ANTHROPOMORPHISM (IS THAT A COOL WORD OR WHAT?)

When I was living up in Northern Illinois, home of Chicago style hot dogs (no ketchup!), the original McDonalds and O’Hare International Airport (the “Irish rabbit”, as a friend of mine used to say), I had a neighbor who was an avid hunter/fisherman…he was also a bit of a horse’s ass as well, but that has no bearing on this story. His name was Hunter. (Okay, “Fisher” would have been funny too, but who the hell names their kid “Fisher”? That’s almost as bad as those people on that ‘50s sit-com that named their kid “Beaver”.)

Hunter the hunter had all the equipment…the shotguns, the camo outfits, the gun safe, the vibrating larchmont, the fly rods, the piston rods, the special lures, the deer urine (don’t ask), a horned scully and a three valve tuba.

The one thing he didn’t have was a good hunting dog.

Oh he and his wife had a dog; actually, it was her dog. A Chihuahua…his name was Chico. Any time someone rang their doorbell, Chico the Chihuahua would go into hysterics, begin barking frantically, heroically, then after a few minutes he’d turn and run across the room, lift his leg and pee on their sofa.

The only thing that kept Hunter the hunter from strangling Chico the Chihuahua was the fact that he knew his wife would make him sleep on the couch if he did, thus ending his access to his conjugal rights and forcing him to endure the smell of dog urine all night.

So Hunter the hunter decided, with his wife’s reluctant blessing, that he was going to get himself a hunting dog, a blue-ribbon retriever to accompany him on his forays into the wilderness in search of game.

He got the name of a breeder from a friend and called the guy to make an appointment to drive out to the man’s farm to see what he had. The Breeder Guy told him over the phone that he, BG, had all kinds of hunting dogs, in all different price ranges. Hunter said he would be out the next morning.

Next day he heads out to the Breeder Guy’s place, and the guy indeed had quite a number of four-legged hunters. He had Labradors, Goldens, Chesapeakes, pointers, you name it, if it dove in the water and retrieved a dead animal after you shot it, he had it.

He even had Jesus Retrievers.

What the hell is a Jesus Retriever? asked Hunter the hunter, when BG mentioned the name. Never heard of it.

Oh, says BG, rare breed. Excellent dogs, very smart, learn how to “hunt” quickly, they can be taught to point, retrieve, row the boat, recite poetry, and most amazing, they never get wet when they retrieve…they run across the top of the water.

Bullshit, says H the h.

Tell you what, says BG, I have a one-year old bitch here (Hunter says, yeah, I have one of those at home who’s 35) who is already trained…she knows hand signals, she’s smart as a whip, beautiful coat, she’s housebroken and speaks three languages. Lemme’ show you.

So he showed Hunter the Jesus Retriever bitch, and she was everything BG had said. Hunter loved her.

You write me a check says BG, post-date it 30 days, take her out next weekend (the first weekend of duck season) and if she doesn’t do what I’ve told you, you bring her back. If she does, call me and I’ll cash that check next month.

Hunter the hunter thought, shit, why not? So he did. (He named her Mary.)

So Hunter took Mary out duck-hunting the next weekend, and she was amazing, and yes, she ran right across the top of the water when she retrieved.

Now H the h had a buddy, a co-worker that was one of those “anything you have I have something better” types…if you had a fast car, he had one faster. If you had a great gun, his was better. If you could play The Minute Waltz in 59 seconds, he could play it in 57, and if you had an enormous “schawnzsthuka”, his was bigger.

Great guy.

Now Hunter the hunter is thinking he’s finally going to shut his buddy up once and for all…when he sees Mary the Jesus Retriever, he’s gonna’ flip.

So on Monday at work, Hunter mentions to the buddy that he has this new dog, amazing animal, and that Buddy has to see it. You’ve never seen a dog like this…best dog ever. Buddy says his Lab is the best and H the h says, no way, mine’s better.

They make plans to go out the following weekend so Buddy can see Mary work.

And they did…and she did. Right across the top of the water when Hunter brought down a duck.

Buddy doesn’t say a word, but a moment later, there goes another mallard, and Buddy turns, brings it down and, sure enough, there goes Mary the Jesus Retriever right across the water; the only thing that got wet were her paws and her stomach, just a little, from the splashing.

