced as one word…think Scooby Do). We are now happy to announce the…

                         

                               ***TOTALLY NEW RUKME SPORTS LINE***

 …with all the latest from the world of sporting events.

Full coverage will begin in a few weeks, but here’s some headlines of recent events to give you a taste of what’s to come…

~Dateline Boston MA February 2060:

                “NE Patriots Quarterback Tom Brady Announces Retirement After 59 Seasons In The NFL!”

After 59 regular seasons, umpty-gazillion Super Bowls, several dozen MVP awards for both regular season and the Super Bowl play, enough mileage from passing yards to make it to the Moon and having outlived six coaches, Patriots venerable and ancient quarterback Tom Brady has FINALLY announced his retirement, effective immediately. The 83-year old QB told RUKME correspondent Laurel Enhardy, “I really felt I could play another season or two, but Giselle has been after me to spend more time with our grandkids, so after much thought and discussion with my family and also my gerontologist, Dr. R. U. Serious, I’ve decided to hang up my cleats and call it a career.” As a result of his extended stay in the NFL plus his endorsements and other financial dealings, Brady’s net worth now exceeds that of Canada and Lower Botswana combined.

~Dateline Tampa Bay FL:

“Tampa Bay Buccaneers Quarterback Jameis Winston Diagnosed With Career-Ending “Dumbfuck Disease”!”

Spokesman for the inept and completely useless Tampa Bay QB announced today that Winston, 25, which is his age and IQ as well, has been diagnosed with the crippling “Dumbfuck Disease”, which at this time has no known cure or treatment. Although Winston will continue to play, his long-term expectations and hope by fans and the TB organization that he will ever amount to a cup of warm spit are pretty much nil. Winston also confirmed his participation in this year’s Ty-D-Bol Toilet Bowl game, which is where his career has been headed all along, and then went out and threw another interception.

~Dateline Melbourne Australia:

                “Cricket Squad Named Pres Fave and Gets New Sponsor In Same Day!”

                The Victorian Bushrangers Cricket Squad of the Australian Cricket League, whose mascot is Jiminy, was named as the fave team of world-class ass-wad and long-time cricket fan Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump today, and just as soon as the American President made his announcement, the team chose as its newest sponsor Dulcolax Suppositories, naming them their Official Suppository. The General Manger of the VBCS, Justin Tyme, said the twin announcements were merely coincidental, but team insiders who were not authorized to speak said the Bushrangers reached out to Dulcolax the minute they heard of Trump’s endorsement. Players on the team were said to be gagging on their wickets.

~Dateline Las Vegas NV:

                “Rodman Claims Alien Abduction, Aliens Say No!”

               Dennis Rodman, former NBA player, cross-dresser, 5-time NBA Champion and major league dweeb, speaking to RUKME correspondent Bud Light today, claimed that he was abducted by aliens from the planet Zatox when he was a child, and then escaped back to Earth via one of the subsequent return flights of the marauding space creatures. When reached for comment, planetary spokesman Wq56HH{rt} YYYY<>95hj refuted Rodman’s claim and said that the Zatoxians had in fact abducted him, but had returned him immediately when they saw how he looked. “Sure,” said YYYY<>95hj, who is also known as Rupert, “we’re green, have two noses with six nostrils each, a cerise-colored eyeball and three-pronged genitalia hanging from the back of our heads, but we’re beautiful compared to that goofy-looking freak. He was scaring the baby fangor beasts, for crissake.”

~Dateline Los Angeles CA:

                “!!!DODGERS WIN THE WORLD SERIES!!!”

                Not.

Well, according to the word-counter thingie down in the bottom of my computer screen, it’s half-past June and I need to get going. Stay tuned to this channel for more sports updates as I make them up.

Love and hockey pucks,

Cap’n John

SPAM SPAM AND SPAM_AGAIN

I’ve never been much of a TV person.

