THE HEAD POPE AND THE ATTACK OF THE KILLER BEES

There are hazards to –eing a humor –logger, such as writer’s el-ow, terminal smarminess or as my mother was wont to say, having diarrhea of the mouth and constipation of the ideas, a malady from which I suspect I sometimes suffer.

_ut this is the first time I have ever encountered my current dilemma…I’ve lost one of the keys from my computer key-oard.

You guess which one yet?

-aloney, -alloon, -akery, -alance, -astard (sorry, didn’t mean to get President Trump involved in this mess), -anana, -a-ysit, -asket-all, -alloon, -itch etc.

Yeah.

Actually, the key still works…b,b,b,b,b,b,b,b,b,b. It’s just that the cover has come off and I have to rather deli-erately push down the little thingie that sits underneath the cover to get a “b”.

(I was going to make a bad joke about our FLOTUS, Melanoma Trump, after the last word in that series…glad I didn’t. No sense getting down to the level on which her husband typically operates.)

But I digest…

In last week’s post I hinted briefly at something I have been working on for, lemme’ see, at least 15 or 20 minutes now, and maybe it’s time I mentioned this new project to y’all to get some reaction from my loyal readers, all a couple of you.

(Phone begins ringing in background…)

“Cap’n John…”

“Yes, First Mate.”

“I’m sorry, what was it? Yes, I see. Thank you.”

That was my First Mate Taffie Wetzel, who in addition to being my XO (that’s “executive officer” not “hugs and kisses”), also monitors my posts for the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog as I’m writing them to keep me from committing spelling errors, punctuation screw-ups, telling vicious lies or making potentially libelous/slanderous statements…Ms. Wetzel tells me that the word I wanted above was “digress”.

Sorry.

Anyway, despite the enormity of my current level of responsibilities, not the least of which is being the Captain and Master of the sea-going vessel the R U Kidding, and all duties attendant thereto, I have decided to launch a new religion.

Lemme’ run that one by you again, just for effect.

I’m going to start my own religion.

Hey, L. Ron Hubble, the man after whom the recent successful space telescope program was named, did it and look where it got him. According to the local newspaper, the Tampa Bay Times, the Scientologists own the vast majority of the real estate here on the Gulf Coast of Florida, significant property across the rest of the United States, a McDonalds in Hoboken NJ and another in Sheboygen WI, all of the banks in Switzerland and in fact are becoming so powerful worldwide that they’re preparing to invade Belize as we speak.

(Phone begins ringing in background…)

“Cap’n John…”

“Yes, Ms. Wetzel…”

“Oh, I see…I’ll take care of that right away. Thank you.”

That was my XO again…she tells me the name of the founder of Scientology was L. Ron HUBBARD, not HUBBLE.

Pardon me.

Okay, so the Hubble Space Telescope wasn’t named after Mr. Dianetics after all…big deal. Most of the ideas for his “religion” sure as hell seemed to come from somewhere out in deep space.

Don’t believe me?

According to WikiPedia, my go-to source for information, Scientologists pray to the “god” Xenu, who is described thusly: “Xenu, also called Xemu, was, according to Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard, the dictator of the Galactic Confederacy (the same position Donald Trump now holds) who brought billions of his people to Earth (then known as “Teegeeack”) in a DC-8-like spacecraft 75 million years ago, stacked them around volcanoes, and killed them with hydrogen bombs.” Other than the “Donald Trump” comment, all of the above is a direct quote from the article.

Oh yeah, and you guys think I’m nuts.

Anyway, I figure if ol’ L. Ron can gin up a phony religion and make gazillions in the process, I should be able to so as well. Case in point, another WikiPedia article I found says that the cost of the therapy, called “auditing” by the Hubbardites, that a Scientology member is required to go through is approximately $800/hour and that a typical session is 2-1/2 hours in length, and apparently these sessions occur with some frequency. All printed and video materials necessary for this “therapy” are available only through, surprise, Scientology.

Boy, how do I get on this gravy train?

(Phone begins ringing in background…)

“Cap’n John…”

“Yes, Ms. Wetzel…”

“It’s called sarcasm, First Mate…I’m aware that Donald Trump is not “the dictator of the Galactic Confederacy”. Thank you.”

That was Ms. Wetzel again…she pointed out to me that Donald Trump is merely the President of the United States, despite what he apparently believes to the contrary.

