For those of you who read and recall my post from 11/10/17, “ADVICE FOR THOSE WHO AREN’T GETTING ANY (AND I DON’T MEAN ADVICE”), I’m going to pick up where I left off last month, helping those of you who solicit my counsel about their love-lives (or lack thereof).

But in the meantime, if you aren’t reading the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog, I can only ask, why not? I mean, shit, do you think I go to all this work and effort for my own amusement? Do you think slaving over a hot keyboard is my idea of good time? Is it your belief that I look forward to being shackled to my desk by the evil forces of Emperor Shlongo, Ruler of the Anopheles Planetary Triad, and forced to write these posts until my fingers are down to the bone, my eyes red and strained, denied food and water until I produce copy worthy of His Supreme Highness…

Okay, I got a little carried away there. Sorry.

Actually, the answer to the most of the questions above is yes, other than the one about the Emperor…his people never shackled me to my desk, I just made that up. (Although the cute blond Anophelite guard who offered to tie me, naked, to the bumper of my car, rub me all over with canola oil, then poke me in a place on my body that shouldn’t ever be poked, while she was dressed in her Temple Guard uniform, high-heel boots and all, yeah, she had my attention, but the rest of it was just me funnin’ you guys.)

Anyway, back to the subject at hand…

Every week, I get scads (one of my mother’s fave words) of letters, texts, emails, voicemails, notes delivered by carrier pigeon, smoke signals and secret decoder ring messages from so many of my loyal readers (all three of you) asking me to please give them the benefit of my wisdom and years of experience in coping with sexual frustration, excuse me, in dealing with the opposite sex, and so here I go, advising the lovelorn, for fun and profit…

“Dear Cap’n John: 

                I’m in love with a man who barely knows I exist, and I need help finding a way to attract his attention. Do you think tying him naked to the bumper of his car, rubbing him all over with canola oil and poking him in places he never knew he liked to be poked would be over the top? Or should I try something more subtle?

                Rohunda, Corporal of the Emperor Shlongo’s Royal Guard”

Dear “Ro”:

                No, you go grrrl.

“Cap’n John:

                Is it love when your eyes are watering, your nose is stuffed up, your sinuses are swollen to the size of possum testicles, your stomach is queasy and you can’t make a fist, or is that something else?

                Thanks…Am I Love Sick in Seattle?”

Dear “Seattle”:

                No, those sound like the symptoms for glomerular, a disease of the spleen that is indigenous to the Anopheles Planetary Triad, and can only be contracted by having sexual relations with a cute blond Anophelite Corporal of the Emperor’s Guard. Who have you been sleazing around with, you perv?

“Dear Cap’n: 

                Recently my wife of many years decided to grow a third breast…I’m a very open-minded kind of guy, and I like the idea a lot, but I’m concerned with how she will look in a bikini, or her Temple Guard uniform. But here’s my real concern, however…do you think I will need to grow another hand?

                Two’s Company, Three Is More Company”

Dear “Company”:

                And this is a problem, how?

“Dear Cap’n John Krissongs:

                This is your final notice. We must receive payment…”

Okay, never mind this one.

“Dear Cap’n John:

                There is a girl in my Introduction to Mucus class who is waay hot, but I think she might be a lesbian…she is beautiful, with thick, black hair, dark, penetrating eyes, olive skin and a figure that makes me want to plotz, whatever the hell that is. She says that she is from the Middle East, and that her father is the mayor of Tripoli. She seems interested, but I’m afraid of being hurt if she decides she prefers women to men. Help me, Obi-Wan, you’re my last hope.

                Confused In The Classroom”

Dear “Classroom”:

                She’s from LEBANON, not a lesbian, you feeb. Geez.

Well, I need to get going here…I only hope that I was able to make some of your love-lives a little better, or at least a little more interesting. Please keep those letters, emails, texts, etc. coming…they have helped me to realize that my lovelife (such as it is), is not near as screwed up as other peoples.

Hey, I hear Publix Supermarkets is having a sale on canola oil… 

Love and lovelorn,

Cap’n John

Post Script…Jivo???


(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