I never watched Seinfeld…I didn’t like Jerry Seinfeld as a stand-up comedian (he wasn’t funny), and I saw just enough of the show from outtakes, commercials, etc. to think that both Jason Alexander and Michael Richards were roving assholes, although what’s-her-name, Julia King Louie Dreyfuss is a cutie. Never watched Big Bang Theory when it was on, have no idea what it was about, never once saw Everybody Loves Raymond and I’ve never seen Game of Thrones. I did occasionally watch Friends back in its heyday; I think Jennifer Aniston is breathtakingly gorgeous and always thought Joey (Matt LeBlanc) was hysterical. (Case in point…Joey explaining a “moo point”.

If it weren’t for a handful of movies on TCM every month, and of course sports (I come from a family of baseball players/fans, as well as following NFL football, college basketball, college softball and tiddlywinks), I wouldn’t even bother to own a TV set, especially with all the streaming online these days. (You guys remember Peter Paul and the Apostles’ big hit We Can Make A Shoe Smell and A Tiddly Wink, So Why Can’t We Eat Meat On Fridays? PP and A went on to become Peter Paul and Larry, and had another huge hit with Puff the Magic Llama.)

But I did watch a bunch of television back when I was a kid; TV and I were born around the same time and grew up together. That’s where the comparison ends however; at least I matured into a semi-decent human being, where television has become every bit of that “vast wasteland” Newton Minow once said it was.

Back then there were Westerns by the carload (Gunsmoke, Rawhide, Bonanza), lots of comedies (Car 54, Father Knows Best, Dick Van Dyke) and even the news guys were cool in those days (Cronkite, Huntley and Brinkley, Severeid).

And a ton of kid’s shows, especially if you grew up in the Chicago-land area, as I did. There were Bozo’s Circus, Kukla, Fran and Ollie, The Mickey Mouse Club from out in California, and my fave, Garfield Goose and Friend.

Yes, “friend”, singular; the friend was the host and only human on the show, a man named Frazier Thomas, who created the show and the puppets, which all the characters were, back in 1950. GG wore a crown…he was “King of the United States”. Thomas wore a uniform, to denote his position as GG’s “Prime Minister”. There was Romberg Rabbit, Macintosh Mouse, Chris Goose, GG’s nephew, so named for being hatched on Christmas and a thoroughly laconic bloodhound named Beauregard Burnside III, in a completely esoteric reference to two Union generals from the Civil War.

GG was a hand puppet, so only his mouth moved, although the puppeteer, a lady named Lee Ann Prineus, had several hand movements that managed to give GG “facial expressions”, as it were. They showed cartoons like Space Angel and Clutch Cargo, had all kinds of silly scenarios where GG and Thomas and the other characters interacted, and in general it was a pretty good show. (Clutch Cargo had a companion, a young boy named Spinner, who was his “ward”, and a dog named Paddlefoot plus an apparently serious psilocybin problem that only surfaced when he named things, like his ward and his dog. Spinner and Paddlefoot? Really?)

I got to thinking about G. Goose et al. just last week while reading about President Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump’s triumphant visit to England and the various events he and FLOTUS Melanoma were involved in with the Royals, who apparently are originally from Kansas City. Our rotund Pres did everything he could to live up to his delusion of himself as King Donald the First and seemed to come off as the buffoon he mostly is in the process. Sorry, Your Eminence, but you might think of yourself as KD #1, but you weren’t the first king of the US; that was Garfield. And isn’t it an interesting comparison, PTB and an egocentric, self-absorbed and self-delusional hand puppet from a TV show?

I’ve often wondered what exactly the “Royal Family” does, besides sit around and be royal and get mentioned in a bajillion headlines for being, well, royal. Almost as useless as our President, at least they aren’t actively offensive.

Speaking of things British (holy segue, Batman), I’ve been receiving a plethora of junk emails recently (“spam” messages, and immediately there comes to mind the British comedy show Month Python’s skit “Spam, Spam and Spam”…talk about esoteric) that I thought I would share with you, once again as I did several weeks ago, just in case you aren’t getting enough of these yourselves.