A substantial increase in the revenues enjoyed by la casa de Cap’n wouldn’t be looked upon unfavorably by management…I had a friend who used to say he was so broke he couldn’t afford to pay attention.

I resemble that remark.

Trust me, I’m not exactly causing the people at the IRS (speaking of audits) any concern with reference to the copious amounts of money I make as the Editor-In-Chief of the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog…after 2-1/2 years of being a “humor blogger”, I have yet to make my first dollar. Or centavo for that matter. Factor in what it costs to maintain the WATRUK website, and I’m underwater, a scary position for a sea captain.

So effective today, I am hereby declaring myself to be the Head Pope of the newest scam, excuse me, religion on the planet, the Roving Spastic Church, with my followers to be known as “Spastics”.

It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

Over the next few months as I get my new Church organized, I will be looking for candidates for such positions, in no particular order, as Bishop, acolyte, bud light, deacon, pastor, dungeon guard, St. Louis Cardinal, none, priest, epistles and heretics. (A link to an employment application for the RSC will follow soon.)

Like any well-run (i.e., profitable) Church, we will employ a number of the “old reliable” methods for raising $$$, such as bingo, selling indulgences, taking up collections at Sunday services, tithing, the sale of Papal Blessings, given exclusively by yours truly, exorcisms and bake sales, all duly sanctioned by the RSC. (Sound familiar?)

In addition to the tried and true methods above, the Spastics will also introduce new ways to extort, er, sorry, to induce members to contribute to the coffers of the Church, such as our own brand of “auditing” called “fleecing”, which will be a progression of steps in which all members will be forced, excuse me, urged to participate, each step having a higher price tag than the previous one, as they move along the “Road To Xanadu“, as the RSC brand of Utopia will be known. We will also market an entire line of clothing, which will be the only clothing that members will be allowed, pardon me, that members will be encouraged to wear at all times, much like the “magic underwear” that the goofs from the Mormon Church have to wear under their street clothes. (Unlike the Church of the Latter Day Saints, however, Spastics won’t be allowed more than one wife/husband per member without a special “permit” from the Church, available from your local Bishop, online at www.worshipmecretins.com or on Amazon for the discount price of $99.99.)

All of the above, indeed everything concerned with the Roving Spastic Church will be predicated on our “book”, which will of course be authored by, gee what a surprise, yours truly, and will be called “Diabolics: The Highway To The Higher Heights Of Capnism” and will retail for $99.99 (available in Church bookstores, online at www.worshipmecretins.com or on Amazon).

Rest assured that any worship ceremonies in the RSC will most certainly include the use of cannabis, patterned after the example of many Native American tribes that used peyote or some other hallucinogenic drug or the Roman Catholics who use wine in their ceremonies. (You can obtain a Medical Marijuana Card here in FL for various physical maladies, so I’m wondering if you can get one for a “religious exemption” as well.)

RSC headquarters will eventually be in Rome, Alabama, mostly because under no circumstances am I moving all the way back north to Rome Indiana and freezing my butt off every winter. Or what I might do is, after I make several bajillion dollars, I’ll go down to Clearwater FL and run the Scientology pussies out of town and buy up all their property and their headquarters and rename the area Roam, so as to avoid any copyright beefs with those asshats over there in Italy.

The Roving Spastic Church, cradle of Capnism.

Buy “Diabolics: The Highway To The Higher Heights Of Capnism” today…free delivery with Amazon Prime.

Donald Trump isn’t Dictator of the Galactic Confederacy, is he?

Love and Bibles,

Cap’n John

Post Script:

(Phone begins ringing in background…)

“Cap’n John…”

“YES, Ms. Wetzel…”

“Yes, First Mate, I understand the difference between “epistles” and “apostles”…I was making a joke, okay? Has the poop deck been swabbed, the mizzen masted and all the hatches battened down yet, First Mate?”

“Thank you.”

She’s not so smart…she totally missed the word “none” I used instead of “nun” in that same sentence.

(Phone begins ringing in background…)

I’M NOT BEING CHASED, BUT I AM RUNNING_VOL III

As you may recall, it was WAY back on 1/10/18 that I announced my intention to run for the office of President, the day I accepted the Hearty Party nomination and launched my 2020 campaign; as that candidate, in today’s post I’m going to once again address a number of issues that confront all of us as Americans by restating the “planks” of my campaign platform. But first, with your indulgence, I’m going to digress for just a moment…

 “…ladies and gentlemen, here are the starting offenses for the Lysol® 2020 Mega Toilet Bowl!!…”

Yeah, okay, I made that one up…d’uh.

