As some of you are aware, in addition to my duties as the Captain and Master of the venerable vessel the R U Kidding, I am also employed part-time by the Publix Supermarket chain here in FL as a Front Service Clerk, a very grandiose title for a “bagger”; as such, I come into contact every day with quite a few female members of the human race, both customers and employees.

The other day one of the ladies that I work with frequently, a nice older woman who I am 87.54% convinced has a major crush on me, which is easy to understand, given that I am devastatingly handsome, a sparkling conversationalist and hung like a stud chipmunk, asked me, rather out of the blue, if she could give me a hug; being magnanimous, I acquiesced. (Big of me, right?)

But only with the caveat, I explained to her, that while I was okay with her “giving me a hug”, she must understand that I already had quite a few, and that hers would have to go in behind the older ones…after all, it is a grocery store and we have to rotate the stock for freshness.

I suspect she’s just attracted to tall men who have a third eye in the middle of their foreheads.

But hugs from nice ladies is not the theme of today’s post; no, today I’m going to call on the crack RUKME Reporting Team to get a low-down on a number of recent news items that I’m pretty sure my loyal readers (all several of you) want to know about.

R-U-K-M-E…the R U Kidding Media Events arm of the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog. (Pronounced as one word, emphasis on the second syllable…think Scooby Doo.)

Let’s go to the News Desk…

~Dateline Seattle WA:

“Amazon Announces New Religion, Says Will ‘Glorify’ CEO Jeff Bezos”

Officials with uber-retailer Amazon announced today that the company, headed by gazillionaire CEO Jeff “Sign Up For Amazon Prime Now Cretins” Bezos, will launch a new religion/church in the next few months, tentatively to be called the Church of Jeff, whose dogma/teachings will be based on the glorification of the “Bicep Billionaire” as their spiritual leader. According to company spokesperson Alfredo Sauce, the new church, the brain-storm of the Amazon Marketing Dept., will be dedicated to “spreading the gospel of Jeffism to the general public, as well as his philosophies, ideas and beliefs, to further the influence of Amazon and its unique marketing concepts”. It was further noted by Sauce that “Jeff Bezos: The Life, Lessons and Rules for Success” will be used as the religion’s “book”, and urged all Americans to purchase a copy right away, available on Amazon in paperback for just $9.95. (And free shipping with Amazon Prime.) Bezos, when asked by RUKME correspondent Phil Adelphia to comment on the new church, merely smiled enigmatically, raised his right hand and traced the dollar sign in the air.

~Dateline Houston TX:

                “Astros’ Owner Has New Experimental Teflon Coating Application, Says Works Great”

                In an unusual response to the recent sign-stealing scandal that has rocked the baseball world and has resulted in the firing of three MLB managers (A.J. Hinch of the Houston Astros, Alex Cora of the Boston Red Sox and Carlos Beltran of the N. Y. Mets) and one general manager (Jeff Luhnow of the Astros) so far, with potentially more to come, owner and chairman of the Astros franchise Jim Crane revealed today that he was the recipient of an experimental application of Teflon coating to the human epidermis recently, and that the new “skin” works “great”. “This product is amazing,” said Crane, who avoided any REAL penalties as a result of his players and managers being involved in the scheme to steal signs from opposing teams by means of a center-field camera connected to a video monitor mounted just outside the team’s dugout, despite paying a $5,000,000 fine and suffering the loss of several draft picks, neither of which will be much of a strain to or a burden on the organization. “I love this Teflon stuff; I mean, absolutely NOTHING sticks to you.” Apparently including any meaningful punishment for the damage done by the Astros organization to not only the integrity of baseball, but also other consequences such as depriving fans of rival MLB franchises of the joy and pleasure of having their teams win, the pall that Crane and his merry band of assholes has cast over MLB in general, to say nothing of the economic whack that the teams the Astros cheated took, such as lost stadium and game revenues, lost income for the players/employees of the team as well as independent contractors for services to the clubs, lost tax revenues to the various municipalities and counties wherein MLB stadiums reside and more. “This coating is slicker than shit through a goose,” said Crane, in a wonderfully apropos comment, considering  that “shit” will be the word that pops in many people’s minds every time they hear about this mess, the Astros and Mr. Crane in the future.


It is the opinion of the RUKME Editorial Board that Jim Crane, the owner and Chairman of the Houston Astros baseball club, is an unprincipled bucket of warm spit. Even if we give credence to the assertion by Crane that he was unaware of the activities of his managers and players, he still is tainted by association and, more importantly, by his inept and corrupt leadership of the organization. You may not have known SPECIFICALLY what was going on, Mr. Crane, but it was you who fostered the culture of cheating by whom you hired and the toxic atmosphere under which your employees worked and thrived. Don’t think you can avoid the responsibility…you own it.

You stink, sir, as does your organization…we hope you get an advanced case of crotch lice.