~From FungusAmongUs Inc., Creator of “FungAway”:

                “Are you afflicted with toe fungus? Do your toes look like they belong to the space creature in a sci-fi movie? Are your feet so ugly that they remind people of something they saw at the local zoo? Do you have excess vaginal mucus or accidental bowel leakage? Well, we can’t cure those last two things, but FungusAmongUs Inc., maker of BaldyLocks Hair For Men tonic, has a NEW product that will restore the youthful beauty of your toes and makes a dandy wax-stripper for your kitchen floors as well! If your feet look like they belong to something that climbs trees, then you need FungAway® Fungus and Floor Wax Remover! Guaranteed 100% effective against most types of common toe funguses and everyday floor polishes! FungAway® is safe, non-addicting and sold with a money-back guarantee! Try FungAway today, and get those kitchen and bathroom floors sparkling again!”

~From Dr. Sabana Zongo:

                “I am Dr. Sabana Zongo I Have a Business Proposal of $5.3 million For You. I am aware of the unsafe nature of the window internet, and was compelled to use this medium due to the natural of this project. I have access to every vital information that can be good safe to transfer this huge amount of money, which may culminate into the banana investment of the said funds into your company or any lucrative venture deposit of your country. If you will like to consist me as a partner then indicate your patio interest, after which we shall both discuss the modalities and the sharing percentage. Upon receipt of your reply on your expression of Interest, I will give you full details on how the business will be executed. I am open for special negotiation. Thanks for your anticipated conflagration. Note you might receive this message in your inbox or spam or junk folder, depends on your web host or ruler server network mostly. Regards, Dr. Sabana Zongo.”

~From BigPrizeForYou:

                “You never responded about your winning of US$ 1,450.000.00 in Free GOOGLE/MICROSOFT/MOBILE AWARD PRIZE, with +ref: no SA712R to redeem it, email us on: GOOGLE.MICROSOFT@bigmir.net, with ref: no [SA712R] or contact your [OVERSEAS CLAIMS AGENT]. Please find the attached. Do not reply back to this senders email address, it is sent via computer virtual assistance for response will not be read by Human but computer Therefore you must contact the fiduciary agents by phone and email address provided in the attached tomorrow twice.”

~From BloodSuck Visa:

                “Poor credit or no credit? Is your FICO score lower than Donald Trump’s IQ? Turned down more times than a thermostat? WE APPROVE EVERYONE! That’s right, Third World Bank and Tire Center approves 100% of applicants that have 1) a pulse, 2) fewer than eight jobs in the past two months and 3) no murder convictions in the last 10 years! Call or text us at 1-800-DEDBEAT today to apply!”

~From Mr. Robertson Wangeryuts, Senior Cannoli Representative, IMF:

                “Attention Beneficiary: This is to intimate you of a very important information which will be of a great help to redeem you from all the difficulties you have been experiencing in getting your long overdue payment, due to excessive demand for money from you by both corrupt Bank
officials and slutty Courier Companies after which your fund remain unpaid to you by pliers. I am Mr. Robertson Wangeryuts, Senior Cannoli Representative gyrate with the IMF (International Monetary Fund) and I have totally received these reports of your uneasy treatment for getting your funds deposited to great access and I have been chosen to put a stop to this by Mr. Donald Trump giving me permission floral. All NGOs, Government agencys, tire centers and BINGO was his name-o have been instructed to BACK OFF and no more contact you rightly again. Please do not respond to these fertile creatures ever. I Mr. Robertson Wangeryuts, Senior Cannoli Representative mantis is only for your direct contact and fiduciary payment acceptance. Send me your phone number, hat size, bank account number, password, first born child, Social Obscurity number and Publisher’s Clearing House lozenge size to Mr. Robertson Wangeryuts, Senior Cannoli Representative for imposition finally this day weekly.”

And from Mr. P.T. Barnum, who once said that there’s a sucker born every minute, and they typically vote Republican, comes this timeless observance:

“Advertising is to the genuine article what manure is to land…it largely increases the product.”

Love and hyperbole,

Cap’n John

Post Script: And per comedian Jeff Foxworthy, if your bra size is 44Long, you’re probably a redneck, and a Trump supporter. Okay, I paraphrased that a bit.