WALTER AND THE CAP’N

(Editor’s note: For the first time in the 3+ year history of the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog, today’s post will be written by a guest author, Walter Theodore “Teddy” Bear. Mr. Bear, who, despite his nickname of “Teddy”, prefers to be called by his first name Walter, recently became the roommate and companion of our regular contributor, Cap’n John Krissongs, and has penned this column at the request of the editors.)

Hi, my name is Walter…

A lot of people like to call me and my cousins “Teddy” but I like Walter much better; I don’t want anyone to confuse me with America’s 26th President, Theodore “Teddy” Roosevelt, especially since I resemble the famed “Rough Rider” of San Juan Hill fame so much. (I don’t mind looking like T.R.; he was a great man and one of our best Presidents ever, but I’m sure glad I don’t look like that awful Donald Trump guy…he’s disgusting.)

For some time I lived with my Mom Robin and Dad Paul and my Brother Alex, who are all really, really nice people and who were always very, very good to me, and also with the other member of my first family, that horrible Ashleigh girl; she’d make me sit in her room for hours while she practiced on some noisy, loud apparatus that she held up to her mouth that had a big hook thing that she slid in and out of its tubular body over and over again while it made these awful honking sounds like she was strangling a Canadian goose, and when I’d cover my ears she’d stop torturing the poor thing and start doing mean things to me with a weed whacker, just because I wouldn’t listen…it was terrible.

One day Mom Robin asked me if I would like to go and live with her good friend Cap’n John; she said he was a nice man who was kinda’ lonely since he lived all by himself and that she thought it would cheer him up if I went and was his roommate. I didn’t want to at first, ‘cause Mom Robin had read some of Cap’n John’s articles from the Internet thing to me, and he sounded pretty strange, but Mom convinced me that he was a very nice man, even though he sounded like a perverted llama defiler in his “posts”, and since she said I could come back and visit her and Dad Paul and my brother Alex and that horrible Ashleigh girl any time I wanted, and since she said she’d give me a 100 bucks if I went, I said okay.

So about a month ago, Mom Robin took me to meet Cap’n John. At first I was scared, ‘cause he looked like a perverted llama defiler, just like he sounded, but he hugged me and said he would really like it if I came and lived at his house with him, and since Mom Robin already gave me the C-note before we left her house, I went with the Cap’n and became his roommate.

And boy, has it been interesting ever since.

Cap’n John and I do all sorts of fun things together since I moved in with him…we read books in his library and watch sports and music videos on the computer thing on his desk (and boy, does Cap’n John say some awful, bad words when he’s watching this football team called the Tampa Bay Buccaneers when they’re playing their football games…he says they suck big) and we cook food in his kitchen and eat our meals at his dining room table except for when we eat at his desk so he can watch sports and swear at his computer monitor thing some more. We laugh at stuff we read on that Facebook thing and I help when he fixes stuff at his workbench (last week we fixed Cap’n John’s glasses after he dropped them and they broke…he was having a hard time fixing them. And I wondered if people really do that to their mothers?) And there are some things that we do that Cap’n John says I can’t talk about, ‘cause he says that people wouldn’t understand and might think he was a perverted llama defiler. So I can’t tell you about those things. I just wish he wouldn’t make me wear those funny clothes and those high-heel shoe things. But it’s okay. (Cap’n John says I have a cute butt.)

Uh-oh, something weird is happening…

FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!

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

-Dateline Washington D. C.

“President Trump Issues Executive Order Naming Himself To New Position”

In another stunning and completely unprecedented move today, soon-to-be-former President Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump issued an Executive Order naming himself to a new post that he’s calling the “Supreme MoneyGuy”, to be effective immediately. The new position, according to the President, is established with the issuance of the order, and among other details, orders the Internal Revenue Service to begin collecting one half of the take-home pay of all Americans and to have these funds deposited in an account to be called the “Supreme MoneyGuy’s Action Fund”. President Trump went on to say that the fund will be used to fight his never-ending legal battles over the recent Presidential election as well as provide money for the lavish lifestyle to which he says he and his wife Melanoma and children, daughter Tonka, sons Airhead and Tweety Bird Junior, are more than entitled, given that they’re already famous rich people who don’t give a shit about anyone else. When asked by RUKME White House Correspondent Penny Stocks if he thought that the executive order would stand up in court, given the recent total failure of his forty plus lawsuits over his enormous electoral loss to President-elect Joe Biden which have made him the laughing stock of the known world, Mr. Trump gave her the finger and then fall to the floor and began stamping his heels and screaming obscenities in a tantrum.

More on this breaking story as it becomes available…

We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog post.

Cap’n John took some photos of me around his apartment to kinda’ show you all the fun things we do together…

Here I am helping Cap’n John write one of his articles for the WATRUK blog…he says I’m a pretty good muse but he wishes I looked more like the Muse Serendipity in the movie Dogma, ‘cause Salma Hyeck played her, and that she’s so hot it should be illegal. I don’t know about that, but being a muse isn’t very hard work…all I do is sit here and look goofy, like most of the Republicans in Congress, or so Cap’n John says.

Sitting at the dining room table drinking our favorite wine, Chateau Les Seins 1996, while discussing politics…Cap’n John says that President Trump is a mendacious, narcissistic, reprehensible, misogynistic bag of putrid yak spleens and that he should be run out of Washington on a rail and then hung up by his balls with #3 piano wire. I don’t know, I think they should use #4 myself.

Sometimes we sit on the balcony and watch the world go by and talk about the weather…to paraphrase Mark Twain, we talk about the weather, but we never do anything about it. And then the nasty old lady from down the block comes by with her repulsive little Dachshund who barks at EVERYTHING and is as ugly as he is obnoxious, so we throw rocks from the flower pots at them and laugh like hyenas when we hit the little shit. (Cap’n John hates that dog.)

One of our favorite things to do every night before we fall asleep is to read a book for a half an hour or so…Cap’n John says it’s the best sleep-inducer he’s ever found, other than cannabis, which he says is also good for lots of other things as well, but he won’t tell me what they are. I’ve never used cannabis, ‘cause it’s illegal and Cap’n John says that the right-wing Christian redneck assholes in Florida will probably never legalize it, even when everyone else in the country realizes that marijuana isn’t anywhere nearly as addictive as alcohol or cigarettes, which are legal. Cap’n John also says that a lot of people in Florida couldn’t find their butt with both hands and a map, but I don’t about that. I know I don’t have any trouble finding my butt.

I was sooo embarrassed when Cap’n John took this pic…it was later in the evening after we had some of his famous (infamous) beef empanadas with jalapenos and frijoles and my stomach wasn’t feeling so hot…right after he took this picture, I farted so hard I fell off the seat and almost drowned in the toilet. What a nightmare.

So there you are, that’s how I came to live with Cap’n John Krissongs and some of the things that he and I do every day, now that we’re roommates. Even though he’s kinda’ strange and talks to himself a lot, I really like him and I like my new home too. We laugh a lot and make fun of President Trump and I’m really glad to be here.

And it could be worse, I could still be living with that horrible Ashleigh girl…she has a poster of Donald Trump in her closet where no one can see it and worships him all the time, that is when she’s not strangling that sliding apparatus thing that honks like a ruptured mallard. Cap’n John thinks she’s a cutie, but I’m not so sure. Anyway, thanks for listening to my story.

The above comments do not represent the views of the editors, except where they refer to President Trump as an asshole, with which we thoroughly agree.

Love and stuffed animals,

Cap’n John (and Walter)

Post Script…TG: just teasing, sweetie; I think you’re adorable and love you a mile.

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.