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: the past two weeks I have dedicated my posts to some very nice young people to whom I wanted to give some recognition…not that they deserved it or anything, just my way of saying, hey, don’t marinate that iguana, try the light blue 56mm socket wrench first. Accordingly, there will be no similar dedication this week. So there.)

Reefer Madness.

For those of you who have seen the 1936 movie, a morality tale of hit and run accidents, manslaughter, attempted rape, suicide, aggravated mopery and the defiling of innocent llamas, all fueled by the killer weed MARIJUANA, you’re probably already laughing to yourself. For those of you who have not seen the movie, yes, hit and run accidents, manslaughter, suicide, aggravated mopery and the defiling of innocent llamas, at least in the context of the film, have a funny side.

(Actually, even I’m not dumb enough to think ANY of those things are in any way humorous…especially to the llamas. It’s the overall dark tone of the picture, the over-blown, HUGELY melodramatic presentation, the dire and oh-so-serious warning of the DANGERS OF MARIJUANA TO THE YOUTH OF THIS COUNTRY that is so laughable. Yeah, I know, but honest, it’s pretty funny. Okay, don’t believe me…check it out yourself. Roll up a phatty first though.)

The depiction in the film of drugs being sold to high school kids isn’t in the least bit humorous either, but again, taken from the viewpoint of 83 years later, having a WHOLE lot of new information, education and a good deal of personal testing by, if polls and all the newly voted-in laws in a majority of the states in this country legalizing the weed are any indication, a rather large percentage of the American populace have shown that all the furor that the movie attempts to create didn’t amount to a cup of warm spit.

Not that I have any personal experience with cannabis…just hearsay.

In fact, looking at the the map of states showing which ones have either legalized cannabis completely, or for medical purposes or who at minimum decriminalized it, there’s only 17 states that still cling to the 1936 point of view that MARIJUANA is evil and disgusting, and that the users of same should be tried, convicted and sentenced to doing hard labor in a Siberian gulag. And have their peenies whacked as well.

I’m sure the original producers of the film would be shocked to note that last week, in the city of Denver CO, where recreational MARIJUANA is already legal, lending some credence to the term “the mile high city”, a referendum on the decriminalization for the possession/use of psilocybin, or “magic mushrooms”, which is classified as a Schedule 1 controlled substance by the Einsteins at the FDA, was narrowly defeated…my, how far we have come from those paranoid years of the 1930s. (Full disclosure…remember, even paranoids have enemies.)

Although this is hardly conclusive evidence in support of the medical benefits of ‘shrooms, I have a friend who, after occasional but regular usage of psilocybin, has pitched her Prozac and her other anti-depressant meds and says she has never felt better.

I’m not advocating here, merely reporting.

Which leads me to the topic of this week’s post (Holy Syntax, Batman, another segue sighting on the WATRUK blog)…

                                     ********** !!!ANNOUNCING!!! **********


This isn’t CNN, this isn’t AP, this isn’t UPI, this isn’t MSNBC or FOX News or even WKRP In Cincinnati, this is…wait for it…R U KIDDING MEDIA EVENTS!

RUKME (pronounced as one word…think Scooby-Do).

To give all my loyal readers (all three of you) a taste of what you can expect from RUKME, I thought I would give you a sampling of the headlines, the stories, the snappy writing and concise editing that you can expect from RUKME, all day, every day.

You could see this coming, right?

~Dateline Bangor ME:

                “Author Stephen King Abducted By Langoliers And Subjected To Weird Sexual Shit!!!”

                Horror/mystery guru and far-left liberal snotwad Stephen King told RUKME correspondent Justin Case that he was recently abducted by the creatures from his eponymous novella, blindfolded and taken to a secret location where he was the subject of a number of weird, sick, disgusting, gross, sick, perverted, disgusting, gross, filthy and sick sexual experiments and then later released. King further said that while he “enjoyed most of the experiments, the ones involving a llama, a clarinet, two Brillo pads and a 55-gallon drum of Cool Whip were really revolting”. When asked what he thought prompted the attack, King opined that he thought it was retribution by President Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump, who King believes is an alien from the planet Zatox, for his (rightful) opposition to everything the current administration says/does.

~Dateline Philadelphia PA:

                “Benjamin Franklin Was Really A Three-Breasted Space Alien!!!”

