IS THIS THE PARTY TO WHOM I’M SPEAKING?_CONTINUED

The French philosopher and satirist Voltaire once said that “It is dangerous to be right when the government is wrong.”

Just some food for thought.

I haven’t had the chance to finish telling you guys about that call I got recently from President Tweety Bird; you’re not going to believe this, but the whole thing was so completely out of this world, and when you hear the rest of the story, you’ll understand how spot-on that phrase is to describe the things I heard, that, well, you’re not going to believe this.

Boy, the guy even has me repeating myself, I was so freaked.

(Oh, and just so we’re clear about this, Voltaire was not the name that General Motors used for its 60’s era experimental electric car…although it could have been.)

If you don’t recall the first portion of our conversation back on 4/12/18, follow the link below (see below, below) so you’re up to speed.

“IS THIS THE PARTY TO WHOM I”M SPEAKING?”

I try to be as candid, blunt even, as I can be when I’m speaking to world leaders, something that happens about as often as the Chicago Bears win the Super Bowl, an even once for them and me, so when PTB called that day from clear out of the blue, another very prescient phrase for the following story, I didn’t hold back…you’re calling ME for help delivering your message?

“Pres, I didn’t vote for you in ’16 and on top of that, I pretty much think you’re pond scum and a miserable excuse for a human being; I can’t imagine why you chose me to speak with about this.”

“You voted for Crooked Hillary?” he exclaimed indignantly. 

“No, Pres, I wrote my own name in for President on my ballot; I wanted the best person for the office, which is why I’m going to challenge you in ’20, assuming you’re still around then, which is looking more and more unlikely every day.”

Given how easy it is to distract PTB from whatever topic he’s supposed to be addressing, once he feels insulted, which is most of the time, the conversation took a hard left turn here, sans the benefit of the appropriate turn-signal.

“I can’t believe that an intelligent, good-looking, resourceful hunk of sex appeal like yourself doesn’t get what I’m trying to do for our country with my programs,” he went on. (Okay, maybe I embellished his description of me just a bit…call it artistic license.)

“Tell you what, Blogger Boy, I’m gonna’ let you in on something here that’s gonna’ knock you out, something I’m gonna’ reveal to the entire world when the time is right, and when I do it’ll be so amazing, but you’re gonna’ get a sneak preview right now, and if you repeat any of what I’m gonna’ tell you, I’ll nuke that shitty little town of yours there in Flouride or whatever the hell you call that sorry excuse for a, for a, shit, hang on.” I heard him calling to someone there in the Oval Office. “Hey, Kelly, what the hell do you call that place where they have a governor and you have to carry so many of them to get elected President?”

There was a muted answer from the background which I couldn’t quite hear, and then he continued.

“Yeah, right, state, I’ll nuke that shitty excuse for a state you live in, douche-bag, even though I whipped Crooked Hillary’s butt there during the election.”

DOUCHE-BAG? DOUCHE-BAG? The worst President in the history of the Republic is calling ME a douche-bag? Before I could express my indignation at the insult, he hurried on.

“I was reading some of that fake news BS you come up with in that blog of yours last night, and I saw that column you wrote where you mentioned Dr. Browning, a wonderful man, and how he explained about Jesus being an alien and how he came to Earth to get rid of sin and save us all. Hang on a minute.”

While PTB covered up the phone and spoke to someone off-line again about who knows what, I took the opportunity to regroup…Dr. Browning, who the hell is Dr. Browning?

Then it dawned on me…I remembered my post from back in December (“CHARIOTS OF THE GODS?”) about how our Pres was having problems with understanding the difference between “aliens”, as in people who come here from other countries, and aliens, people(?) who come here from other planets. Dr. Bruce Browning, a Presbyterian minister from upstate New York, had written a book back in ’68 called “The Bible and Flying Saucers”, and no, I didn’t make that up, and in it he claimed that Jesus was an ”extraterrestrial sent to Earth to rid the world of sin and wickedness”.

I heard Pres say something about “I don’t care, I’m telling him,” to whoever he was talking to on the other end, just as he came back on the line.

“Listen, Blogger Breath, here’s the deal, Browning was absolutely correct, Jesus was an extraterrestrial, and it just so happens that, believe it or not, so am I. Surprised, aren’t you? That’s right, I was sent here from the planet SuperEgo to follow up for Jesus.”

There was a dramatic pause.

“Very soon, Cap’n John, very soon I will announce to the world that they don’t have to worry anymore, BECAUSE I AM THE SECOND COMING. I WILL SAVE THE WORLD, AND IT WILL BE SO GREAT THAT PEOPLE WILL KNEEL DOWN AND WORSHIP ME…”

He stopped suddenly in mid-sentence, and I could hear what sounded like a struggle there in the OO. “Get your hands off me…”

And the line went dead.

