SHTICKS OF ONE AND HALF-A-DOZEN OF THE OTHER…CAP’N JOHN FOR PRES

President Teddy Roosevelt, at his desk in the Oval Office, reading a press release

Back in the mid-80s, I was living on the south side of the great city of Chicago, in what has been known for years in the Windy city as the “Back of the Yards” neighborhood, and managing a medium sized steel warehouse not far from there, up on 35th and Pulaski; I had moved into the city, rather than commute every day, as I had been doing for a number of years, after I got divorced from Bubona, the evil, conniving Goddess of Cattle and perpetual tormentor of yours truly. (I think it was the comedian Gallagher who once said that “there’s no such thing as an un-contested divorce…somebody’s pissed”. Ours wasn’t uncontested.)

About a year after Bu and I went our separate ways, I got a call from her kid brother, whose name was Alfred, although everyone had called him “Shithead”, er, sorry, “Skip” ever since he was a baby; at the time of this incident, he was not quite 19.

I had extended an invitation to him to stay with me for a time, during a period when he and my ex-in-laws were battling over, at any given time, either his lack of a job, his hair, his attitude, his friends, his music, his shish-kabob, his pet tortoise Heloise or whatever; Skip was fundamentally a good kid, and when I volunteered to take him in and get him a job at the steel warehouse, my offer was, despite being the hated “ex-husband“, accepted by all with great relief.

So young Skip came to stay/work with me, and I’m happy to say that I believe I contributed mightily to making him the total failure he is today. (Hey, it’s a gift, you know.)

We were sitting in my living room one evening, after he had been staying with me for about a month, dinner eaten and dishes done, watching TV, when an ad came on soliciting funds for research into finding a cure for the devastating childhood disease, spina bifida. The Grasshopper turned to his older mentor and asked, what’s spina bifida?

It’s a disease of the spinal cord, I replied, being the “older mentor” in this instance.

Weird name, he said.

Yeah, I replied, it was named for the guy who first identified the disease, Dr. Biff Kadootie.

Now one thing Skip knew about me, despite his youth and inexperience, was that I occasionally “finagled” the truth a bit…

Yeah, I repeated, Biff Kadootie, Spina Bifida.

He looked at me with suspicious eyes and asked…you sure?

Yeah, absolutely certain, I said. Hey, they sure weren’t going to call it Spina Kadootie, were they?

I have always thought, since that day, that the denouement in this instance was pretty funny. So much for being a mentor and teacher.

And thus were the seeds of good Cap’n John planted in fertile soil and allowed to grow to immaturity.

Speaking of “teaching”, one thing I have learned, being a major party candidate for President, is that there’s always more info you need and/or should assimilate into your thinking as you run for the highest office in our country.

That’s right, radiator fans, the Cap’n John for President 2020 campaign is running full-speed ahead, and gaining momentum and supporters at a furious clip…all three of them.

My campaign manager, or “camman” as I like to call him, Mack DeKnife, has assembled a top-notch staff, with a number of politically savvy men and women as Department Heads, to focus on certain aspects of the campaign and to keep me abreast of news/developments in their area of concern; I get reports regularly.

And unlike our current President, I actually read them…of course, I don’t pretend to know everything, like some Presidents.

Anyway, I thought I would share with you folks some of the reports that I have received from the various persons on our staff recently…

~From the Midgets Aren’t The Only Thing Vertically Challenged Department, it was recently learned by my crack team that the highest point in Florida is the town of Britton Hill, which is 345 feet above sea-level, or about one REALLY big tsunami wave away from being the only spot in the Sunshine State that you don’t need snorkel gear to visit.

And isn’t “snorkel” a great word?

~From the When We Pray To An “Imaginary Friend” It Won’t Be To Your Heathen God Department… according to an Associated Press article on 4/2/19, several legislators from the great state of North Dakota recently abstained from participating in a pre-session prayer that was offered by Mr. Rajan Zed, a visiting cleric from the Universal Society of Hinduism in Nevada, “marking the second time in recent years that some GOP representatives have objected to an invocation from a non-Christian”.

Really? Are you kidding me? Really? You mean to say that only Christians are allowed to have an imaginary friend, and that all the other equally confused religions can go pound sand?

~From the If Publix Ever Enforces A Minimum IQ Requirement They’ll Lose Half Of Their Employees Department, comes this news. According to one of our FEC’s (Publix corporate jargon…Front End Coordinator) who will remain nameless here, on a day when we were short-handed in Customer Service at the Publix Supermarket store where I work part-time as a Front Service Clerk (more jargon…I’m a bagger), we were expecting several cashiers to come into work in the next few hours, thus alleviating the personpower shortage we were experiencing. The FEC involved, a nice lady who has over-stayed her time with the company by a factor of “a bunch” (she’s 75 and getting squirelly), mentioned to me that Alice, Fern (the names have been changed to protect the foolish) and Payola were due into work soon.

Who, I asked her, thinking I hadn’t heard her correctly.

Payola.

Okay, now the term “payola”, as many of you will remember, refers to a scandal that involved record companies making payoffs to certain well-known disc-jockies/radio stations back in the late 1950s to ensure their records got increased on-air playing time…I was pretty sure this wasn’t what she was talking about, although it was possible, given the individual involved.