                Recent discoveries by archivists at the Benjamin Franklin Museum, located in the “City Of Brotherly Love”, have led experts to the conclusion that Franklin, the discoverer of electrolysis and the founder of the Franklin Mint, was in fact a space alien from the planet Zatox, home of American President and serial llama defiler Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump, and in fact possessed three alien breasts. (Franklin, not Trump…Trump is believed to have no breasts but several spleens.) When asked what evidence led researchers to this startling conclusion, museum president Reginald “Snotwad” Farbletoots told RUKME correspondent Al Toona that recently unearthed documents and three-hundred year old Polaroids (not to be confused with paranoids or hemorrhoids) show the American genius “in a space suit with the necessary corresponding three bumps on the chest”. When asked to elaborate, Farbletoots declined, stating that further investigation was necessary and that a porno movie addressing the subject was in pre-production.

~Dateline Cowflop IA:

“Giant Rutabaga Attacks And Kills Farmer In Tragic Incident!!!”

RUKME has learned that a giant, rabid rutabaga, grown on the farm of Udder County IA farmer Frank Lee Scarlett recently was pulled from the ground during harvest and, apparently angered at being yanked from its earthly home, turned on the unsuspecting soil-tiller and after doing a number of sick, disgusting, gross, revolting, perverted, vile, sick, gross, repulsive things to Scarlett, all of which were too disgusting, gross and sick to be mentioned in a family news-organ, then ran off with the farmer tucked under his Brassica napus appendage and has not been seen since. Scarlett, whose body was later found in a field several miles from his home, was a supporter of President Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump until he realized how His Largeness had hoodwinked him into voting Republican in the ’16 election and until found was listed as “missing presumed parboiled”, is survived by his wife, Deeply, and a son, Pimpernel. A memorial is being planned by the family and the IA Society of Rutabaga Growers.

~Dateline Tampa Florida:

                “Tampa Bay Bucaneers Still Suck, Will Lose 12-15 Games This Season, Per Coach!!!”

                RUKME Sports correspondent Brandon Iron, in an exclusive interview with new Bucs Head Job, er, Coach Bruce Arians, has learned from the possessor of a 1-3 lifetime NFL post-season record as a head coach, that Arians believes that with current quarterback and all-around dumbfuck Jameis Winston as the team’s starter, the Sucs will be lucky to win 2-3 games in the 2019 season, set to “kickoff” in September. “Are you kidding me? Winston? He couldn’t quarterback a Pop Warner team to a winning season; the kid is a moron,” Arians was quoted as saying. Arians and a slew of unknown players were brought in over the off-season to improve the team’s 2018 record of 6-10 by General Manager Jason “I’m An Incompetent Snotwad” Licht. Bucs owner Malcolm “Who Cares If The Team Sucks As Long As We Make Money” Glazer, when asked to respond to Arians comments, said he had no idea who Arians was but that he was in favor of legalized psilocybin for NFL players and owners.

Good thing Glazer doesn’t own the Denver Broncos.

Fortunately for all my loyal fans, that’s all I have time for today…you may express your gratitude monetarily, should you so choose.

Love and headlines,

Cap’n John


As you loyal readers of the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog are by now aware, your Cap’n (that would be me) has declared himself a candidate for dog-catcher, excuse me, I thought I was Donald Trump there for a moment, for President in 2020…that’s right, party lovers, I am issuing a challenge to all comers, be they Democrats, Republicans, Libertarians, Green Partyians, Peace Partyians, Reform Partyians, Deformed Partyians, Socialists, Anti-Socialists, Constitution Partyians, Constipation Partyians…you name’em. Bring’em on, and I’ll whip their butts.

My name is Cap’n John and I ain’t kidding.

First of all, I have decided, after much counsel and advice from my counselors and advisors, to call our political party…wait for it…

The Hearty Party. (Catchy, huh?) 

The Hearty Party, as in “drink up, me hearties, yo ho…” (Staying with the nautical theme, don’t you know. And FYI, “yo ho” is not how you say hi to a prostitute.) 

Like all the political prostitutes, excuse me, parties above, the Hearty Party will have a “platform” with “planks”, or statements on where we stand on the various issues facing our great country today, and I thought that I would plunge right in and begin to make my positions and ideas known so that you could all make intelligent and thoughtful decisions on which candidate you prefer in the next election…just like the people who voted for President Tweety Bird did in ’16. 

