I PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE ACCOMPLISHED MORE IN 103 YEARS

(Editor’s note: Dedicated to my buddy Angel, whose last day is today…I’m gonna’ miss you a ton, sweetie. And hang in there, guys, this is gonna’ be a long one.)

Back in late 2017, after much deliberation and some encouragement from several friends, whose loyalty is above reproach but whose taste might be sorely questioned, not for being my friend, although I suppose that could be the basis for some close examination by the “Are You REALLY Friends With That Person?” police, but for the suggestion they gave me, which was to launch a blog site of my own, with the principal author/editor of said site to be…me.

Apparently some of the various things I had written and posted on Facebook led them to believe that I had some meager talent for humor and making people laugh, so, in lieu of sitting around and pulling the wings off of flies or otherwise abusing small animals with a hand-held propane torch, I decided that, yes, I would become a “humor blogger”. Thus began the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding website/blog.

And the rest, as they say, is Geography.

“I’ll take The World’s All-Time Biggest Idiots for $500, Alex.”

I won’t say that it hasn’t been a lot of work, because it has…a typical post (three a month these days) takes me somewhere between 12 and 15 hours to compose, which includes the writing, the gathering of the “optics” (you may have noticed that I really like old black and white photos), installing various links to articles and videos and a (large) number of edits, going over (and over) what I’ve written until I feel it portrays accurately what I’m trying to say.

Yes, I really do have a notion going in of what I want to say…it isn’t all by the seat of my pants, which is good, because I typically write in the nude, sans any pants that would have any kind of a seat. (Okay, I made that up, but I do wear my special “writer’s matching bra and panty set” when I’m working, in a tasteful cerise color. And yes, it’s a thong.)

So after I set-up the site, I created an FB page for both the Cap’n and the blog. And by the way, Facebook apparently does not recognize a birth date in the 21st century, so when I entered 10/1/2017 as my natal day on the at that time brand new page for “the Cap’n”, FB changed it to 1917, thus announcing to my friends and followers on the first of October that I was a 103 years old…oh good, I don’t already feel old enough, Zuckerberg and his crew of merry assholes had to make me feel ancient. Thanks, guys.

October 1st, 2020 marks the 3rd anniversary of the WATRUK blog, and in celebration of that momentous occasion (?), I have gone back over the past year and gleaned some tidbits from the posts I have written, a “Greatest Hits” if you will, and with your kind attention (or without, ‘cause it’s too late to turn back now), I will share them with you, my loyal readers.

Donations will be cheerfully accepted.

~From THE CAP’N JOHN WINTER VACATION TOUR (1/9/20):

(Where I’m talking about a long-winded, single-sentence paragraph that I opened with)

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

(Talking about an Internet headline I’d seen)

“’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.”

(Another Internet headline)

“’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.”

(My review of a high-school band concert I had attended)

“If you take a 200-piece (that’s correct, sports fans, TWO ZERO ZERO) marching high-school band, composed primarily of 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 at full march volume, to then describe the resultant 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.”

~From I’M NOT BEING CHASED, BUT I AM RUNNING_VOL III (1/30/20):

“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?”

~From LAST WEEK IT WAS “BEE”, THIS WEEK IT’S PEE (2/20/20):

(Talking about leaning against a wall when you urinate)

“You just kinda’, you know, let your left shoulder slump against the wall, and once aim is adjusted, to avoid the dreaded “hit the rim instead of the water and splash urine all over your leg” mistake, you let both arms hang limp at your sides and just lean there and enjoy the pee.”

(This one is self-explanatory)

”And as long as we’re on the general subject, please allow me an editorial comment here, if you would…ladies, I cannot for the life of me understand why you carp at men for not putting the seat down when they’re done peeing. Okay, yes, common courtesy would certainly dictate the return of the seat/lid to the down position, but sadly not all men are graduates of the Miss Manners School For Delicacy and Decorum. But really? Really? You guys aren’t smart enough to check behind you first before you park your butt on the crapper…I mean, it’s kinda’ like backing your car into your garage without first checking to see if the door is open. D’uh.”

