THIS MEETING IS NOW CALLED TO ODOR…AH, SORRY, ORDER

“Testing…testing…(turns away from microphone and speaks to person behind him sotto voce…yeah, and now it’s Jewish Space Lasers, can you believe that crazy broad?)…testing, one (turns away again as the PA system lets out a squeal of feedback), two, three, ah, ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, I’d like to get started, so if you would, please find your seats, please, if you would, please find your seats, everyone, please, can everyone have a seat so we can get going, I have quite a number of items to cover today, please take your seats…thank you. Thank you. We have a full agenda of department reports today that I need to share with all of you, so without any further ado, I’ll get started.” (Sotto voce again to the guy behind him)…”Geez, what a bunch of douchebags…”

~From the Can Armageddon and Total Planet Meltdown Be Far Behind? Department…

Now I am completely aware that a number of my fellow Americans, especially in the Midwest and Northeast regions of the country, have experienced some brutal weather so far this winter, to which I can only comment, bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, you guys choose to live in the frozen tundra of the North, that’s your problem, that’s why I moved to Florida, bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. (I’m sorry, that was totally uncalled for…bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.) I miss the weather in Northern Illinois, where I’m from originally, about the way I’d miss hemorrhoids.

So imagine my dismay when, looking out my back window the other morning, I saw frost on the ground…that’s right, exhaust fans, on February 4th, in the year of Our Ford 2021, on the West Central coast of Florida at approximately 6:45 in the a.m., there was discernable frost on the ground, the temperature having gotten down to about 37° overnight. Now I know this isn’t exactly a life-threatening blizzard of cataclysmic proportions, but in an area whose residents consider anything under 50° as indecent and obscene, that’s ugly, and happens about as often as the Tampa Bay Buccaneers win the Super Bowl, which now that I think of it, they just did last Sunday, several days after the Big Chill of Winter 2021; surely there must be a correlation there, but it fails me.

Sadly, I’m reminded of the words of Mark Twain, who once said that everyone talks about the weather but no one does anything about it.

~From the Farting Is Such Sweet Sorrow Department…

Now I admit that I’m a bit of a child when it comes to flatulence…I think farting is hilarious. (Hey, I’m not the poster child for “mature” sometimes.) And I am a firm believer in good health and allowing my system to expel methane whenever it deems it necessary to do so…except at work. (As many of you are aware, I am employed part-time by the Publix Supermarket chain here in FL as a Front Service Clerk, a $27 title for a three dollar job; I’m a bagger.) We have WAY too many senior citizens in our clientele base and I have this abiding fear that if I let one go while I’m bagging Mrs. Twatwhistle’s groceries one day, the resultant effluvium would have old people passing out in droves, all over the store. That’s not good for business, believe me.

But the other night (not the same night as the Big Chill), I had a dream that my ex-wife and I were sitting around, apparently after having consumed the equivalent of our own body weights at a Thanksgiving feast in the home of my ex-mother-in-law, and that as we sat there sated, bloated and contemplating hiring a fork-lift for removal of the bodies, my ex-, in a stunning display of vulgarity, lifted her left leg and ripped a big one. One of those explosive ones that sounds like the burring rasp of that warning noise your dryer makes when your clothes are baked and toasty, and that produced a stench that only something that is dead should make, causing strong men to faint and several innocent house plants to wither and die. In fact, the dream stench was so strong that it woke me up, so I have no idea what denouement my fevered brain would have produced. My eyes were watering as I awoke, a testament to how “real” this dream was.

~From the As Long As I’m Being Crude Department…

Did you ever snort so hard at something that struck you as humorous that you blew a big booger out of your nose and onto your shirt? Yeah, me too, just the other day. (You thought I was going to ask if you had ever farted so hard that you blew a big booger etc., etc., didn’t you? You guys are disgusting.)

~From the The Names Have Been Changed To Protect the Bewildered Department…

1-Did you guys know that there’s a city in Thailand named Phuket? True. It’s just down the road from Iquit.

2-I used to have a friend whose name was Richard, and for some perverse reason, his parents decided to give him the nickname of “Dick”, apparently being blithely unaware of the off-color significance of the word. Either that or they both had a really warped sense of humor. Anyway, I was over at my friend’s house one day, and I remember asking him about some music he was listening to…I said to him, is that Moby, Dick?, a transgression for which I was banned from his home and removed from his list of preferred friends; he told me he did this because he could not have anyone in his life that could come up with a pun that bad, which by the way was completely unintentional on my part. (Not.)