Whatta’ think of her, says Hunter the hunter, getting ready to gloat when Buddy had to eat crow for a change.

Buddy looks Hunter right in the eye and says, can’t swim, huh?

(Reader will insert rim-shot here.)

FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!

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

-Dateline Washington D. C.

*Trump IQ Tests Show Interesting Results*

In an exclusive story from the Washington Post today, in a response to an earlier inquiry from the newspaper, Ms. Laurel Enhardy, one of President Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump’s teachers at the prestigious New York Military Academy, where he attended school from the 6th through the 8th grades, was quoted as saying that, in results from a Stanford-Binet Intelligence Test, the President had an IQ level “that approximated room temperature”. When asked to elaborate, Ms. Enhardy said, “Donald Trump exhibited the IQ of a doorknob. We had to send another boy with him any time he went to the restroom to help so he wouldn’t catch his johnson in his zipper. He was dumber than a California Republican.” When asked by RUKME White House correspondent Warren Peace for a comment on the story, Press Secretary K. Lee McNinny responded, “President Trump has proven by his handling of the Covid-19 pandemic to be a ‘stable genius’, and Joe Biden is going to raise taxes on all American workers over the age of eight and will remove all wheat items from grocery stores.” When it was pointed out to Ms. McNinny that the minimum working age in almost every state is 16, she abruptly left the podium after giving Mr. Peace the finger.

More on this breaking story as it becomes available…

We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog post.

Let’s talk about anthropomorphism…

The classic definition of the word is “the attribution of human characteristics or behavior to an animal or an object”, or in simpler terms, electing a moron like Donald Trump to the Presidency of the United States, thinking he was qualified for the position. Such “characteristics or behavior” might be further illustrated by what happened recently at the Lincolnshire Wildlife Park in Friskney England when five African gray parrots had to be removed from the 200 bird population of the main outdoor aviary because they wouldn’t stop “swearing” at visitors.

Apparently the little fuckers, err, excuse me, the birds were encouraging each other to use “naughty language” and were telling guests to “fuck off”, “blow me” and “go to America and vote Republican” as well as using other terms of profanity. Zoo keepers said the air around the aviary was “blue” with the language and although visitors didn’t seem offended by what they were hearing from the birds, in an effort not to “ruffle any feathers” among the children that are frequent guests, the five offending (offensive) birds, Billy, Eric, Tyson, Jade and Elsie were moved to a different shelter.

After a brief obscenity trial was held in a local court, a verdict of guilty was reached and the birds were then taken out and hung. When asked if they had any last words before sentence was carried out, Tyson, who was the most vocal of the group, cried out, “Give me liberty or fucking give me death, you assholes.” He refused a blindfold and then smoked his last cigarette, just prior to his death.

It has become increasingly clear recently from news reports and stories that there seems to be a concentrated effort being made by members of the animal kingdom to “take over” the human world for nefarious gain, with reports of grinning dogs, and elephants that play jump-rope, skateboarding chimps and shoplifting gulls.

As the Head Pope of the Roving Spastic Church, I want to assure my followers and potential converts to our faith that we, as a Church with a pizza-based dogma, refute and oppose anthropomorphism in all forms, and will continue to resist this insidious attempt by the animal kingdom to subvert and slowly take control of human minds by their actions and deeds.

Do not take this threat lightly…today it’s swearing parrots trying to corrupt citizens with their vulgarities and profanities, tomorrow it will be humans who have been taken over by these furry and feathered fiends, to do the bidding of these bestial interlopers while more of us are being compromised by their animal propaganda and lies.

I stand fore-square against animal rule and domination, and I will continue to urge and to lead my people to resist all attempts to be brainwashed. (Except for being a sucker for puppies…I like puppies.)

Spastics! Believe in your Church! Trust your Faith! Stand tall against the oppressors! Fight the aggression from the animal kingdom!

And please, for god’s sake, let’s not return a guy with the intellectual capacity of a domestic cow to the White House.

Because that’s the most idiotic idea I’ve ever heard.

Hell, Mary the Jesus Retriever is smarter than that.