(A letter I received)

”’From Sister Kitty Hawk of Makesme IL…

          ‘I represent the National Unified Network of Sisters (NUNS) and I have been asked by my sister sisters to advise you of our strenuous objection and opposition to your formation of a new religion, the Roving Spastic Church. We are deeply insulted by your obvious allusion to the Roman Catholic Church, and are further offended by the disparaging remarks you made regarding the various methods used by the REAL Church, the Catholics, to extort, er, excuse me, raise funds from our members to support our work. You are a vile, despicable, repulsive, sickening, disgusting, gross, opinionated fucktard and we hope you burn in the fires of hell for all eternity, or that you’re subjected to four more years of listening to Donald Trump, which would be approximately the same thing.’”

~From WE NOW RESUME OUR REGULAR PROGRAMMING, EVEN IF YOU’D RATHER WE DIDN’T (5/31/20):

(My version of the Ten Commandments)

Okay, so here’s the Big Ten, paraphrased:

#1- No side gods…one is enough

#2- Don’t screw over Mom and Dad

#3- Church on Sunday, heathens

#4- No golden calves (see #1)

#5- No swearing using god’s name…say “shit” instead

#6- No killing

#7- No funny business with Mrs. WhatsHerFace next door

#8- No stealing…if it ain’t yours, leave it alone

#9- No lying (even if you are, especially if you are, the President of the United States)

#10- Don’t be looking greedily at Mrs. WhatsHerFace or her new BMW”

(About the Church deciding that eating meat on Friday was no longer a sin)

”Boy, I gotta’ tell you, if I’m some poor SOB languishing in the fires of Hades, parched and in despair, begging for just a drop of cool water and I suddenly found out that I had been railroaded like this by the Church, I’d be some pretty pissed off. All I did was stop off at Mickey D’s for a Big Mac on the way home from work, totally forgetting it was Friday, I get home, eat my burger and then I have this major coronary event and bite the big one, hasta yo’ mama, senor, and next thing I know, there I am in front of St. Peter on the way through, who tells me, hey, special sauce lettuce cheese, you’re on your way to Perdition, have a nice trip, say hello to Lucy Fur for me when you see her.”

~From AS I WAS SAYING… (7/19/20):

(Talking about old sayings)

“’He was asleep at the wheel’. Well of course he was; he couldn’t be asleep under the hood in the engine compartment, unless he was a squirrel or a spark plug, or for that matter in the glove box, unless he was the size of a box of Kleenex tissues, which are currently on special at Publix, 2 for $3.99. Wouldn’t it be better to say: ‘He was being pursued by aliens from the planet Zatox at the time of the accident and was rendered unconscious by their anti-matter ray-guns.’”

~From ADVICE FOR THOSE WHO AREN’T GETTING ANY, AND I DON’T MEAN ADVICE_VOL XIII (8/10/20):

(A letter I received from Jay Silverheels, who played Tonto in the old The Lone Ranger TV series, looking for advice, and my response)

“’Cap’n John:

Tonto here. Have heap big problem with squaws, no can find any that don’t already have little papooses in their tee-pees. Tonto need help finding Indian maiden who like Tonto, want to smoke peace pipe and make wampum with Tonto. Have much silver from big, dumb white man with sissy mask, so Tonto okay for money. Need Cap’n to say where all the fine, young Pocahontas’ are. Cap’n please send smoke signal soon, help Tonto pronto. Thank you, kemo sabe.

                Quiver Full Of Arrows, Nowhere To Shoot’

Dear ‘Quiver’:

                Have you tried the Squaws R’ Us Dating Service? Heap big medicine.”

~From ASK THE CAP’N: THE BEAN, THE PICASSO AND DEEP DISH PIZZA (8/20/20):

(A News Flash that hit in the midst of the blog post)

“-Dateline Washington D.C.

President Declares War On Planet Zatox

President Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump today announced that he was declaring war on the planet Zatox and as Commander in Chief would direct the Joint Chiefs of Staff to immediately mobilize the Space Farce Corps for a direct invasion of that planet. President ‘Tweety Bird’, in explaining this extraordinary move, said the Zatoxians were guilty of ‘many bad things, terrible things that some experts, and these are great experts, believe me, have said were terrible, like, well, the Zaproxians are originally Yo Semites, and many, many years ago they denigrated from Earth to a new planet and, you know, they’ve done these terrible things like doing experiments on people they’re abdicated and taken up in their spaceships. And the Democrats and Nancy Pelosi have let them do this, ever since the Civil War ended back in 1926, and Kamala Harris is a Zahoxian by birth, according to some other well-known and really great, great experts.’