I glanced down at the schedule she was holding, and then it dawned on me…we have a sweet nice lady from Peru who works as a cashier at our store, a wonderful lady who smiles all the time and with whom it is a genuine pleasure to work.

Her name is Paola. (And for those of you who don’t have the benefit of 3-1/2 years of HS Spanish as I have, the word is pronounced POW-la.)

This could easily be the explanation for why some species eat their young.

~From the I’m So Old, When I Was In School We Didn’t Have History Department…I was watching another of those re-runs of America’s Funniest Home Videos on YouTube the other evening, of some boys and girls playing Pin The Tail On The Donkey at a kid’s birthday party, and it struck me that, given how long ago it was that I was young (I started to write “a kid” rather than “when I was young” but I’m still pretty much, even today at the ripe old age of old, an overgrown kid) that if that had been myself and my contemporaries portrayed in the video, that we would have been playing Pin The Tail On The Dinosaur.

~From the I Assume Trojans Are The Official Condom Department…it was announced on numerous occasions during the television broadcasts of the preliminary rounds of this year’s NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament that Wendy’s is the Official Hamburger of the NCAA Tournament. It must be noted here that MLS, being mostly sissy vegetarians, vegans or some other Commie Pinko nonsense like that, has no Official Hamburger…they do however, have an Official Tofu of the MLS, but I can’t recall the name of the company right now.

And last, from the Pictures of Adorable Animals Department, which has nothing to do whatsoever with my campaign for President, comes this pic (see below), taken of one of my kitty buddies that I feed all the time that live on the abandoned golf-course out behind my apartment complex; I was standing in my living room, looking out my window, when I saw him/her.

The Photography Gods were good to me that morning…sadly, if I was in the North Dakota Legislature, I wouldn’t be able to offer a prayer of thanks to them out loud.

Love and sound bites,

Cap’n John

OH SURE, NOW YOU TELL ME

You guys know what you call a boat that lies on the bottom of the ocean and twitches…a nervous wreck. (Now you know why I didn’t try to make a living as a stand-up comic.)

But I gotta’ tell you, I’ve been a boat lying on the bottom of the ocean twitching this past week, as I narrowed it down to one from the list of the various and sundry candidates I was considering to be my running-mate in the Presidential race in 2020…

…that’s right, circulating fans, I am a candidate for President; my name is Cap’n John and I ain’t kidding.

You will recall from my post back on 1/25/18, “MY CANDIDATES FOR V.P.- A V.I.P., AN M.V.P., A GUY THAT SELLS S.T.P. AND A KID FULL OF C.R.A.P. (NOT IN THAT ORDER)”, that there were several qualified (?) individuals that I rejected early on for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which was in some instances gross incompetence, steadily increasing in severity, going all the way up to rampant and undignified mopery.

Putting (as in setting something in place, not the golf-stroke) the ol’ weedwacker in high gear, I tore through, excuse me, I carefully vetted them all, until one person rose above the rest, the cream to the top so to speak, the stepping forward of the best person to be my right-hand man, my Girl Friday and the guy that runs out to pick-up the pizza.

Of all the wannabes, he was the most wannabe…he was double-secret probation wannabe.

My fellow Americans, with great honor, humility and pecuniary I hereby announce that as of today, I have asked Mr. Theodore Roosevelt, the former President, Rough Rider, conservationist, outdoorsman and all-around good guy, to be my Vice-Presidential candidate in the election in 2020. I believe strongly that with my leadership skills, savvy, bullshit, excuse me, experience and devastating good looks, coupled with everything that “Teddy” brings to the table, including San Juan Hill and an awesome ‘stache, we will be an unbeatable combo. We will conserve, we will defend with vigor, we will negotiate with integrity and we will fear no one under 5’4” tall.

I am excited to begin the official campaign with Mr. R.

So far, I haven’t heard back from Teddy’s camp…one of those occasional, annoying communications screw-ups, I’m sure. Like Hillary’s emails.

(Phone rings) Ah, that’s probably Teddy or one of his “people” now…

”Hello, CJ speaking.”

“Hi, Taffie…”

“Oh, he is…I didn’t know that. Shit, that changes everything. Shit.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, all right, thanks for letting me know.”

That was my Second Mate, Ms. Taffie Wetzel, who spell/content-checks my posts as I write them…she tells me that Mr. Roosevelt is dead. Happened back in 1909. Over a hundred years ago.

Hey, I’ve been busy, I missed the obit in the paper, all right?

Shit.

This was my guy…he said to speak softly and carry a big stick, and that every reform movement has a lunatic fringe, that if you believe you can you’re halfway there and that Republicans are crooked lying douche canoes. (Okay, I made up the last one.) Shit, now what the hell do I do? Teddy was perfect, plus he’s loaded (come on, he’s a Roosevelt, are you kidding me?), which was a BIG plus. Damn, now he can’t even endorse me.

I wonder if Rocky and Bullwinkle are available?

Love and coroners,

Cap’n John

Post Script…The names have been changed to confuse the guilty.

Post Post Script…back to the drawing board. Shit.