See that “banner” up above? Yeah, the one that goes across the top of the page. See where it says “Cap’n John is now on Instagram”? Okay, so go to your Instagram account and then do whatever you need to do to follow the Cap’n (“capnjohnk”) and then in the future, you know, the thing that Marty McFly went back to, you’ll know when the Cap’n (yours truly) posts a new column, which by the way I do every Thursday, since it’s my day off. Then each Thursday I’m going to remind everyone, hey, go read the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog, ‘cause Cap’n John (yours truly again) has just graced everyone with more of his scintillating wit, awesome intelligence and devastating good looks.
To my loyal readers who take the time to follow me, thank you, thank you…muchly appreciated. For those of you who do not, well, I’m having difficulty describing how hurt I am…I’ll get over it, but boy (insert several large sniffles here).
As I was setting up my brand new Instagram account the other day and learning how to upload pics and text and other digital minutiae, it occurred to me that, in a moment of lax attention when taking a “naughty” photo of one’s self or of another, it would be possible, not likely but just possible, to push the wrong buttons and, instead of sending the image to the “Gallery” on your phone, you send a beautiful rendition of your/her/his genitalia to Instagram instead, to be displayed there in glorious detail along with pics of your recent visit with your Mom, your night out with the girls and the Trufflewart kid’s cornet recital.
One thing I’ve always believed about nudity…some people look great naked, and then there’s the rest of us. Sadly, I am one of the rest of us.
What a nightmare scenario…you’re sitting around one evening, maybe watching old YouTube videos of the 1910 Fruit Gum Company doing Goody, Goody Gumdrops, and maybe you smoke a bowl or two, maybe have a couple glasses of wine and hey, suddenly you’re thinking about getting amorous with your pet llama Wendell. One thing leads to another and, whoa, the whole episode winds up going “viral” on “social media”.
I had a friend from Texas who had a great line for a fiasco like the above…he would say that “you slobbered a bibful”.
The weather here in usually sunny and warm West Central Florida has finally regained its senses and returned to something approaching normalcy, with temps over the last few days edging up close to 70 during the daylight hours. (Geez, I sound like the weather lady on Channel Two AccuDopplerWeather.) This is an upswing from several weeks ago when temps got down into the high 30s on successive nights and comatose herbivorous lizards began dropping like the real estate market back in the ’08 recession. (Click here to get the scientific explanation for this phenomena.)
Residents of FL are greatly relieved to be out from under the awful threat of this air-borne menace.
Speaking of a Floridian who couldn’t find his butt with both hands and a map, our senior Senator from the Gunshine State, Marco (Polo) Rubio recently made some interesting remarks in re the comic-opera impeachment trial of President Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump, now showing at your national Senate. (I’m writing this on Super Bowl Sunday morning; by the time I post this on Thursday, I’m sure DTBT will have gotten his Get Out Of Jail Free card and be back to torturing kittens, lying every time he opens his mouth and grabbing female genitalia.)
Our good Senator wrote an essay for something called Medium.com, which is an interesting looking sort of a blog site with varying authors, at least that was how it appeared to me. Anyway, Sen Rufio made the following statement, as a part of his defense of his idiotic vote in favor of not allowing witnesses at the above-stated impeachment trial.
“Just because actions meet a standard of impeachment does not mean it is in the best interest of the country to remove a President from office.”
Let’s pretend this is shampoo, you know, lather, rinse, repeat…go back and re-read the above statement. Please.
Okay, glad you’re back.
Donald Trump once claimed that he could “stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody” and not “lose any voters”.
I never believed that more than I do today.
Using a non-segue segue, since my triumphant return from The Cap’n John Winter Vacation Tour back on January 9th of this year, I have received a number of letters, emails, texts, smoke signals, carrier pigeon notes and messages on my Star Trek Authentic AstroCommunicator Device Thingie, each and all from readers seeking help with the paucity of love and companionship that haunts their lives. (That last phrase was pretty good, huh?)
Why anyone would ask me for advice on their love-life is beyond my comprehension; truly, the one thing I know about “relationships” and “dating” and “hooking up” and “celestial mechanics” and whatnot is that I avoid them in the same way I would a hooker named Gonorrhea.