More on this breaking story as it becomes available…”

~From IS THAT YOUR PET, PEEVES? (8/31/20):

(On the proper use and frequent misuse of commas)

“’Is that a Tyrannosaurus, Rex?’ (The Latin translation of that sentence is “Qui est de tyrannosaurus, King?”, which isn’t as funny but a lot haughtier.)”

“On a recent resume I received, applying for the position of Dungeon Master, Lower Hold…’My interests include cooking dogs and running.’ This was in response to my ad, ‘Help, Wanted.’”

”I love this one…’The panda eats, shoots and leaves.’ (I’ve had women accuse me of that.)”

~From ASK THE CAP’N: TWINS, MICKEY D’S AND THE BLUES BROTHERS (9/10/20):

(Talking about advice columnists and twin sisters Ann Landers and Abigail Van Buren, whose nicknames were “Eppie and “Popo”)

And they hated each other, and didn’t speak for years after ‘Abby’ got started with the Tribune in 1956. ‘Ann’ was once quoted as saying that, ‘…and the ugly outfits that our Mom used to dress us in were Popo’s fault, and becoming an adult hasn’t improved her taste any, believe me…’ and ‘Abby’ shot back that, ‘I hope she gets a bad case of crotch lice.’ (Okay, I made all that up, but the sisters were estranged for many years due to the competition between them as America’s foremost and most popular advice-givers. And yes, they once had to be separated by Sheriff’s deputies at a Bar Mitzvah for Jerry Mathers, that kid who played Beaver on the ’50s TV show Leave It To…, and he wasn’t even Jewish. And if it seems like ‘Eppie’ and ‘Popo’ were bad, who the hell names their kid ‘Beaver’?)”

I hope all my loyal readers (all a couple of you) have had as much fun reading the silly things I post on the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog as I have had posting them here, because the past three years, despite Donald Trump being President, have been a lot of fun.

Thank you, thank you.

(I have matching sets in black, a dusty rose and ivory as well.)

Love and anniversaries,

Cap’n John

IS THAT YOUR PET, PEEVES?

(Editor’s note: The following comments on “posters” was a Facebook item found on Cap’n John Krissongs’ home page, and was deemed worthy by the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding editors to be included in today’s column…we can do that, you know.)

In this unsettled time of political foment, debate and discontent, the national awakening to systemic racism and the resulting upheaval, the Covid-19 pandemic and all its attendant horrors, natural disasters such as Hurricane Melania, err, excuse me, Laura, and a general feeling of, geez, what the hell is next?, I have an issue that I feel needs our immediate attention and scrutiny, despite all of the cacophony going on around us. This is something that must be recognized and, in my opinion, eradicated from our midst, right now, today.

I’m talking about what I call “posters”…you may call them other things, or maybe you are totally unaware of their existence, but they’re out there, and they’re undermining the integrity of our social media. (Oh brother, that’s an oxymoron for sure. And I hope you’re all impressed with the fact that I was able to use the words “their”, “they’re” and “there”, all in one sentence, all correctly and I might add, completely inadvertently.)

These are people who spend endless hours “posting” myriad items on their personal page for the perusal and edification of the rest of us. News reports, commentary, points of view from a million sources, videos and GIFs, every conceivable type of observation of life in today’s America (and elsewhere in some cases), flow from their fingers on their keyboards in a constant barrage of unsolicited information. And yet never once, not once, not one stinkin’ time, do they ever make a comment or a remark or even give you a “Like” on something that you posted on your page.

NOT ONE DAMN TIME.

I have several “friends” who are guilty of this social media faux pas, people who never engage in a dialogue with others, but assume that the media platform they’re on (in this case I’m talking about Facebook) is like a stage in a comedy club, where they have the mic and it’s their monologue. Blahdey fucking blah blah blah. (I spend very little time on Twitter, but from what I hear, it’s pretty much the same.)