~Dateline Hoboken NJ:

                “Rose says Astros’ Cheating Worse Than His Bets, Thinks Players Got Off ‘Scot-Free’”

                In a related story to the one above, former MLB player, self-confessed cheater and all-around roving asshat Pete Rose told today that he was wrong when he bet on his team, “but this (the Astros situation) is a little different. It’s a lot different, actually…” No, actually, Pete, it’s pretty much the same thing…it’s called cheating, doing something you know isn’t allowed by the rules and is therefore wrong. Apparently what you were really saying is you’re a piece of crap for your actions but the Astros are BIGGER pieces of crap for theirs. (Occurs to me that crap is crap.)

~Dateline Hollywood CA:

                “Loughlin Had Surgery But It Was Unsuccessful”

                Cedars Sanai Hospital here in Los Angeles announced today that actress Lori Loughlin had an ego-reduction procedure performed on her by the famed medical center some years ago, but that the surgery was a failure. According to Head (and other body parts) Surgeon Will Power, the 55-year old actor, who was indicted last year by the federal government, along with her husband, Italian designer Mossimo Giannulli and several hundred other parents, for allegedly making a $500,000 “donation” to the Key Worldwide Foundation, which was in fact a thinly disguised bribe to compel the University of Southern California admissions committee to enroll her two moron daughters in the prestigious school when neither of the girls could find her butt with both hands and a map, had the procedure done back in 2010, but that “recent events would seem to indicate that, in Ms. Loughlin’s case, the surgery was an obvious and total failure.” When contacted by RUKME reporter Justin Case, Ms. Loughlin’s only comment was that she “hates dealing with peasants” and that “given my lofty position in the entertainment industry, I shouldn’t have to lower myself to even acknowledge such stupid charges.”

~Dateline Happy Camp CA:

                “Sasquatch Kept Lumberjack As Sex Slave, Jack Describes Ordeal As Monstrous”

                According to the Siskiyou County (CA) Herald Angel, a man was found wandering along the side of Highway 96 in the direction of Happy Camp yesterday, and was stopped and questioned by local police. The man, who told police his name was Forest Fire, said that he had been captured by Bigfoot back in 2015 from his home on the outskirts of Happy Camp, and that the giant, hairy creature had held him captive up in the Marble Mountains since that time, using him as a “sex slave”. When asked to describe his ordeal in more detail, Fire began to sob loudly, and said, “try to imagine being attacked with a giant, furry baseball bat.” When told that Donald Trump had been elected President in 2016, Fire responded, “Donald Trump the asswad billionaire?” and then ran back into the woods from which he had recently escaped, screaming in apparent terror.

That’s all the news we have time for today, which is really too bad, because I had one of those “I Gave Birth To A Three-Headed Llama and Donald Trump Is The Father” stories all ready to go next.

“The problem with news on the Internet is that often it isn’t true.” Abraham Lincoln

Love and headlines,

Cap’n John

Post Script…I apologize if I was a little more serious today than normal, i.e. the above baseball “items”. I promise to be a good little humor blogger in the future. Not.


(Editor’s note: My first post since returning from my winter hiatus is dedicated to mi amiga Robin; it is my honor and privilege to say that she is my friend. She has an impish sense of humor, a mega-watt smile and she’s a major sweetie to boot. This one’s for you, buddy…and thanks.)

Now I don’t want anyone to think that my “winter vacation” these past few months was boring or uneventful, nor would I want any of you to think that I’m old, boring or shaped funny (the word “pear” comes to mind), so I thought, in an effort to ensure that none of you have the perception that the above boring, old, uneventful and/or funny-shaped shit was indeed the case, that I would chronicle a number of events, comments, headlines, and other humorous-type stuff of which I became aware during the time I’ve been away from the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog, and that these things would prove unequivocally that I’m e) none of the above.

You missed me, right?

(By show of hands, how many of you think that the opening paragraph (above) was convoluted, too long, imprecise and utterly brilliant?)

Let’s continue…

~Headline seen on an Internet news site during the Cap’n John Winter Vacation Tour…

                “Do You Know Your State Fish?”, and I thought to myself, no, not personally, I know him when I see him, waved to him out in the yard a couple of times but no, I never actually met him. (FYI, the state fish of Florida is NOT the narwhale but in fact the largemouth bass, which, considering some of the politicians that the voters of this state have sent to Tallahassee/Washington to represent us in the almost five years I’ve been living down here, is wildly apropos.)

~Headline to an email I received in my Junk Mail folder during the Cap’n John Winter Vacation Tour…

                “Premature ejaculation…the brain inside your penis”, and I thought to myself, there being no one else here at the time, shit, that treacherous little (excuse me, amazingly large) bastard has gotten me into enough trouble over the years I’ve been aware of his existence, and NOW you tell me the damned thing has a brain of its own as well? Boy, there’s some good news. Besides, that’s as crazy as thinking that the people of America could ever get together and elect a guy like Donald Trump as President.