3-The other day (not the same day as the Big Chill or the Flatulence Dream), it occurred to me that Acutely Aware of My Manhood would be an interesting name for a rock band.

FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!

We interrupt this blog post to bring you a Breaking! News! Story! from the RUKME News Desk…

Dateline Palm Beach FL

In an appearance that was reminiscent of Punxsutawney Phil seeking his own shadow, ex-, former and no longer President Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump emerged from the shadows of palm trees and millionaires at his temporary home (if his neighbors have any say in the matter) at the tony Mar-Ma-Lardo resort here in Palm Beach to hold a press conference addressing the recent debacle that took place in U.S. Senate chambers at the opening of his SECOND impeachment trial, wherein one of his lead attorneys, retired Montgomery County PA District Attorney Bruce Castor, “slobbered a bibful” with a rambling, disjointed, mostly incoherent dissertation on the breeding and care of Peruvian alpacas. When asked by RUKME Senior Correspondent Mary Christmas if he intended to replace Mr. Castor on his legal team, the ex-, former and no longer President responded by saying that the election was fixed and that he won, all indications to the contrary notwithstanding, and that yes, he would be replacing Mr. Castor with attorney Elmer J. Fudd, a man known for his hatred of rabbits and, since he holds dual citizenship with both America and Thailand, makes his home in Phuket. When Ms. Christmas attempted to ask a follow-up question, Mr. Trump cut her off, gave her the finger and abruptly left the podium.

More on this breaking story as it becomes available.

We now return you to our regularly scheduled column.

~From the Doctor, That Seems to Be a Really Big QTip You’re Using Department…

Doctors in Largedong China, which is right down the road from Phuket Thailand, announced recently that, starting immediately and extending into the foreseeable future, all tests for Covid-19 would be performed by taking a sample anally, rather than by the current protocol of using nasal and/or throat swabs. (Excuse me, that’s QUANGdong China…my bad.) Local residents have been quoted as saying that, “everyone involved will be so embarrassed”. Me, just before I was required to provide a sample in the proscribed manner above, I would eat a couple of enormous bean burritos, a big side of frijoles (that’s Siamese for “alpaca spleens“), a 60-ounce Diet Pepsi and an apple…you wanna’ dig around in there for a sample? Yeah, well knock yourself out, Dr. Kildare, it’s your pandemic.

~From the But You Can Still Try Artificial Incarceration Department…

Among the various rumors surrounding the Covid-19 vaccines manufactured by both Pfizer-BioNTech and Moderna, one that has been reported on a good deal recently is the belief that the vaccines causes incivility; this rumor has been promoted on a number of social media sites, including Facebook, Instagram and Parler (oh that’s right, they’re out of business, aren’t they? bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha) and since it has gained some traction with the “god, guns and Donald Trump” crowd, many leading physicians have issued statements challenging this lie and attempting to set the record straight.

(phone is heard ringing in the background…)

“Cap’n John…”

“Yes, First Mate Wetzel?”

“I’m sorry, I said what? (A listening pause ensues.) “I see. Well, I’ll certainly correct those errors immediately. Thank you for bringing them to my attention.”

(hangs up….)

That was my First Mate, Taffie Wetzel…she monitors what I write on the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog in real time and points out any little goofs and boo-boos I make. She tells me that the words I wanted above were “insemination” and “infertility”. I sit corrected, please pardon me. (She’s such a snot.)

Where the hell was I? Oh, yeah, the instability rumor. Okay, note to the MAGA/KKK folks…don’t get vaccinated. Please. Don’t do it. A) Because that means that there will be more for the rest of us who aren’t oxygen thieves and b) if you want to kill yourselves, hey, who the hell am I to argue?

(phone is heard ringing in the background…)

“Cap’n John…”

“YES, First Mate Wetzel, what is it? (Another listening pause ensues.) “I see. All right, I’ll fix it. Yes, immediately, Seaman Third Class Wetzel. Was there anything else? Thank you.”

(I hope she develops a bad case of crotch lice.)

I’m surprised Ms. “I Know Everything” wasn’t playing Word Cop and pulling me over for exceeding my self-imposed limit of how long I can ramble on. (Just now cleared 1700 words.)

(phone is heard ringing in the background…)

Love and Macy’s,

Cap’n John

Post Script…I’m truly sorry if I offended anyone of my loyal readers (all three of you) with my comments about living “up North” in the cold weather.

Chumps. (Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha.)

Post Post Script…Hi, Robin…I lied. Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha.