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