                 Oh. That’s right, I forgot.


~Things I learned at the high-school band concert I attended recently, while I was on the Cap’n John Winter Vacation Tour…

                -a 32-piece clarinet ensemble produces a surprisingly drool rendition of the beautiful Christmas tune ”Carol of the Bells”. (I remember thinking to myself the first time I heard the name of that song, hey, I’m pretty sure I know her sister Sophie.)

               -Six vibraphones? SIX? Really? And I bet those big honkers are tough to march with too.

                -Major thumbs up to the little girl, who could not possibly have been more than a freshman, therefore making me old enough to be her ancestor, who was tooting for all she was worth on a trombone longer than she was tall, during a rendition of the always popular Christmas tune “Carol of the Bells”.

                -As an added bonus, there were a number of versions of the haunting Christmas tune “Carol of the Bells” performed by ensembles of varying instrumental makeup.

                -If you take a 200-piece (that’s correct, sports fans, TWO ZERO ZERO) marching high-school band, composed of primarily musicians playing brass instruments, brass as in loud, shiny, heavy and loud, and place its members, complete with said instruments, all around the outer perimeter and up on the stage of what appeared to be about a 1200-seat auditorium, i.e. moderate size, and then have them play the school fight song, which by the way is the enchanting Christmas tune “Carol of the Bells”, at full march volume, to then describe the sound as “loud” does not even begin to do the ensuing cacophony justice. Several elderly people fainted, a small girl, sitting directly in front of the tuba section, was injured when she was blown off her chair on the opening chord and a lady who had been crippled from birth suddenly rose up from her wheelchair and walked again.

                -After 43 renditions of the classic Christmas tune “Carol of the Bells” that evening, I found it necessary to enter counseling at the Hillary Clinton Memorial Home for the Chronically Bewildered.

                -The kids were beautiful, and they were awesome.

~Headline seen on an Internet news site during the Cap’n John Winter Vacation Tour…

               “Kanye, Joel Osteen Talking About Touring”, and I thought to myself, perfect, the I’m With Stupid Tour…give them both a tee-shirt and tell them to go for it.

~Headline/ad for a “clickbait” site seen online during the Cap’n John Winter Vacation Tour…

                “Use A Pool Noodle In Your Bedroom”, and I thought well, great, we put the pool up in the attic to keep the llamas out of it, so what good is a noodle in the bedroom going to do me? (Wouldn’t “A Noodle In the Bedroom” make a great chapter heading for one of those smarmy self-help books, you know, like “How I Learned To Love Myself and How It Was Illegal In Several States”, or some such thing.

~A new song I was working on during the Cap’n John Winter Vacation Tour…

                Tentatively entitled “I Really Like Your Breasts But I Still Won’t Lend You Five Bucks”, I think the album could go, as Larry the Cable Guy once said, aluminum.

~Subject line on an email I received in my Junk Mail folder during the Cap’n John Winter Vacation Tour…

                “Repulsive nail fungus?”, and I thought to myself, after I yelled “HEY” really loud to get my own attention, no thanks, I already have shingles, flat feet, a deviant septum, flatulence and male pattern baldness so, no, I’ll pass.

(Phone rings in background)

“Cap’n John…”

“Yes, Ms. Wetzel…”

“I see. Well, thank you for bringing that to my attention.”

That was Taffie Wetzel, my First Mate; she monitors everything I write here on the WATRUK blog in real time for accuracy, correct spelling, punctuation, rampant mopery and whatever; she tells me that the word I wanted in the above paragraph is “deviated”.


~Great quote I saw someplace online from John Madden, NFL Hall of Fame player, coach, analyst and a genuinely funny and decent man, during the Cap’n John Winter Vacation Tour…

                “Don’t worry about the horse being blind, just load the wagon.” And I remember I thought, as much as I respect and admire Coach Madden, I have no idea what the fuck that means.

                But it sounded good.

~Christmas presents that I thought (wished) I would receive this year but didn’t during the Cap’n John Winter Vacation Tour…

                -a 2020 Chevy C8 Corvette (Yeah, okay, I know they aren’t in production yet, but you guys could have ordered one for me and then sent me the acknowledgement…that way at least I would know it’s coming. I mean, geez.)

                -news that Senator Mitch McConnell, the Senate Majority Leader, renounced his American citizenship, resigned from Congress and moved to Lower Slobovia.

                -a lifetime subscription to “Dental Hygiene & You”…very disappointing.

                -a Monkees surfboard.

                -a Partridge Family in a pear tree, two catcher’s gloves, three French horns, four calling cards, ***FIVE GOLDEN RINGS***, six fleece crocheting, seven maids a-swimming, eight swans a-dancing, nine ladies leaping, ten lords a-milking, eleven pipers griping or twelve drummers all playing “Wipeout” simultaneously on their stomachs.