Love and pet stores,

Cap’n John

ADVICE FOR THOSE WHO AREN’T GETTING ANY, AND I DON’T MEAN ADVICE_VOL XIV

(Editor’s note: Today’s post is dedicated to my good friend Sarah H., a major sweetie who, at least as far as I know, had the best of intentions and the purest of motivations. Thank you, thank you.)

Last week one of my fave “kids”, a member of the casual group of young people, mostly co-workers, that I have informally and unofficially adopted as surrogate “grandchildren”, offered to “fix me up” with a “friend” of hers, an “older lady” that she characterized as “she’s fun, interesting, single, she has no visible warts and all her own teeth” for some kind of social interaction between us that could eventually I would imagine, since the person in question here was of the female persuasion and myself of the male counterpart, lead to some form of romantic liaison. (Not that the female/male thing is a prerequisite in our 21st century, “hook up with whomever” world, a world by the way of which I whole-heartedly approve…there’s precious little love and caring in this life often times and for my money, people should be free to seek it with anyone they so choose.)

Although I was much flattered by her interest (pity) in bringing this lady and myself together, I declined in what I hope was a gracious manner. Even after she showed me a pic of her friend, I still declined, though my declination had nothing to do with the fact that the woman had an orange Mohawk and a third eye tattooed in the middle of her forehead…those things were of no consideration, believe me. (Okay, maybe a little.)

No, my lack of interest in dating at my age (ancient) is predicated on more practical matters: I can’t afford it, I have physical limitations that would, in my mind, make it difficult, I under no circumstances desire the “intimacy” of a relationship and the vulnerability that accompanies such closeness and frankly, women scare the shit outta’ me.

I like them, very much in fact, but they’re really, really scary. (I like pizza just as much, it doesn’t frighten me nearly as bad, and it’s cheaper.)

I suppose some people will find my attitude stunted and confining, limiting myself to a lonely life of romantic poverty and deprivation (gag me with a hearing aid), and they may be right. Just the same, it still ain’t gonna’ happen.

So I don’t understand, from my narrow, constricted point of view, this urge by so many of my fellow “seniors” to date. I mean, if that’s your gig, more power to you, and believe me, if the right lady walked into my life tomorrow by accident, I would embrace the opportunity (maybe); of course, I feel the same way about suddenly coming into a lot of money and buying a 2020 C8 Corvette as well, and the ‘Vette wouldn’t require an emotional attachment. (I almost made a smart ass remark here about being able to get a boner over the new mid-engined ‘Vette as easily as I could a woman, but then thought better of it…oh shit…well, too late. It’s also a sad testament to who I am as a person.)

Anyway, all of the above leads me to the mystification I felt recently upon reading an article in the Tampa Bay Times that carried the headline: “Lawsuit: Dating site refused refund despite virus”. (Fortunately I soon learned that the “virus” in question was Covid-19, not something more sinister.)

According to the report, an 86-YEAR OLD MAN brought suit against a local dating service for refusing to refund his fee (more on that in a moment) because his doctors informed him that he “should stay home during the pandemic”; since he couldn’t go out, he wanted his money back.

The dating service contracted with this guy to provide “eight introductions” to women over the course of a year, based on his specifications, for the paltry sum of $4,995.

That’s right, ceiling fans, FOUR THOUSAND, NINE HUNDRED AND NINETY-FIVE DOLLARS. A mere five-spot short of five grand. In his suit he’s asking for $8,000 in damages plus fees and costs.

The service, whose name I am not using so as to not give them any free advertising, although I’ll name them for the right amount of money, lists a number of “categories” from which clients may make their selections, including Christian, divorced, mature, over-50, alive, professional, possessing a pulse, senior, serious, Satan-worshipers, active, Republican and other. (Boy, wouldn’t you just LOVE to know what constitutes “other”…”Hi, my name is Bronwyn and I’m a three-breasted lover of Zen hang-gliding, and I’m also into nude fencing and macrobiotic Mayan cooking. I love shaggy dogs and llamas with large testicles.”)

The article went to say that another suit had been brought against the same dating service for failure to perform (couldn’t get it up, I would imagine) by a woman who alleged that she was charged $3,500 for the same eight “intros”, but only got three…#1 she had “nothing in common with”, #2 “didn’t qualify” and #3 was a “no show”. Sort of a “three strikes and you’re out” scenario, I suppose.