I don’t mind their posts; hell, I read a lot of them, but these days, I never comment on them. Hey, if you can’t comment on the brilliant and erudite piece that I posted earlier, poop on you, I’ll be petty and petulant and do the same. (A little known law was passed recently by Congress allowing people over 65 to be petty and petulant any damn time they please, so there.)

I’m calling my Congressman today to demand that legislation be introduced and passed immediately banning anyone from posting endless remarks, comments and articles on their social media page without engaging in dialogue with others on theirs. This scourge of our social media platforms must cease…before it’s too late and we elect a President that frequently misuses social media as well.

________________________FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!_________________________

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

-Dateline Rome Italy

*Pope Francis Announces Excommunication For Cardinal, Nun*

In a letter to the Roman Catholic Cardinal Secretary of State and the College of Cardinals, Pope Francis today announced that he has initiated proceedings to excommunicate Cardinal Timothy M. Dolan, the arch-bishop of New York, as well as Sister Deirdre “Dede” Byrne for their roles as shills for President Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump at the recent Republican National Convention. Although the entire text of the letter has yet to be released, a Vatican source, who spoke anonymously for fear the Pope would have him burned at the stake, said Francis was “incensed” at the appearances of both Dolan and Byrne at the RNC, and that “both of them should be taken out and flogged for supporting that horse’s rear end Donald Trump”. Francis was further quoted as saying that he “would have thought a Cardinal and a doctor wouldn’t be so stupid as to fall for Trump’s bullshit”. (Sister Byrne is a surgeon as well as a big-mouthed idiot.) When asked about the Pope’s letter, Cardinal Secretary of State Pietro Parolin had no comment, but sources in the Cardinal’s office said Parolin would lobby to have “both of them boiled in oil if he could”. Dolan and Byrne have been notified of their ouster from the Church and Dolan is said to be seeking employment as a maintenance engineer and Byrne as a nurse’s aide in a home for chronically unwed mothers.

More on this breaking story as it becomes available…

We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog post…

I learned recently that Democratic Vice-president nominee Kamala Harris pronounces her first name, “COMMAla”, like the punctuation, rather than the more common, “KaMALa”, which is what I thought it was until I found out differently. Frankly, I don’t give a shit if she pronounces her name “Sigmund”, that’s her business, but it does bring to mind the fact that a lot of Americans, be they Republicans or Democrats, liberals or conservatives, Catholic, Protestants, Jews, atheists or heathens, black, white, brown, green, tiger-striped or whatever, male, female or “other”, wealthy or poor, in sickness and in health, haven’t got a clue when/where to use a comma or not, as the case may be.

Now I don’t want to say that a lot of Americans are stoopid necessarily, but we did elect Donald Trump as President back in ’16, so that should tell you something.

Misuse of commas, or for that matter, any punctuation in general, isn’t near the “pet peeve”, at least to me, that those asshats (above) are, the ones that can’t find it in their hearts to engage in a little “social discourse”, to bother with dignifying something that someone else said on Facebook with a response, as if they’re just too aloof, just too cool, just too well-informed, educated, in-the-know, or just too fucking arrogant and vastly superior to the rest of the social media hoi polloi to lower themselves.

Actually, not only do the common misuses or exclusions of commas not upset me, frankly I think many of them are pretty damned funny.

It’s no pet peeve, believe me.

(No one will ever be able to accuse me of not using commas…in fact I have been told by readers, apparently because they think I seem to believe myself to be erudite and pithy as hell, that I use too many of the “sentence separators” and that I should cut it the hell out immediately. Like our fine President I pay no attention to critics, deeming them to be envious of my great skills as a writer and of my prowess with women of the opposite gender. (Full disclosure…actually, ever since a certain very nice lady and good friend from Texas pointed out to me that I use commas like they’re going to become extinct in the near future, I’ve been a lot more careful about “over-punctuating”. She also told me my frequent jokes about woman’s breasts were childish and immature, and that I was a serious male oinker sometimes, so I now only think about woman’s breasts incessantly but rarely write comments about them. Men are indeed pigs. And yes, I am a BIG supporter of the “Free the Nipple” movement, and free mine at every opportunity.)