~Headlines on various news organs, both digital and print, depicting the Washington Nationals as the winners of the 2019 World Series, seen during the Cap’n John Winter Vacation Tour…

                “NATS WIN SERIES!”, and all I could think was Who? Really? The Nationals? You mean the completely and utterly inept and incompetent L.A. Dodgers, after winning a franchise record 106 games during the regular season, couldn’t figure out how to beat the Nats in the post-season? Or the Astros couldn’t have cheated just a little more to maybe to pull this out in the Series? The Nationals? Are you kidding me?

                I mean, isn’t there already enough craziness coming out of Washington these days?

As you can obviously see, it’s been an interesting couple of months since back in October of last year when I announced my sabbatical (I’ve always wanted to have enough of whatever it is you have to have to be able to take a “sabbatical”.) And I hope I’ve given you reason enough to believe that the Cap’n John Winter Vacation Tour was anything but boring and/or uneventful…in fact, it was, as life often is, mundane and routine, with occasional patches of joy and/or pleasure.

I have a neighbor downstairs who irritates me from time to time, and I’m wondering if there’s any way I could get all 200 members of the J.W. Mitchell High School Debating Iguanas Marching Band into my apartment to perform their rendition of the beautiful Christmas tune “Carol of the Bells” at about 120 dB (a 747 taking off right over your head will generate about 105 decibels of sound) at around 3:00am some morning soon.

So much for that boring and uneventful shit, huh?

Love and French horns,

Cap’n John

Post Script…Yes, I know there are such things as portable vibraphones used for marching bands. Geez, even I’m not that dumb.

Post Post Script…Admit it, you were singing “The 12 Days of Christmas” to yourself to whole time you were reading that paragraph, weren’t you?


Back, as in the opposite of front, or in its other common form, the return of someone/something to its previous place.

The Cap’n returns to the Welcome To The R U Kidding blog on 1/9/20…you may commence the cheering, applause and general tomfoolery at any time.

See you guys next week.

Love and triumphant returns,

Cap’n John


Okay, so, do you want the good news or the bad news first?

Actually, what I have to tell you today is more like “good news/bad news/good news”, so since it’s The Good News Bible leading the Bad News Bears 2-1 going into the 9th, I’ll start with the good news.

Followed by the bad news and then the good news again. (In case you lost track.)

Actually, it’s more like “bad news, good news, bad news, good news”, now that I think about it.

Never mind.

Bad news…I have been the proud owner for many years of a Saturn SC-1 coupe whose birth certificate says 1998 on it, and over the years and 157,000 miles I have replaced/repaired much of the car. In between mechanical failures, it ran well, got great gas mileage and didn’t look too bad.

Until several weeks ago…

…when, all in the same week, the wiper motor quit (said motor being the replacement for the first motor that failed), the A/C finally, after a month or so of indecisive cooling, said “buh bye” and the SERVICE ENGINE THIS INSTANT, CRETIN light popped on.

So my mechanic tells his fave customer, me, that basically we’re talking $1500, give or take the annual Gross National Product of Lower Slobovia, to make Susie Saturn right again.

Oh hell no…

Good news…after looking at all kinds of new cars, including the new mid-engine C8 Corvette (HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA), the Nissan Juke, the Chevrolet Trax, the Ford Excreta, the Toyota Rave4, the Buick Fondle, the Porsche 718 Boxster (HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA, THAT’S AS FUNNY AS THE C8), and the Nissan Scrotum, I settled on and bought a 2020 Hyundai Veloster.

It’s a lot of fun.

So bad news again…being busy with driving my new Velocityer these days, as well as being the Captain and Master of the venerable craft the R U Kidding and the Head Patient at the Hillary Clinton Memorial Hospital For The Chronically Bewildered has taken away a lot of the extra time I need to wear my last cap, that of author and editor of the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog. So I have decided to take a hyannis for a bit, to take some time off to regenerate the brain cells and get some fresh ideas flowing again.

(Phone begins ringing in background…)

“Cap’n John…”

“Yes, Ms. Wetzel…”

“I’m sorry, I said what?”

“I see…I’ll correct that right away, thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

That was my First Mate, Taffie Wetzel…she monitors what I write here on the WATRUK blog in real time for errors, misspellings, stepping on my crank, etc. She tells me the word I wanted in the paragraph above was “hiatus”.


Well, now that I know that taking time off has nothing to do with that port in Massachusetts, I’ll move on. Anyway, I need to take a break from the agonizing, gut-wrenching, oppressive burden of writing a (humorous) blog post every week; the WATRUK blog celebrated its SECOND ANNIVERSARY on October 1st (quite a week, on top of my buying a new Velocipede), so after 24 months of rampant tomfoolery, it just seems like a good time to pause for a bit.

Like until the first of the year or so.

