So here I am on the day after Christmas 2018, all the frivolity and the hilarious madcap fun from the holiday now receding into and mixing with all the other memories of so many other thrill-packed Hallmark moments from over the years…for me, holidays are like visits to a proctologist; a pain in the ass but necessary. (I always felt the same way, back before I retired, about working for a living.)

I was perusing the headline news on the ‘Net a little while ago when I stumbled across one of those silly “click-bait” thingies about the movie It’s A Wonderful Life; you know the ones I’m talking about…they portray such topics as “50 Things You Should Know About Peroxide”, or “The 25 Early Signs Of Rampant Mopery” or “10 Ways To Earn Money With Dryer Lint”. This one was catchy…”A Bunch Of Things You Didn’t Know About Frank Capra’s It’s A Wonderful Life”. Or some such nonsense.

Typically I ignore these things because either a) I don’t give a lusty crap about the subject (“Are My Labia Too Big? 10 Ways To Tell”) or b) I’m too busy at that point to stop and read the article, or c) I’m having a bad karma day and I don’t want to take the chance of offending the Internet gods (don’t ask).

But since I do care about the subject matter in this instance, It’s A Wonderful Life being one of my all-time fave movies, as well as Jimmy Stewart being one of my all-time fave actors, I clicked on the link to edify myself about this cinematic classic. (I always thought that Donna Reed, Mrs. George Bailey in the movie, and Gloria Grahame, the actor who played “Violet”, were totally hot. Especially Vi.)

As usual when I read one of these things, I learned something. (Aristotle once postulated “horror vacui”, which is Burmese for “your labia are too big”, as a way of expressing…)

(In the background, a phone begins ringing.)

Hang on, lemme’ see who this is…

“Cap’n John…”

“Hi, Tammie, what’s up?”

“I’m sorry, it means what?”

“Yeah, that would make a lot more sense…”

“Okay, thanks for the heads-up.”

That was Tammie Wetzel, my First Mate here on the R U Kidding…she spell-checks/monitors my posts in real time to keep me from stepping on my johnson too badly; she says Aristotle’s “horror vacui” is actually Latin and really means “nature abhors a vacuum”; I’m not sure why Nature gives a shit one way or the other about a vacuum, but if Aristotle said it, then it’s good enough for me.

Anyway, I was saying that, since Nature apparently has a problem with a vacuum, which in physics is described as a “true empty space”, I’m not surprised that I constantly learn new things, given the plethora of space in between my ears. Nature fulfilling her primal urges or whatever.

I learned from the article on Wonderful Life that many people, probably supporters of President Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump, didn’t understand that the term “Buffalo gals”, from the song that George sang to Mary (Donna Reed’s character), referred to women from Buffalo NY, and as a popular vaudeville tune of the era was oftentimes edited to coincide with the town in which a show was playing, such as “Chicago gals” or “New York gals” or “Climax gals”, named after the town in Georgia. Apparently many people thought the “Buffalo gals” were akin to werewolves or other anthropomorphic creatures that shape-change at will, another characteristic of our President.

From deep, deep down in the well of my memory I recalled a cartoon from many years ago by one of my all-time fave cartoonists, Gary Larson, about “Buffalo gals” and of course had to go looking on the ‘Net for it. (See above, up there.)

Yes, I have dated women who resemble Ms. Buffalo.

Which of course brings me to the subject of today’s post…all the letters, emails, texts, telegrams, smoke-signals, secret decoder ring messages and carrier-pigeon notes that I receive, re my readers love-lives, or the obvious lack of “Buffalo Gals/Guys” or anything else remotely like “romance” in their squalid, pathetic existences.

I thought I would share a few with you, my loyal readers…

“Cap’n John:

I’m a fairly young Holstein Friesian steer living in Australia, and because of my immense size (6’4” at the shoulders, weighing well in excess of 3000 pounds) I have a hard time attracting hot bovine chicks; okay, that should be “calves” but I figure you’d get my meaning. I’ve heard about these “Buffalo gals” and knowing that buffalo are WAY bigger than domestic cattle, I thought, given all your weird, ahh, excuse me, extensive contacts in the field of animal husbandry that you might be able to connect me up with one of these beauties. I could really use your help, Cap’n…wait, what am I thinking, I’m a steer, I don’t have any balls, why would I need to hook-up with a Buffalo gal or a hot Hereford for that matter? Never mind.