Do I have any examples of the misuse of commas or the dreaded “neglecting to insert a comma at an appropriate place in a sentence” mistake? Why, I thought you’d never ask…

“Is that a Tyrannosaurus, Rex?” (The Latin translation of that sentence is “Qui est de tyrannosaurus, King?”, which isn’t as funny but a lot haughtier.)

“Is that your Austin, Healey?” (Maybe even better…”Have you seen Austin, Texas?”, assuming you know someone who goes by the name “Texas”, which I do.)

“I’d like to take a moment to thank my parents John and God…”

From the annals of being a bagger at a Publix grocery store, which I am…”Would you like everything in this, bag?”

“It’s time to eat Grandma…”

“Don’t let your worries kill you let the Church help.”

On a recent resume I received, applying for the position of Dungeon Master, Lower Hold…”My interests include cooking dogs and running…” This was in response to my ad, “Help, Wanted.”

One of my favorites…I’m sorry I love you.”

I have a friend who teaches 2nd grade who sent me this one…”We’re going to learn to cut and paste children…”

Frequently seen road sign (speaking of kids)…”Slow children playing.”

“I had to help my Uncle Jack off his horse.”

From a text message I saw recently…”You better call me bitch”

“It was a summer’s, Eve.” (Which doesn’t really make much sense, but I still thought it was funny. Shit, it was better than “Have you seen Austin, Texas?”)

I love this one…”The panda eats, shoots and leaves.” (I’ve had women accuse me of that.)

“She was known as Calamity, Jane.”

“Have you seen Sponge Bob, Square Pants?”

Obviously, judging from all of the above, proper sentence construction is greatly impacted by knowing when and when not to insert, commas.

Love and “Is that a Harley, Davidson?”,

Cap’n John

 

OSCAR (AND HIS OTHER YOUNGER COUSIN ARNOLD)

I have a Facebook friend whose husband is a Hollywood screenwriter…for privacy reasons, I’m mentioning no names, but he has written several screenplays that were made into successful movies.

My friend (hereinafter to be known as Zelda) often accompanies her talented spouse on the set of the movies he’s working on, and of course meets many famous celebs, actors and Hollywood types. (It’s hard to avoid celebs in LaLaLand, otherwise known as Los Angeles…you pretty much trip all over them out there…I once spent 15 minutes talking to Mary Stuart Masterson in front of the Meat Department in a Whole Foods store.)

Anyway, Zelda tells me the story of the time she was backstage on a movie set and fell into conversation with the leading lady, a notoriously self-absorbed ego freak, in between takes. The actress launched into a detailed and highly complimentary depiction of her own acting in her most recent role. She was, according to Zelda, not reticent to express her pleasure with her work.

After about 10 minutes of blowing her own horn vigorously, the diva, grasping my friend’s arm, exclaimed, well, that’s enough about what I thought of my performance, what did YOU think of my performance?

Which I why I didn’t watch the Oscars last Sunday.

Believe me, I have nothing against movies and/or actors…I love movies. Between my own DVD collection, movies on YouTube (the free ones) and all the classics on TCM, I suspect I average watching 12-15 movies every month. That wouldn’t make me a died-in-the-wool, second coming of Gene Siskel, serious expert on films, but I’m a fan nonetheless.

But all these ubiquitous award shows, the Oscars, the Emmys, the Grammys, the People’s Choice, the Golden Globes, the Crappies or whatever they call them, the ESPYs, the Trotskys, the Church Keys, geez all ready, enough.

Gag me with a film canister and a microphone.

Because all these award shows are essentially the same exercise, over and over again. A bunch of preening, self-centered praise junkies get together and tell each other how much they like themselves, then give each other a pat on the back and a small statue.

I know that they’re not all weasels…as I said, in my 13 years living in L.A., I met a number of actors, most of whom were pretty much decent, average folks with a strange job. (Played guitar with Adrian Zmed’s kid once, and another time had a three-minute convo with Elliott Gould in a Border’s bookstore, just enough time for me to understand that he is a very strange dude.) Yeah, some of them are assholes, but can you name me any portion of our society that doesn’t have its share of undesirables, nuts and jerks? Why do you think there are so many proctologists?

But if I did put any credence in award shows, I would want to alter them somewhat, you know, create a new show that updates the categories for the awards and recognizes some of the up to now ignored segments of the performing arts.