Okay, so that was only bad news if you like reading “the Cap’n”…if you think I’m a verbose, juvenile, cynical, long-winded (isn’t that the same as “verbose”?) snotwad, well, a) you probably won’t view my taking a hyannis as “bad news” and b) you’re right.

So good news last…I didn’t want to leave you with a kiss and a promise, although I have been known to do that in certain social situations, such as Navy Seal training and/or potato peeling, so I have taken the liberty of preparing a COMPREHENSIVE list of “Golden Oldies” from the WATRUK blog (see below), written and posted over the past year for your general amusement and edification.

These vignettes (that’s Burmese for “poop chute”) offer glimpses of your Cap’n (that would be me) at his wittiest/cleverest/funniest/most embarrassing.

I’ll see you guys in 2020…or maybe sooner.

~From August 15, I’M NOT BEING CHASED, BUT I AM RUNNING (THE WOODSTOCK EDITION), (talking about legalizing marijuana when I become President)…“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.”

~From August 15, I’M NOT BEING CHASED, BUT I AM RUNNING (THE WOODSTOCK EDITION), (talking about banning the playing of soccer in America)…”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.)”

~From August 8, ADVICE FOR THOSE WHO AREN’T GETTING ANY, AND I DON’T MEAN ADVICE_VOL X, (on 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.”

~From August 4, MISSILE ANUSES, (intro paragraph)…”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.”

~From June 13, SPAM SPAM AND SPAM_AGAIN, (nostalgia)…”(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.)”

~From July 4, IT SAID “PRESS RELEASE” SO I DID, (talking about the WATRUK blog being included in’s  “Top 100 Humor Blogs On The Internet” list)…”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.”

~From June 13, SPAM SPAM AND SPAM_AGAIN, (sharing spam emails I’ve received, this one about a product called “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!”

~From May 23, NOW WHERE DID I PARK MY DUMBO?, (sharing congratulatory messages on the unveiling of RUKME, or the R U Kidding Media Events news agency; this was from Lori Laughlin, actor)…“I was going to ask you, as a favor from one media god to another, not to report on the allegations against myself and my husband involving bribing University of Southern California officials to guarantee our daughter’s admission to the school; it wasn’t our fault she was too stupid to get in on her own. However, considering how important I am, I decided not to. You may kiss my ring, peasant.”

~From November 29, THOUGHTS ON THE BLOGGER AS AUTHOR, (talking about how I’m not really a writer and don’t have any “epic novels” stashed away someplace in the back of my brain)…”…no sci-fi tale of three-legged, chartreuse striped space aliens from the planet Rgh6%kkTl3.ty22 blasting their way across the outer rings of the Clystron Nebulae with synthesized, gamma ray-generating 56mm harmonizing laser cannons, intent on mayhem and dominance of the Ford Galaxy…”

~From June 27, SPORTS, HISTORY AND WHY SOCCER IS REALLY “STOOPID”, (talking about how baseball is 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.)”

~From January 3, LEARNING MY LINES, (sharing bits and pieces from the upcoming “Cap’n John Comedy Hour”)…”We’ll have more Cap’n John and the Tale of the Three-Legged Burmese Hooker after these messages.”

And finally…

~From July 11, I GET LETTERS_VOL IV, (using a sample of my writing to argue that I’m never serious long enough to write a “for-real” novel)…

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.”

I have no set date to return from Massachusetts, but I promise that, just as soon as I get back, you guys will be first ones to know. That’s the good news…

Love and 6-speed automatics,

Cap’n John

Gerald R. Ford, inventor of the “Model T” automobile and President of the International Chevy Chase Fan Club.


I was driving down the street earlier today when I noticed a car up ahead of me with one of those incredibly stupid “Baby On Board” signs stuck to the inside of the rear window; every time I see one, I think to myself, hey, great, thanks for the heads-up, I’ll make sure I don’t hit your car, I’ll hit someone else’s.

Around since back in 1984, “BOB” stickers were the brain-child of some guy named Michael Lerner, who founded a company called Safety 1st to market the signs; he got the idea from a friend who had seen them on cars over in Europe, contrary to the popular belief that the signs were created in response to the death of a child in a horrible, fiery crash of a vehicle that rescuers didn’t know had a small child onboard. No, they were meant to warn people to exercise more caution around a car displaying the sign in a window…again, hit the other guy, not me.

I seem to be seeing a lot of signs recently that lead me to believe that a significant portion of the populace in America would love to revert back to the time when we had a car in every pot and two chickens in every garage, and the “little lady” knew enough to keep in her place, which was out in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant; if Universal Studios decided to re-release the movie Back To The Future, it might actually be a bigger hit today than it was the first time around. Marty McFly, Doc Brown, Lorraine, Biff and that ridiculous DeLorean would go over these days like a Free Beer Night at Hooters.