With the holidays a dwindling image in our rear-view mirrors, we can now (gratefully) turn our attentions to more important matters…i.e., ”bowl season”. Starting with all the college bowl games from late last year/early this year, like the Aunt Jemima® 2020 Mixing Bowl, the Hidden Valley Ranch® Salad Bowl, the Uncle Ben’s Wild Rice® Bowl, or the Cheech and Chong Smoke A Bowl and finally culminating in the ultimate of the “bowl games”, the Dumb and Dumber Super Bowl-Cut Bowl, to be played this year on February 2nd in the beautiful city of Miami Florida, known as “The Cruise Capital of the World” and home to Miami Vice, the falling comatose herbivorous lizard, 300 downtown high-rise buildings and South Beach. This year’s game features the Kansas City Warriors, er, sorry, that’s the women’s roller derby team, the Kansas City Chiefs and the San Francisco 49’ers.

The Chiefs have the potential MVP of the league at quarterback in Patrick Mahomes, who despite having a very unusual last name, is pretty much All World in everything, and the 49’ers have Darlin’ Clementine’s father. Both teams possess excellent defensive units, an offense that can put up big points if the defense is sleeping, decent special teams and we’ll have Shakira and J’Lo at halftime as well. On the plus side, both Ms. Lopez and Ms. (unknown) are beautiful women and interesting entertainers; Lopez is also engaged to proven baseball cheat and all-around asshat Alex “I Only Did PEDs On Days Ending With The Letter ‘Y’” Rodriguez as well. Neither woman can pass-block worth a broke you-know-what and (unknown) has recently been prone to fumbling and bouts of inflated ego. On the minus side, once again, indeed for the past LIIV years now, I continue to try to understand what exactly the Rolling Stones, the Who, Katy Perry, Lady HaHa, TP and the ‘Breakers, the Everglades University Comatose Lizards Marching Band, this year’s Dipso Duo above and all of the other half-time extravaganzas have to do with football.

Yes, I understand ad revenues and demographics and spatial telemetry and how to throw a slider and what not, but…never mind.

Moving along…since the dumbheads in Chicago, more commonly known as the Chicago Bears, who are owned by the epitome of managerial incompetence, the McCaskey Family (with the Glazer Family of morons running a close second in ownership ineptitude here in another fine Florida city, Tampa Bay), only managed to finish the regular season with an 8-8 record, which won’t even get you in the playoffs in Pop Warner ball, to fill in the time between inane interviews with obviously bored players and coaches, CONSTANT re-hashes of big plays from the just finished playoffs, “expert” analysis from so-called “experts” and other mostly uninteresting features of “Super Bowl Week” like “Cornerback Warren Peace…Bedwetter and Raiser of Iguanas…His Story”, I recently entered the WayBack Machine® and POOF! returned to 1985/86, to an NFL football season when the “dumbheads in Chicago”, for one all too brief 6-month period, were truly the vaunted “Monsters of the Midway”.

I’ve watched all the regular season games I could find on YouTube (twice), which was all but two of them, plus the ’85 NFC Championship game against a very good L.A. Rams team (three times), who the Bears shut-out, and of course, Super Bowl XX, wherein Chicago embarrassed future football dynasty the New England Patriots by the rather lop-sided score of 46-10, second only to the 49’ers crushing of the Denver Broncos 55-10 in Super Bowl XXIV as the worst defeat in the history of the NFL Championship game. (The XX halftime show featured the musical group “Up With People“; considering the overall tone of the game itself, which featured the universally acknowledged “Best Defense of All Time” totally annihilating the Pats in a gruesome show of football dominance, this combination of football/music is akin to having the Munchkins do 15 minutes of Broadway show-tunes during a lull in the action in one of those ancient Christians/Lions match-ups at the Coliseum in Rome.)

Three observations about watching reruns of old football games on YouTube…1) at the commercial breaks, assuming whoever posted the video took the time to remove the ads, when the announcer says, “we’ll be back in a moment”, they really ARE back in a moment; 2) despite how it sounds, it really is nice to know who’s going to win, especially when the winner is YOUR TEAM; and 3) the 1985 Chicago Bears were the best team to ever play in the NFL…best defense most certainly, and probably GOAT for the entire squad as well. I invite dissenters to dissent.