Not ten seconds went by and the phone rang again, same Caller ID as before: “His Eminence, 202-456-1111”.

The White House calling back.

“Uh, Cap’n John, uh, this is Dr. Basil Leaves, I’m President Trump’s personal psychi, excuse me, physician, and um, well, he was suddenly taken ill and couldn’t finish his conversation with you. The President said to tell you that he’s very sorry and that if it’s all right with you, he’ll call you back sometime in the next few days and pick up where he left off just now. I hope you understand. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go sedate, sorry, take care of Mr. Trump.”

And the line went dead for a second time.

Oh yeah, Doctor, I understand perfectly…I mean, it isn’t like we haven’t had hints of this coming, pardon the pun, all along.

Per M. Voltaire again…

“If God didn’t exist, it would be necessary for man to invent Him.”

While I would challenge the first part of that sentence, I’m totally onboard with the rest.

Love and megalomania,

Cap’n John

 

A MILESTONE…

HOLY CALENDARS, BATMAN…

I stand before you (symbolically only, I always write in my underwear), a vindicated man…I have risen above, triumphant! Where are the critics now, the so-called pundits (FYI, the word “pundit” comes from the Ancient Greek word, “pundidelios”, which means “a person who believes that they are an expert in some field or another and further believes he/she is REALLY cool when everyone else thinks they’re pretty much an asshole”), the detractors, the “nay-sayers” if you will, all those who were so quick to judge, so quick to say “it will never happen”, where are they now, I ask?

I am pumped…I could schedule a 15-rounder with Ali in his prime right now, knowing I would last just long enough for The Champ to uncork a hard right to my jaw and knock me spang on my ass.

Right.

(Now, the question at this juncture…should I get on with the explanation or draw out the “suspense” a little longer? Cuttin’ to the chase, baby.)

Despite all of the distractions, I am happy to report to you, my loyal crew, that as of today, Sunday, October 15th, the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog celebrates its…

…TWO WEEK ANNIVERSARY!

That’s right, K-Mart shoppers (and how many of you remember that little bit of retail history?), it was two weeks ago today, on a day that will live in infamy, that the WATRUK blog was launched.

I could just plotz…I won’t, but I could. (Not sure how.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8aL-Yfl9ek

(Check out Was/Not Was…”K-Mart Wardrobe”, above)

(In fact, here’s another great Was/Not Was tune…just because I feel like it.)

Did I mention I was going camping? I didn’t? Good, because I’m not.

With all due respect to camping enthusiasts, what a truly monumental waste of time…oh good, let’s haul our fat butts out to the woods, pitch an effin’ tent, which, I am quick to point out, has no hot/cold running anything, roll around in the poison ivy searching for the effin’ Frisbee, eat half-cooked or burnt food cooked over an effin’ campfire, sleep on the effin’ ground and hope against hope that we will not be a) zipped inside a sleeping bag with a young coral snake or b) sprayed by an annoyed skunk that was in the midst of an amorous interlude that we interrupted or c) eaten by a effin’ bear. (The idea of exiting this life coming out of the south end of a northbound bear is just too depressing. And yes, a bear does that in the woods.)

Staying with the “celebration” theme, in other news this evening, residents of Florida were jubilant today over the fact that another 24 hours had passed without a fucking hurricane. (We’re STILL digging out down here, to one degree or another, from Irma…it’s like a plague from the Bible, Floridians chapter 20, verse 17.)

Hey, I know my Bible, lemme’ tell you…here, check this out, off the top of my head:

-Amphibians chapter 10, verse 25…”Verily, I say unto you that Amos begat Tobias, who begat Phineas, who then begat Ursal, who did the begat boogie and brought us Joshua, who followed with a great begat to bring about Ezekial, who, after a failed attempt to begat with Sheila and tired of all the begetting in general, said piss on it and moved to Damascus, where he got a job as a mattress tag inspector.”

-Excretions 10, Giants 6…”And there was a great rending sound, and an enormous abyss was opened, deep into the very bowels of the Earth, with fire and brimstone, and flames of great size leapt up at the walls of the abyss, a conflagration of immense heat, and a voice came out of the black, fiery night and said, “YES, DODGERS UP ONE ZIP OVER THE CUBS, YES!”

I’ll admit to some paraphrasing.

Love and cathedrals,

Cap’n John

Post Script…Cubs/Dodgers, Game 2, 2017 NLCS, tonight, from Dodger Stadium in L.A.

Post Post Script…Did I mention the Dodgers beat the Cubs last night to take a 1-0 lead in the NLCS? Oh, okay, sorry, just wasn’t sure I had brought it up.

Post Toasties…and per Emily Ratajkowski (I assume she’s Irish)…

End of transmission.