And why does it always seem like it’s the Religious Right wingnuts that want to lead the “turn back the clock” advance to the rear? It’s hard not to feel sorry for anyone who is that afraid of seeing other Americans (WARNING…SERIOUS TONGUE IN CHEEK PLAY ON WORDS DEAD AHEAD) exercising their “God-given right” to live in any manner and do any damn thing they please, even if it means, gasp! demanding equal rights and pay for women, or oh no! marrying the person you love, or gasp! treating ALL people equally and with dignity and respect, or huh? allowing an armadillo to poke around in the grass outside your apartment building. (Yeah, Florida has ‘dillos…I finally saw one recently, just off my balcony.) These things would mean CHANGE, which to the Conservative Christian faction is a vile, dirty, disgusting word.

Case in point…a priest in Nashville TN recently decided to have the seven-book Harry Potter series removed from the parish school library, claiming that “these books present magic as both good and evil, which is not true, but in fact a clever deception. The curses and spells used in the books are actual curses and spells, which when read by a human being risk conjuring evil spirits into the presence of the person reading the text.” (I’m assuming that it would be acceptable for a non-human being, say a gefilte fish or a dromedary camel to read the books.) (Dromedaries are the ones with two humps.)

The priest, a Reverend Dan Reehil, went on to say that he had “consulted several exorcists in the U.S. and Rome who recommended removing the books.

Spells and curses? Exorcists? Really? In 2019? Wasn’t that a fictional movie from WAY back in the early ‘70s? Are you kidding me? Hey, Rev, you ever hear of that pesky First Amendment thing from our Constitution that says censorship is a big no-no. They didn’t allow that kind of trash in Roman Catholic schools back in the ‘50s, and by God, Father Dan isn’t going to allow it today either.


Or how about the recent remarks from the president of the uber-right wing Christian Family Research Council, Tony Perkins (is this the same guy who played the sick, twisted killer in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho? Oh, okay, sorry, wrong Tony Perkins…sometimes it’s hard to tell one nut from another), who claimed that the regularity of mass shootings in this country stems from a “decades-long march” to drive “religion and God from the public square”. Perkins went on to slam the teaching of evolution in schools, saying that “we’ve taught our kids that they come about by chance through primordial slime, and we’re surprised that they treat their fellow Americans like dirt”.


Yeah, Tony, except that there’s about a gazillion kids/people out there who have gone through our public school systems, been exposed to and generally understand the theory of evolution who haven’t gone out and gotten an AR-15 and several thousand rounds of ammo and then shot up the local WalMart because they have some goofball, right-wing agenda banging around in what functions for a brain in their heads.

As a friend of mine used to say, Jesus Jumping Christ on a sidecar.

Operative phrase in the above? “Decades-long”. This shit didn’t happen back in the “good ol’ days”, believe me, back when the male of the species was manly and barrel-chested and females were double-breasted and everybody knew their place.

And recently Marianne Williamson, described in an article on as a “giant in the self-help field for decades” (there’s that word “decades” again…anybody but me seeing a trend here?) and currently a candidate for the Democratic nomination for President, God save us from Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump, said in a tweet that “the Bahamas, Florida, Georgia and the Carolinas may all be in our prayers now” and that it was “the creative use of the  mind” that caused Hurricane Dorian to take an abrupt right turn away from Florida last week; I guess God decided the poor folks in the Bahamas weren’t as worthy as we Floridians.

It’s been some time now since I wrote a post eschewing the use of segue to move from what I always refer to in my mind as the “opening” into the “theme”…I’m way past due. (Eschewing? Oh my.) So here goes…

I’ve been receiving letters and messages from some of the various folks I spoke about in last week’s post, taking umbrage with my comments, opinions, remarks, etc.

To wit:

“Cap’n John Krissongs:

                As Chief of Staff for Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell, I want to categorically deny the claims you made on your blog last week that Mr. McConnell had surgery recently for the removal of his brain; this is completely untrue. Further, I also want to deny a rumor circulating around the country that Mr. McConnell, prior to the time you allege he was in the hospital, was on a fact-finding mission with a Mr. Scare Crow to the Land of Oz to see the Wizard there, seeking information regarding Neurosurgical Care, in particular transplants, in that country. In response to the ongoing attacks on the Senator and his brain, or the lack thereof, at the urging of President Trump, Mr. McConnell will be introducing legislation in the Senate suspending the ridiculous First Amendment right to freedom of speech, effectively bringing these unwarranted allegations to a halt. Let’s Make America Great Again!


                Daniel “Joe” Stalin,

                Chief of Staff for Majority Leader McConnell”

“Dear Shitbrain Cap’n john:

                Me an Fancy just wanna tell you we think you stink, you lousy liberal shit-wad. all those bad things your alwaays asayin bout his Supreem Holyness, ah, sorry, bout Presadent Trump, who was sent to LEAD US BY JESUS HISSELF, PRASE BEE HIS NAME. Presadent Trump is a grate man, an a Gratt Merican, and OUR LEADER! You libral dickbrains will get yurs when GOOD CHRISTIIN SOLJURS take this country away from the heathen, sinning librals and make it a GGOD CHRSTIAN COUNTRY AGIN!! We hate you.