                                                                Confused in Canberra”

Dear “Confused”:

                According to the magazine New Scientist, and I’m quoting here, “Breathing in Moon dust could kill you”. Now I don’t know about you guys, but despite the fact that I’m grateful for the heads-up, I’m actually not that afraid of inadvertently breathing in Moon dust; given that the Moon is approximately 235,000 miles from Earth, has no oxygen and no Uber service, the threat seems minimal. However, I understand that NASA has discussed establishing a colony of Buffalo gals on the Moon, but to date that plan is still in the talking stages.

“Dear Cap’n John:

                I have had it! I have tried every way I can think of, every way suggested by those dopey articles that trumpet “100 Ways To Attract A Woman That Isn’t A Beast”, done all the due diligence, read all the self-help books and nothing, nada, zero, bupkis has come from all my efforts; I can’t seem to find a decent woman who desires a relationship with a nice-looking, intelligent, early 30’s hetero (mostly) male who happens to make his living as a shepherd. Bah! Enough with all this sheep dip; tell me what to do, Cap’n, where are all the awesome, sexy women hiding out?

                                                       The Abominable NoMan (see Genesis 46:34)”

Dear “Abominable”:

                Boy, I hope you’re not one of those “shepherds” that Leviticus warned us about in Chapter 18, Verse 23, KPV (King Of Pop version). That’s disgusting. (Little known factoid…Michael Jackson was a part-time shepherd.)

“Dear Cap’n:

                Did you hear the one about the lady who took her pet dog to the vet because he (the dog, not the vet) was having a hard time hearing? Yeah, the vet examined the dog, put some Nair on a Q-tip, swabbed the dog’s ears, which were full of dog hair (well, d’uh), let it set for a few minutes and then rubbed it out. The dog immediately began hearing small noises and other sounds he had missed before. The vet suggested the lady apply the Nair every few weeks, and she went on her way. She stopped at a pharmacy to get some Nair, couldn’t find it and eventually asked the druggist for help. He went and got her Nair, and asked her if she had ever used the product before. When she answered no, he proceeded to explain that if she used it on her legs, that she shouldn’t then shave them for three-four days after. When she said she wasn’t going to use the Nair on her lags, the pharmacist then said, well, if you’re using it on your underarms, same thing. No, she said, I’m going to use it on my Schnauzer. The Pharmacy guy looked at her, blinked and said, well, in that case, better stay off your bike for at least a week. Sorry, I’m a stand-up comedian in my late 30’s and my luck with women is a joke. Please help me, Cap’n, otherwise I’m afraid I’ll do something distasteful at the next CA (Celibates Anonymous) meeting.

                                                                                Standing Up and Alone”

Dear “Alone”:

                What was it Rodney Dangerfield said? “Now I know why some species eat their young.”

“Mr. Cap’n Krissongs John:

                This is your last notice; if this matter isn’t settled by close of business tomorrow…”

Okay, never mind that one.

“Cap’n John:

                I’m a moderately attractive, but very sexy woman in my late 20’s who works at an animal hospital as a veterinary technician; I get along great with the puppies and the kitties and the hamsters and the gerbils and the llamas and the hyenas but I have absolutely no luck with men. There’s a guy in the office next to our clinic, a nice guy who brings his pet skink (no, I didn’t misspell “skunk”; Google it) in from time to time, who looks interesting. When he was in last week, I was holding a client’s dog on my lap, and when I asked Mr. Next Door Man if he wanted to pet my Schnauzer, he said that would be great, but not until I got that dog off my lap. Yes, I like to scratch my ears with my feet, but hey, that doesn’t make me a “barker”, does it? What can I do to get something going romantically with our neighbor?

                                                                                Puppy Patty”

Dear “Patty”:

                They covered that “sexual relations with your neighbor” thing in Leviticus 18:20…see also “Abominations For Fun And Profit”, by Dr. Beth LaHem (BuffaloGal Press, 2018).

Well, that’s all the time I have today to answer all your questions about abominations, uh, sorry, your love-lives.

Oh, and FYI, the cabdriver and the local cop in It’s A Wonderful Life were named Bert and Ernie.

By show of hands, how many of you think the Bert and Ernie characters from Sesame Street are gay? Or at least more interested in each other than any Buffalo Gal?

Love and Bedford Falls,

Cap’n John

Post Script…if all you guys send me $5 each, I promise to never quote from the Bible again. Cross my heart.

Post Post Script…thanks to comedian Bill Engvall for the joke about the Schnauzer.



  1. Funniest thing I’ve ever read on the ‘Net. Love the “Advice” posts.
    Great job, thanks much; please keep it up.


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