(Cap’n John at his desk (above), working into the wee, small hours of the morning, to make sure all your letters and messages get answered…even if he gives you a crappy answer.)

One of the things that has most surprised me during my first month of blog-ownership is the number of letters/emails/texts/smoke signals/secret decoder-ring messages that I receive every day, so many of them seeking guidance through the minefield of human relations, male and female, an area in which I have vast experience and little wisdom gained from it.

Advice to the lovelorn…too funny. Ann Landers, eat your heart out. (Sadly, Ms. Landers, whose real name was Esther “Eppie” Lederer, left us back in 2002, so any heart-eating she will be doing will be in the afterlife, assuming the existence of same…she was a feisty old board and even as a kid reading her columns, I thought she was smart, funny and right most of the time.)

In an effort to broaden my scope, as it were, and reach more folks who may have, or identify with, a similar problem that is being experienced by one of my correspondents, I have decided to write a periodic column, sharing some of the more plaintive, and often times heart-rending stories that my readers have described to me in their messages.

“Advise For Those Who Aren’t Getting Any” by Cap’n John  Krissongs, copyright 1957. 

If you’re pitching, but the girls are hitting your best “stuff” out of the park, I can help. If the “man of your life” seems to prefer the company of other large, smelly men, outdoors equipment by the 4×4 pickupful, and doing sick things to small, harmless animals with weapons the size of Nebraska, all the time ignoring you except for when he wants a beer, I can help. If your lady has taken all your possessions, including your collection of Flintstone’s jelly glasses from the local Arco station and your pet clam, cleaned out your bank accounts and headed for the hills with her third cousin’s best friend’s dry-cleaner’s younger nephew, and you’re totally verklempt, I can help. If you’re considering “coming out of the closet”, but fear the repercussions from your family and friends, who are all members of the NRA and Donald Trump supporters…forget it, you’re on your own.

If you’re as mystified by the opposite sex as I am, and I for sure wish that someone would tell me if its men or women who are the opposite sex, contact me…we can commiserate together.

Since this is my first time writing this column and dispensing advice, I’ll just give you a few examples of what I’ve been up against, excuse me, some of the letters I’ve received so far. To wit…

“Dear Cap’n John:

                My wife of 25 years recently left me for a rodeo clown, who had a line of bullshit a mile long, a pimped-out Winnebago and his own barrel, and I’m thinking of celebrating by spending two weeks at some island resort, naked and drunk. Do you have a preference for vacation spots?

                Partying in Pensacola”

“Dear Partying:

                I’m partial to Cancun, but the area has become so commercialized over the years that some of the spontaneity is now missing (remember the nude cake-baking contests back in the 80s?) so maybe you want something more primitive and isolated, like Fiji or Lower Zimbabwe. I have a travel agent I can recommend (I get a 10% kickback) if you need any tickets or accommodations.

                Cap’n John”

“Dear CJK: 

                I have had a serious, but unrequited, crush on the guy in the cubicle next to mine at work for more than 10 years now, and I think it’s about time to make my move. I found out he’s a fan of the Punkin Corner (ID) Putzels, the professional tiddly-winks franchise here in Punkin Corner (ID), and I thought that maybe I could get his attention by removing my blouse and bra letting him see the Putzels logo I recently had tattooed on my right boob (above the nipple). Does this seem too bold?

                I Can’t Make A Tiddly Wink, But I Can Make A Shoe Smell”

“Dear Tiddily:

                I think the gesture would have a higher expectation of success if the tattoo was on your left butt-cheek (next to the one of Michael Jackson Forever). Just a thought. Good luck.

                Cap’n John”

“Dear Occupant:”

Never mind that one.

“Cap’n John:

                I am a married woman of over 15 years to a wonderful man (I’ll call him Henry here…that is his name, but I rarely use it, to confuse him) that I am crazy about; we really have no problems, especially the kind that other married couples seem to experience, like money woes, infidelity, health issues, being a member of the Republican Party or other such things. No, Henry and I have a very good life…except for one small area that I’m confused about…he keeps talking about “nudism” and getting really enthusiastic about it, and I’m a very modest woman with a slight hearing problem and three enormous breasts who does not want to join in with a bunch of naked strangers playing strip poker or doing whatever they do naked, with no clothes on, in the nude. Oh, here comes Henry now…hi, Bruce, here, read what I wrote to that cheese-ball Cap’n John…(read, read, read)…What? You were talking about moving to New Lisbon? Why the hell would I want to live in New Lisbon? That shithole? Well, I thought that’s what you said…how should I know why you want to take all your clothes off and run around in the woods with your pecker hanging out? I don’t want to live in New Lisbon…even if they have a really great nudist colony there…I don’t care, I’m not moving, I’ll get a divorce first.

                Cap’n John…never mind.”

                Previously Very Happy In Green Bay

“Dear Previously:

                Did your mother have any children that lived? Geez.”

And to think I do this for free.

Love and the postal service,

Cap’n John

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