                Peter an Fancy Pants, East Jesus NC”

“Cap’n John Krissongs:

                I note with interest your reference to the studies we did at the Stephen Hawking Institute of Technology on canine intelligence in your blog post of 8/29. Let me, if I might, correct one or two minor inaccuracies from your report; first, the actual drop in the recorded IQ of the bitch Ivanka, over the period of the testing, started at her native level of intelligence, recorded at 118, not the 125 as you stated in your post. Second, Ivanka the bitch, after the described experiment, then had her IQ digress to a recorded level of 12, as you reported, but your inaccuracy was in comparing this number to the “level of a typical Republican Congressperson”; it has been our ongoing and very consistent finding that Republican Congresspeople have virtually no discernible intelligence levels whatsoever, and in fact are even dumber than armadillos, with few exceptions.

                Thank you for the opportunity to correct the record; keep up your good work, sir.

                Dr. Phil Herup,

                Director, SHIT”

Five bucks says I start getting letters from lovers of armadillos, who want to go back to a time when their beloved animals weren’t made fun of online by “libral dickbrains” like myself.

Set the WayBack Machine for 1950, Mr. Peabody…it’s time we went home.

Love and time travel,

Cap’n John

Post Script…for those of you not familiar with Mr. Peabody, his boy Sherman and the WayBack Machine, see the “Rocky and Bullwinkle Show” from back in the ‘60s.


Now I wouldn’t want anyone to get the idea from the things I’m about to say or for that matter the numerous comments I’ve made in previous posts that I don’t like President Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump…besides being a liar, a racist, a misogynist and an asshole, I’m sure he’s a pretty good guy in his own way; apparently his father Fred “We Found Him Under A Rock In the Backyard One Morning, Honest” Trump liked him well enough to leave his misbegotten offspring about a bajillion dollars, making it unnecessary for PTB to ever actually do anything in his life, his claims and bragging about his “deal-making” prowess and business super-acumen notwithstanding.

No, despite his obvious shortcomings, mentioned above, and the fact that he is without a doubt one of the most despicable, loathsome, completely-lacking-in-integrity-and-class human beings ever to steal oxygen from the rest of us decent folks, 62,984,825 people voted for him in the 2016 Presidential election, and they all seem to think he is, according to his assessment of their support for him, the Second Coming of the Messiah, assuming you’re not Jewish and don’t accept as fact the First Coming.

Maybe I need to reevaluate my thinking about His Eminence; maybe I’ve been judging Him too harshly. (Yeah, and maybe, to quote Wayne Campbell in the movie Wayne’s World, monkeys will fly out of my butt.)

Apparently his lackeys at FOX News have recently begun to seriously reevaluate their thinking about His Supreme Commander of the Worldness, and seemed to have reached the conclusion, like so many of us who aren’t blinded by his rhetoric and bullshit that, gee, maybe Mr. Wonderful isn’t so Wonderful after all.

Like the chicken and the egg enigma, it’s hard to tell who decided not to like who first; His Eminence has been carping about the FOX people for some time now, and just yesterday, after some recent treasonous rumblings from Mr. Trump’s State News Agency, several FOX commentators sprouted a backbone, grew a set of balls and told PTB, hey, shitwad, we don’t work for you , all indications to the contrary notwithstanding.

Will miracles never cease?

Like a petulant child having been told he can’t have any more ice cream, Second Coming stamped his foot, screamed in rage and called the FOX people some bad names (he remarked in a tweet that Donna Brazile, Juan Williams and Shep Smith were “hopeless and clueless”, being an expert on those subjects), to which FOXers Guy Benson and Brit Hume responded “Eff you, Your Eminence”, in a more appropriate manner, of course, although that was what it amounted to. (And a big shout-out and thank you to Jack Dorsey, Noah Glass, Biz Stone and Evan Williams, the creators of Twitter, for providing Mr. Trump with a platform for his constant and ongoing vileness and stupidity with their invention.)

The most telling thing I got from His Supremeness’s tweet was his comment that he needs to “start looking for a new News Outlet”, which I thought was at once a terrible alliteration and an excellent opportunity for the news reporting arm of the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog, RUKME.

R U Kidding Media Events…RUKME. (Pronounced as one word…think Scooby Doo.)

Boy, I thought to myself, being a male, I should step into this void and offer the services of the world’s newest news agency to His Wonderfulness, as a substitute for the fawning toadies at FOX. Hell, how hard can it be to defy all objectivity, slant your reporting, lie to your viewers, insult their intelligence and in general bow down at the altar of Lord Trump? (“Newest news”? Shit, sometimes I’m as bad as that moron in the White House.)