Here then, in no particular order, is a synopsis of my thoughts and ideas on the issues, with an expansion of these themes to come later in the campaign…


                Let me say right here that I firmly believe in always having no “imitations”, in all things, and that I further believe strongly that the American people should be assured that I will oppose any efforts by Congress to substitute imitation anything for the real and genuine article. My administration will not allow “fakes”, “replicas” or “knock-offs” of any kind. Americans can be confidant that, under President Cap’n John, they will always have the real deal.


                There will no “trickle-down”, “trickle-up” or trickle any damned direction under a CJK administration… I believe in a strong dollar, unfettered competition, a fettered stock market, tax-free municipal Barry Bonds, capital gains and losses as needed and free beer for all citizens (except you sissy wine-drinkers; you guys can buy your own). That’s right, there will be a Beemer in every garage (wait a minute, that’s one of those Kraut rides, forget that), a Cadillac in every garage, a chicken in every pot, legal pot and discount Lotto tickets. And cable TV won’t cost fifty gazillion dollars a month when I’m Pres.








                Hey, it’s going to be under 30 degrees here in central FLORIDA overnight again, with a “freeze warning” having been issued by the county…you’re damn right I’m in favor of global warming. And it better happen pretty soon, ‘cause everybody down here is freezing their cojones off. What, are you kidding me?


                This is an issue that I feel very strongly about; all people should be allowed a Second Amendment, period. If the First one doesn’t work, then try a Second one. Why should American citizens not have the chance for a “do-over”? It’s un-American in thought and in action, and my administration will come down firmly in favor of giving all Americans a second chance to fuck-up, excuse me, to go back and try again. With a bigger hammer the second time, I hope. (One of my Dad’s fave jokes…”If at first you don’t succeed, get a bigger hammer.”)


                As far as the President Cap’n John administration will be concerned, women are always and always will be…right. Period. Shit, all the women I’ve ever known were. Men should learn to keep their stoopid mouths shut and just do as they’re told by the women in their lives, who typically are better, smarter, better-looking, have more common sense, smell better and don’t belch and fart like men. (Richard Pryor, may he rest in peace, once said that women don’t fart, they poot. And FYI, I think women are awesome…sadly, they don’t think I’m worth a broke fuck.) 


                See ~ECONOMY~ above.


                Fucking A, bubba; you wanna’ roll up a fatty and toke up, under the CJK Presidency, you’re happenin’. And I will lobby Congress vigorously to get the price down so that middle-class Americans can have affordable dope. Just like their health-care.

I will be expanding on the above themes as the election gets nearer and my campaign heats up…I am, like most political candidates, capable of being verbose to the point of insult, as you have probably already noticed.

It’s gonna’ be a fun campaign, don’t you think?

Love and hanging chads,

Cap’n John







This headline jumped out at me just a little while ago, as I was news-surfing…

“Florida couple’s Amazon order includes 65 pounds of marijuana”. (Oh sure, it HAD to be some nice couple here in Florida…shit.)




I love this…according to the article (see the link below), “Amazon did not immediately comment”. Yeah, no shit. 65 pounds of good ol’ American smoking weed got shipped to a customer in error, yeah, I bet they declined comment. On the “Oops Scale” of 1-10, that’s about a 13. (I’ll bet Jeff Bezos is just thrilled.)


But why? Why? Why do these serendipitous events, these only once in a blue moon occurrences, never happen to me? “Man turns in 57 gatrillion dollars of negotiable bonds he found, gets 5 bajillion and blowjob as reward”, never, never once has ANYTHING like this happened to me.

“Woman trips on metal object buried in woods, finds entire spaceship” (which by the way is how the book “The Tommyknockers” by Stephen King starts out); of course, in that instance, finding the spaceship eventually led to the metamorphosis into a REALLY ugly alien creature and then the death of the lady who discovered it in the woods, but you get my drift here, I’m sure.

“Man wins all expenses paid weekend for two at the White House with President Trump, declines award, goes to Idaho instead”. Although I have to tell you, from what I’ve heard of Idaho, if I had two choices, go to Idaho or have a fiery steel rod shoved in my eye (spontaneous combustion not being an option), I’d have to give the matter careful consideration. But Trump vs. Idaho, yeah, that’s a lock, for sure.

But in the meantime, I mean, this is so, so unfair…this is like the Himalayas of unfair, it’s so unfair.

And, okay, I admit it, if they had shipped me 65 POUNDS OF MARIJUANA in error, of course I would have sent it back…


Love and roach clips,

Cap’n John