Since we’re talking about movies/actors, my suggestions will be limited to that field of artistic expression…someday I’ll take on the music industry and the Hammys, er, Grammys.

My award show will be sanctioned by the American Society of Screen Hacks and Turkeys (ASSHAT) and my award statue will be a playful rendition of an Ebert©, which you will recall from my post of 1/24 (I’M NOT BEING CHASED, BUT I AM RUNNING) is a small, furry mammal of the Saskatchewanis ebertis genus that has rather prominent, flat ears, enormous genitalia and is indigenous to Canada.

Here are some examples of the new categories and potential winners you can look forward to from the ASSHAT’s The Eberts© Awards show…

Best Actor Playing the Same Role in Multiple Comedies

                The first such Ebert© award would go to Bill Murray, who played pretty much the same character in about 200 movies before he finally branched out to become Harold Ramis.

Or how about…?

Biggest Bunch of Untalented Hacks Raising A Stench In A Movie

                As an exemplar for this Ebert©, you need look no further than the old Star Trek mission…yeah, I was a fan but that didn’t render me blind, deaf or stupid; with the possible exception of James Doohan, the gentleman who played Engineer Scott, the rest of them were abysmal, William Shatner and DeForest Kelley in particular. Leonard Nimoy didn’t count…during the entire run of the show (and the subsequent movies), all he did was wear that same dopey expression on his face and make obscene Vulcan hand gestures.

Or…?

Worst Musical Score In An Otherwise Fabulous Movie

                If I ever get the ASSHAT Awards show off the ground, I might give this Ebert© to one of my most fave movies ever, Harper…if you’ve never seen it, it is an outstanding, 5-star flick. Based on uber-mystery writer Ross Macdonald’s award-winning novel The Moving Target (great, great book), the movie stars Paul Newman, Lauren Bacall, Janet Leigh, Arthur Hill, Robert Wagner, Shelley Winters, Strother Martin, Julie Harris and Robert Webber. The cinematography is excellent, the acting and direction first-rate, the screenplay beautifully written and the background music absolutely putrid.

How about…?

Most Atrocious Case Of Miscasting In A Drama

                Best example of this travesty would give the Ebert© to Alixe Gordin, the casting director for the movie The Boys From Brazil, in which he cast Gregory Peck to play the Third Reich’s Schutzstaffel Dr. Josef Mengele. Gregory Peck? What, are you kidding me? You had Atticus Finch, Scout and Jem’s kindly, highly moral, upstanding-citizen-and-all-around-great-guy father playing the Nazi’s “Angel of Death? WTF? (And to show what an incredible actor Peck was, he was brilliant as Mengele, just as he was as Atticus.)

***AND THIS JUST IN FROM THE WATRUK NEWSROOM…scientists, having nothing better to do, recently discovered why zebras have stripes…polka dots weren’t available at the time. And if you made a bunch of brassieres from striped animal material, you could call them Zee Bras.*** 

(https://www.nytimes.com/2019/02/20/science/zebra-stripes-flies.html)

Another proposed new category could be…?

Most Totally Unbelievable Screenplay

                And this Ebert© would go to…FLASHDANCE! Really, this kid is all of what, 18-19? And she’s already a fully-certified arc-welder, an accomplished dancer of on-stage erotic fantasy scenes, has an amazing loft apartment, complete with rehearsal hall, dog kennel, pizza joint and currency exchange and her boyfriend drives a Porsche 911 Turbo, lives in house the size of Buckingham Palace and is the owner of the company where she works, having built an empire of industrial holdings by the time he was 13. Yeah, that’s real life…just happened to me last week. (I look pretty stupid in the leotard.)

Or we could have an ASSHAT Award for…?

Worst Idea For A Movie Remake

                If the ASSHAT Awards ever gets off the ground, a good example for an Ebert© for this category would be the 1998 remake of one of the all-time classic thriller/scare-the-crap-outta’-ya movies, Psycho. Really? Anne Heche, the lost in the desert, done up on Ectasy Anne Heche? Really? I mean, it’s a classic, Hall Of Fame horror/mystery flick made by the recognized master of the genre Alfred Hitchcock, so you’re going to remake it and in some manner improve on the original? Whoever funded this abortion should have been drawn and quartered.