So I thought I would take the opportunity with today’s post and well, you know, audition for President Petulant, hoping that the crisp tone of the reporting, the high quality content, the on-the-spot timeliness of the stories and the fact that I can lie just as well as anybody would be a “YUGE” incentive to Mr. Wonderful to adopt RUKME as his BFF in the liar’s poker game of Network News.

Your Worship, please consider the following when you cast about for a replacement for your buddies at FOX…

~Dateline Stump Jump KY:

                “Senator Has Surgery, Expected To Be Out of Senate 6-8 weeks”

Doctors at Our Lady of Perpetual Motion hospital here announced today that Senate Majority Leader Mitch “Turtle Boy” McConnell had brain surgery at their facility yesterday; due to atrophy from a complete lack of use, Mr. McConnell’s brain was removed in a two-hour procedure, which Dr. S.O. Teric, the surgeon who performed the operation, said was a complete success and should result in no discernable change in McConnell’s performance of his duties as President Trump’s chief apologist and favorite fuck-puppet. He went on to say that Mr. McConnell was expected to make a full recovery and return to Congress in about 6-8 weeks, during which time he would not be missed by anyone. When asked by RUKME correspondent Terry Cloth if doctors experienced any problems during the procedure, Dr. Teric commented that other than not being able to find anything to remove at first, the operation went well.

~Dateline East Jesus NC:

                “Llama Gives Birth To Three-Headed ‘llamette’ On Local Farm”

Local farmer and Donald Trump supporter Peter Pants told RUKME reporter Polly Ethelene that a pet llama named Melania recently gave birth to a three-headed offspring on his farm, the site of a Presidential visit from The Messiah, Donald Trump, which took place eleven months ago in July of 2018, during a campaign trip to the area by the President. When asked by Ms. Ethelene about the normal gestation period of a llama, Mr. Pants replied that it was 11 months. Pants’ wife, Fancy, commented that President Trump was their idol, and that his visit and extensive tour of their farm, including time spent in seclusion in their barn with the livestock, which Mr. Trump said was an opportunity for him to “commune with nature to get a better feel for the plight of the great American farmer”, was the high point of their lives. No name has been given the new arrival as yet, but both Pants and his wife were said to be leaning towards “Junior”.

~Dateline Wanker MA:

                “Experiments Reveal Dramatic Drop In Canine IQ”

Scientists at the prestigious Stephen Hawking Institute of Technology announced here today that experiments performed recently on canines, in which the animals were forced to listen to hours of continuous broadcasts of FOX News commentators Juan Williams, Donna Brazile and Shep Smith for a period of several months resulted in a measureable and marked decrease in the dog’s Intelligence Quotient scores, and that it was felt by the researchers that the dog’s qualifications to run for Congress were greatly enhanced by the experiments. Dr. Phil Herup, the Director of SHIT, was quoted as saying, “We think we have finally found a way to enable “man’s best friend” to assist Americans in the governance of our great country” and assured RUKME reporter Laurel Enhardy, when questioned about any harm that might have been done to the animals, that “no dog was hurt during the procedures, as far as we know”. One of the animals that was part of the research, a bitch named Ivanka, pictured here with Dr. Herup, was said to have dropped from her normal canine IQ range of 125 down to a score of 12, or about the level of a typical Republican Congressperson. GOP Congressional leaders from the state of Massachusetts are said to be considering running Ivanka in the next year’s race in the 589th Congressional District, currently represented by Democrat Art Supplies.

~Dateline Clearwater FL:

                “Florida Man Arrested With Trump-Shaped Ecstasy Pills”

The Pinellas County Sheriff and Clearwater Police Departments announced today that a local man, Brendan Dolan-King, was caught with a number of Trump-shaped Ecstasy pills in his home  and was charged with possession of a controlled substance, possession of a ghastly sense of humor and general mopery. According to Sheriff’s Department spokesperson Coral Reef, the strangely shaped pills were labeled “Great Again” and that they were extremely ugly. Dolan-King is to be arraigned on Tuesday.

Okay, Pres, there’s our audition to become your “fave” news agency…I can’t imagine that you’ll find any other network more qualified, more concise in their reporting and more willing to become your go-to agency to bleet and blatt about how wonderful you are and how lucky America is to have you as our President.

Besides, I’m pretty sure CNN, MSNBC, the Washington Post and the New York Times aren’t going to be lining up for the job…they have better taste and better sense.

On second thought, I think I’ll join them…never mind.

Love and Pulitzers,

Cap’n John

Post Script…as you can see from the link, the last item was in fact true…god, I love living in Florida. Despite the hurricanes.


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.


                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.


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.


                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.


                  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.)


                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.


                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.”


“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.


(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.”


“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.


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.


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.


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. 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.


Love and the First Amendment,

Cap’n John