But in the Church Of Cap’nism, I am the Head Pope, and I take my responsibilities serially, so I will do my best to provide answers for the seekers in my flock. (Oh gag me with a miter.)
“Dear Cap’n John:
Me and all the girls in the office here at Terrific Technology read your blog…we think you’re really funny, and a sharp dresser as well. So I thought, given all your background and experience, that you might be able to help me.
I’m a 28-year old project manager for TerrTech, fairly attractive, financially okay, always a bride’s maid but never a turret-lathe operator; I’ve had a few romances but nothing long-term has ever come from any of them.
There’s a guy over in the Celestial Mechanics Dept. who I really have a big crush on…he’s medium height, has nice eyes, a decent build, a small furry tail and is rumored to have both nipples pierced. I thought of just walking up to him and introducing myself, but I only have one pierced nipple and I’m afraid he might laugh at me. Well, that and the third eye in the middle of my forehead.
I need a good way to meet this guy…can you help me Cap’n John?
Three-Eyed Sandy From Silicon Valley”
Right or left?
I never thought I would be writing to an Internet/media All-Star like yourself for help with my love life, but I also never thought you could have a trial without witnesses either and, well, there you are.
I need some advice, Cap’n John, because I’m stumped. I’m the events coordinator for the GooseBumps AllOver Nudist Colony and Tire Center; I’m a hetero male, six feet (tall…I have the standard equipment of two for walking), have all my hair and no visible warts. I don’t have halitosis, I don’t drool and I’m house-broken, so why can’t I attract a good woman with at least one pierced nipple who wants to marry, settle down and raise a family of Canadian badgers?
Any ideas, Cap’n?
Oh, BTW, you were right about “the rest of us”…some of our members naked could scare a virus away.
Naked Ned From Norwich”
Badgers!? We don’t need no stinkin’ badgers!!
(Offstage announcer, as camera pans over the faces of the anxious waiting nominees…)
“…and the winner in the 2020 Worst Joke in a Blog Post Category is…CAP’N JOHN KRISSONGS ON THE WELCOME ABOARD THE R U KIDDING BLOG!!”
I’m even embarrassed by that one, although not embarrassed enough to delete it. (Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.)
“Cap’n John Krissongs:
We cannot understand why you refuse to acknowledge this debt and our efforts…”
Okay, let’s skip that one.
“Dear Cap’n John:
I’m a politician from one of our Southern states, a sharp dresser and a two-faced hypocrite, as well as being a lying sack of fetid badger spleens; I’m also a devout Christian, although I have the morals of an alley cat and the conscience of, well, a politician. Other than that I’m a terrific guy and you would think I wouldn’t have any problems attracting a Conservative, God-fearing woman with all her own teeth and no scruples. I have a hard time dating because of all the time I spend fulfilling the responsibilities of my office (not), to say nothing of all the time I spend flirting with lobbyists, donors and other wheeler-dealers like myself. Hey, I even met a constituent last year.
Anyway, any ideas on how I might meet the woman of my dreams?
Just Call Me Polo”
I went looking for the definition of “oxygen thief” in the dictionary earlier, and here’s what I found; “oxygen thief: a person stealing oxygen from the rest of us decent folks”, and surprise!, there was your pic, right next to the definition.
I had a dream last night…I dreamed I was being followed. Then I woke up and remembered oh, that was what I was hoping for.
You guys are awesome.
Love and social media,
Post Script: No, the above pic has nothing whatsoever to do with this week’s post, but I found this pic the other day, after it had been missing for some time. A Cap’nMobile from many years ago. FYI, that’s a 1972 Porsche (you knew that, right?) 914 F4 with a 1.8 liter, flat-four air-cooled engine that was mounted midships behind the seats. It was a great car and I just wanted to immortalize the photo.
Post Post Script (written Monday 2/3 in the AM): Here’s what I predicted in last week’s post…”Mahomes will be the difference in the Super Bowl this coming Sunday in Miami, home of the falling comatose herbivorous lizard…take the Chiefs.”
Chiefs 31-20 over the ’49ers and Mahomes is named MVP of the game…boy, I’m good.