Yeah, Go Bears! Or should that be past tense, since it was 35 years ago? Went Bears?

Anyway, bowl games etc., are not the subject of today’s post, despite how it appears; no, as I said above, I’m going to give you a redux (that’s Burmese for “iguana testicles”) of my various stands on the issues.

Believe me, my campaign slogan says it all…My name is Cap’n John and I ain’t kidding©.

Catchy, huh?

Here goes…

~~SOCIAL MEDIA IN THE CAMPAIGN~~

                No American stands more firm in his/her support for the rights we are guaranteed by our Constitution, and certainly the personal freedom for members of the media to be sociable between themselves and with others is most assuredly one of these precious rights. I cannot imagine why such a fuss is being raised over this issue by members of…ah, wait a minute, of the media. Okay, now I’m totally confused. Never mind, we’ll come back to this one.

~~2ND AMENDMENT~~

                Once again, it occurs to me that this is a very simple matter and one that really shouldn’t need debate. It is my firmly held belief that ALL Americans have the unalienable right to re-do something a second time. I mean, they put erasers on the ends of your iPad, don’t they? Of course you can have a second chance to amend something…it’s your right, and the Constitution says so. The Constitution further says, in the 3rd Amendment, that, “No soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in the time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law”, but that isn’t really relevant here.

~~LEGALIZATION OF CANNABIS~~

Yes, yes. Absolutely right away first thing immediately yesterday. Except for any state that is carried by the presumptive Republican candidate Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump. I say “presumptive” because we all know that, after a fair trial in the Senate on the impeachment charges brought by the House recently, Mr. Trump will of course be removed from office and banished to island of Madagascar, where he can commune with the Aquatic Tenrecs, which are indigenous to the island. Yeah, right, when monkeys fly out of my butt. Anyway, there will be no legal smoke for any misguided state that swings its electoral votes to DTBT in ‘20. Like Wisconsin, Michigan and Pennsylvania did in ’16.

Asshats.

~~DEFENSE~~

                No one is ever going to confuse me with great sports strategists like George Halas or John Madden or Salty Parker or even Wade Ingpool but I am steadfast in my belief that a strong DEFENSE and great pitching wins games and championships. Accordingly, after the good people of this country make me their President, I promise to spend money like a crazed wombat to obtain all the Gold Glove-level players I can find, as well as recruiting and bringing up through the farm system no less than a dozen Top 10 pitching prospects every year, along with accelerated schedules for building new, larger and more sophisticated aircraft carriers, drones and slingshots. I will further ask Congress to increase funding for more highly-trained linebackers and shortstops as well. Okay, and I’ll also have Congress throw in a few new F35s for the Air Jockeys too.

~~TAXES~~

                NOBODY PAYS ANYTHING! As President, I will order an immediate military take-over of Dubai and the UAE and then make them pay for everything…shit, as much money as those guys have, they can probably take care of the U.S. National Debt out of petty cash.

~~PRSIDENTIAL “PERKS”~~

                If I’m elected Pres, the taxpayers of America are buying me a new C8 Corvette…hey, I could have held out for a McLaren P1, but I thought, no, I’ll be Pres then, no foreign junk for this Great American. So get ready everyone, ’cause come January 21, 2021, the nice folks at Generous Motors (since my old man was an employee of the said GM, that was how we referred to them at my house when I was a kid) will be getting an order for a fully loaded, all the bells and whistles, 495 horses smack in the middle of the car and painted bright red 2020 C8 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray, with the Presidential seal prominent on the side of the car.

Hey, if Tweety Bird can spend a bajillion dollars of the taxpayer’s money on trips back and forth to fucking Mar-Ma-Lade or whatever the hell you call it just so he can play (with himself) golf, the least you guys can do is pop for an AMERICAN sports car for your new Fearless Leader.

Patrick Mahomes will be the difference in the Super Bowl this coming Sunday in Miami, home of the falling comatose herbivorous lizard…take the Chiefs.

Love and the Bear’s “46” defense,

Cap’n John

Post Script…Yeah, I know Harry’s dead and YOU know Harry’s dead but I’m hoping no one tells HIM that.