Or…?

Biggest Box Office Flop

                My best example for this Ebert© would be the 1997 remake of the Vladimir Nabokov classic Lolita, which cost, according to WikiPedia, my go-to source for arcane and highly esoteric information, SIXTY-TWO MILLION DOLLARS to make and grossed a paltry $1,100,000 in return, for an adjusted-for-inflation loss of NINETY-FIVE MILLION DOLLARS. Give or take a mill or two. I suppose if you’re a wealthy Republican investor and need a strong tax write-off, this would work, but man, that’s ugly.

And lastly…?

Best Unintentionally Hysterical Melodrama

                Hands down, if I ever make the ASSHAT Award show a reality, this Ebert© would go the 1936 classic Reefer Madness. Having sampled cannabis in my wild and mostly out-of-control youth (this morning) on several occasions, I can assure you that, other than the wild sex scenes involving a trombone, an arc-welder and a 55-gallon drum of CoolWhip, the actions and reactions of people who are seriously toasted, as they are depicted in the movie, are some of the funniest things I’ve ever seen on the screen; the humor is driven by its serious melodramatic tone.

Oh, FYI, I would absolutely kill for a box of Publix’ Apple Fritters right now.

Love and celluloid,

Cap’n John

 

I GET LETTERS_VOL. II

I was reading a thread on Facebook sometime back, although with today’s 24/7 Internet/media onslaught of our senses, it could have been yesterday around 3:30 for that matter, about the deterioration of good grammar/spelling/syntax in the world today…the various commenters were bemoaning how bad it’s gotten on social media, as well as in newspapers, advertising, day-to-day communications between people in their homes, in the workplace, in schools, in houses of ill-repute and mortuaries; if the consensus of opinion in the post was accurate, there are currently no more than 568 people in America who use proper grammar, correct spelling and the appropriate sized socket wrench for removing sparkplugs (which by the way would be either a 5/8” or 13/16” with an extension, unless the car came with the optional kanoonten valve booster for the inlet framitz, then the correct size would be 89mm).

The underlying theme of the thread was one we’ve all heard often in the past: the general “dumbing down” of America. Although I can offer no statistical evidence or empirical research to support this claim, I agree with the folks on the FB thread…it sure seems like Americans, when it comes to their ability to express themselves, either verbally or in writing, can’t find their butts with both hands and a map.

The incidents of no punctuation, abysmal spelling (I had a friend who always spelled it “frend”…always), poor or no use of paragraphs, 24-second violations, an utter lack of understanding/using the rules of proper syntax, run-on sentences, no capital letters and having 12 men on the field are rife in our culture today…you can hear it from folks when they speak and read it in their writing.

It’s ugly.

I, on the other hand, having absorbed all my grammar and punctuation rules by being on the receiving end of a ruler wielded by various and sundry of the Sisters of Corporal Punishment at Our Lady of Perpetual Motion grade school, to this day, MANY years later, still in fear, make sure I capitalize, use good grammar and punctuate properly at all times.

And yes, I have an anus the size of a BB. (Several years after I graduated from OLPM, the good Sisters of CP were replaced by a new order, the Sisters of the Blessed Fundament.)

Given this instructional background of proper English usage, I rarely hear complaints from my readers, all several of you, about my language or my manner of expression; however, I do get letters, emails, texts, telegrams, smoke-signals and notes in bottles (hey, I live a mile and a half from the Gulf of Mexico, okay?), praising or taking me to task for something I’ve said here on the WATRUK blog. And since I had virtually nothing else to do this morning (I was going to re-jet a couple of four-barrel carburetors for a buddy, but he called to tell me he wouldn’t need them until next week, so I decided to wait), I thought I would share a few of the more pathetic, err, sorry, interesting comments I’ve received from my fans recently.

Batten down the hatches, maties, there’s rough seas ahead.