And how come Larry Lothario had to pay $4,995 and his female counterpart got by with only $3,500? What the hell is that all about, anyway? That’s discrimination, pure and simple.

I mean, really, are you kidding me? Really? You’re 86 frigging years old and “looking for love in all the wrong places”? Shit, the guy would be lucky to live long enough to get all eight introductions, for crissake.

FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!

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

-Dateline Washington, D.C.

*President Makes Surprise Nomination for SCOTUS Vacancy*

In an apparent effort to broaden his support base and appeal to a younger constituency, President Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump today announced that he has nominated the cartoon/kid’s book star Curious George to fill the vacancy on the Supreme Court left by the recent passing of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg. Mr. George, whose ancestral background is somewhat murky, being referred to in both his TV shows and children’s books merely as a “monkey”, has no prior judicial or legal experience, and in fact does not even possess a college degree of any kind. When asked about this complete lack of apparent qualification to be a member of the highest court in America by RUKME White House Correspondent Alice Inchains, President Trump was quoted as saying, “Mr. George, because he is a conservative and he is, umm, great, is perfect for the position of Justice. And he isn’t a “monkey supremacist” like his critics have claimed, just because he, well, he doesn’t believe in supporting rioters, or anti-fa Dems and he’s a great, great person and Sleepy Joe Biden hasn’t been able to stop the protesting and will raise everyone’s taxes, that’s what he said just last week, if he and his VP Crazy Nancy get elected.” When it was pointed out to Mr. Trump that Kamala Harris is the Democratic candidate for Vice-President and not Nancy Pelosi, who is the Speaker of the House, the President left the podium abruptly after giving Ms. Inchains the finger. When asked to comment on the strange nomination later in the day, Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell replied, “I support the President and his selection for the post. We have the votes and we will cast them for anyone that Mr. Trump nominates, qualifications be damned.”

More on this breaking story as it becomes available…

We now return you to our regularly scheduled blog post…

So for absolutely FREE, I thought I would help “seniors” find potential “mates” by answering the questions about “love in your golden years” that I get from many of my loyal readers…

And so…

“Dear Cap’n John:

                I’m a 79-year old “gray hair” single lady that is still active, mostly continent and who doesn’t want to spend my declining years doing sick things to small animals with a fork for recreation. If I had a “partner” I’d be a lot happier, at least I think I would be, although my late husband was never able to “ring my bell” if you get my meaning, but still, I’d like to try again. I can’t afford one of those expensive dating services, so can you help me find the man of my dreams, or at least one with a pulse?

                Still “Looking For The First One” Laura From Louisville”

Dear “Laura”:

                I’m sending you a “$10 off coupon” for the website Adult Toys R’ Us; they have a number of “friends” you can buy that will help you get your “bell rung” without all that messy dating shit and that you won’t have to cook for either.

“Dear Cap’n:

                Can you help a male “golden ager”, in his late sixties, find true love and companionship “among the ruins” with a lady of the same age bracket? Someone who is warm, gentle, kind and into doing sick things to small animals with a fork? I tried one of those “senior dating” websites, but they wanted $10 gazillion, the deed to my house and my first-born grandchild to get me 5 “introductions” and that’s too much by a grandchild. Any ideas, Cap’n?

                No Dates Don from Danville”

Dear “Don”:

                Danville? Home of the Danville (IL) State Prison? You sure you’re not an inmate? Is this one of those sick “prison romance” things?

“Dear CJK:

                Cap’n, I’m old, wrinkly, have a bunch of unsightly liver spots, fifty pounds overweight, have halitosis and I can’t get it up anymore; can you help me find some worthwhile lady to spend time with?

                Needs Help in Hannibal”

Dear “Needs”:

                Yes, I’d be happy to bet with you that the Dodgers make the World Series again, and that Clayton “Charlie Choke” Kershaw blows it for them one more time. It’s what he does best.

I’m sorry to say that I have run out of space to answer any more of your pathetic, err, sorry, your heartfelt letters about love in last light of your lives…but for the amazing low price of $9,995, tax, title and license not included, I’ll be happy to respond individually and confidentially to your requests for assistance with dating. Just because I have no experience doesn’t mean I’m not qualified.

Just ask Donald Trump.

Love and vitamins,

Cap’n John