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…)