“I’m a God-fearing Christian women that who been a proud member of the Nashinel Rifle Asociashun for over 200 years now, and I voted for Messiah Donald Trump for Supreme Ruler of the Planet, and I sure don’t cotton to sum of the things you’ve been sayin bout the Messiah on that flog or whatever ya call it of yours lately. You said that Our Master was crazy (IS THIS THE PARTY TO WHOM I’M SPEAKING?_CONTINUED_VER 4.0), talking about how his pursonal doctor was one of them head-shrinker guys, like he was nuts or sumthin. It ain’t funny to be speakin bout His Holynis like that, it don’t show no respect. Yur gonna burn in hell, Cap’n Shitbrain, and all yur famly and the rest of you liberel media shits.”

                                                           Tess Tickles, Deadhorse AK (as in 47)

“Cap’n John, I wrote to you previously (THE USPS…ON THE JOB, LIKE IT OR NOT) to complain about your poor treatment of the great state of Idaho (home of the one and only Grown in Idaho© potato) on your Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog, apparently to no effect. Only a disgusting, gross, despicable, degenerate, ugly, rotten, disgusting, repulsive, gross, degenerate low-life weiner-head like you would continue to mash, err, sorry, trash the Potato State, as you did in your post of 1/21 (THINGS YOU NEEDED TO KNOW THAT YOU DIDN’T KNOW YOU NEEDED TO KNOW), and I for one, as a loyal Idahoian, am getting damn sick and tired of being baked, excuse me, raked over the coals by repulsive, disgusting, degenerate, low-life cheeseballs like you. It’s an au graten, dammit, rotten thing to do and you’re a degenerate, gross, sickening, perverted slimewad and your mother dresses you funny.”

                                                             Jack Cheese, Santa ID

“As the President of the National Organization To Assist Lollipop Leaguers (NOTALL), I have been asked by our numerous members to address your seeming lack of regard for those of us who are considered to be “vertically challenged”. You have made several disrespectful comments about “midgets”, including a joke of seriously dubious taste in your post of 1/17 (IS THIS THE PARTY TO WHOM I’M SPEAKING?_CONTINUED_VER 4.0), and by so doing have shown utter contempt for the VC. My six brothers and I will be considering a campaign of boycotts and economic sanctions against you and the WATRUK blog should these demeaning remarks of yours continue. You are sick, disgusting, repulsive, gross, hideous, dirty and disgusting.

                                                              Dr. Forest (Doc) Fire, Pres, NOTALL

“Krissongs, John Cap’n: you’ve been pre-approved for up to $150 gazillion to be used to purchase a…”

Okay, never mind that one.

“My name is I. Dontknow Howe, of the law firm Dewey Cheatem and Howe, and this letter is to inform you that our clients, the Funk and Webster Dictionary and Pizza Parlor Co., Inc. absolutely refuse to pay the totally scandalous sum of one gazillion dollars ($1,000,0000,00,0000000,0,000,00000) for the usage rights to the word you allegedly claim to have “invented”, grandprogeny© (IS THIS THE PARTY TO WHOM I’M SPEAKING?_CHAPTER THREE). Under no circumstances does F&W pay to use words in their publication, and I have been directed by my client to advise you to perform an unnatural act upon yourself with your demand. Have a nice day.”

                                                              I. Dontknow Howe, Atty At Law

“Any more I just can’t wait for Thursday to come around, knowing there’s going to be a new post on the WATRUK blog…I get so excited I just tingle. (Wait, I think I left my vibrator on…oops, yeah, there we go, that’s better.) I really liked how you talked about your “sardonic, mildly sarcastic voice” in your post of 1/3 (LEARNING MY LINES); I once had an acutely exasperated spleen, but never a sardonic, mildly sarcastic voice. That’s totally rad. And FYI, your writing makes me hot.”

                                                               Penny Stocks, Bald Knob VA

And on and on.

And since I don’t believe in segues, thinking them to be over-rated, I’ll just plow forward…one of the questions that I posed in my post of 1/10 (IS HIS THE PARTY TO WHOM I’M SPEAKING?_CHAPTER THREE) that remains unanswered is “Who is John Galt?”…so here we go. Galt was a philosopher, inventor, engineer and track laborer for a railroad who decided to “stop the motor of the world”; he owned a large library of books, including an atlas, and he shrugged frequently.

How was my grammar?

Love and prepositions,

Cap’n John

Post Script…here’s a link to the excellent song by Simon and Garfunkel (no relation to Funk and Websters of which I am aware) A Simple Desultory Philippic…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOvs3rCFI2A