Okay, so, do you want the good news or the bad news first?

Actually, what I have to tell you today is more like “good news/bad news/good news”, so since it’s The Good News Bible leading the Bad News Bears 2-1 going into the 9th, I’ll start with the good news.

Followed by the bad news and then the good news again. (In case you lost track.)

Actually, it’s more like “bad news, good news, bad news, good news”, now that I think about it.

Never mind.

Bad news…I have been the proud owner for many years of a Saturn SC-1 coupe whose birth certificate says 1998 on it, and over the years and 157,000 miles I have replaced/repaired much of the car. In between mechanical failures, it ran well, got great gas mileage and didn’t look too bad.

Until several weeks ago…

…when, all in the same week, the wiper motor quit (said motor being the replacement for the first motor that failed), the A/C finally, after a month or so of indecisive cooling, said “buh bye” and the SERVICE ENGINE THIS INSTANT, CRETIN light popped on.

So my mechanic tells his fave customer, me, that basically we’re talking $1500, give or take the annual Gross National Product of Lower Slobovia, to make Susie Saturn right again.

Oh hell no…

Good news…after looking at all kinds of new cars, including the new mid-engine C8 Corvette (HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA), the Nissan Juke, the Chevrolet Trax, the Ford Excreta, the Toyota Rave4, the Buick Fondle, the Porsche 718 Boxster (HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA, THAT’S AS FUNNY AS THE C8), and the Nissan Scrotum, I settled on and bought a 2020 Hyundai Veloster.

It’s a lot of fun.

So bad news again…being busy with driving my new Velocityer these days, as well as being the Captain and Master of the venerable craft the R U Kidding and the Head Patient at the Hillary Clinton Memorial Hospital For The Chronically Bewildered has taken away a lot of the extra time I need to wear my last cap, that of author and editor of the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog. So I have decided to take a hyannis for a bit, to take some time off to regenerate the brain cells and get some fresh ideas flowing again.

(Phone begins ringing in background…)

“Cap’n John…”

“Yes, Ms. Wetzel…”

“I’m sorry, I said what?”

“I see…I’ll correct that right away, thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

That was my First Mate, Taffie Wetzel…she monitors what I write here on the WATRUK blog in real time for errors, misspellings, stepping on my crank, etc. She tells me the word I wanted in the paragraph above was “hiatus”.


Well, now that I know that taking time off has nothing to do with that port in Massachusetts, I’ll move on. Anyway, I need to take a break from the agonizing, gut-wrenching, oppressive burden of writing a (humorous) blog post every week; the WATRUK blog celebrated its SECOND ANNIVERSARY on October 1st (quite a week, on top of my buying a new Velocipede), so after 24 months of rampant tomfoolery, it just seems like a good time to pause for a bit.

Like until the first of the year or so.

Okay, so that was only bad news if you like reading “the Cap’n”…if you think I’m a verbose, juvenile, cynical, long-winded (isn’t that the same as “verbose”?) snotwad, well, a) you probably won’t view my taking a hyannis as “bad news” and b) you’re right.

So good news last…I didn’t want to leave you with a kiss and a promise, although I have been known to do that in certain social situations, such as Navy Seal training and/or potato peeling, so I have taken the liberty of preparing a COMPREHENSIVE list of “Golden Oldies” from the WATRUK blog (see below), written and posted over the past year for your general amusement and edification.

These vignettes (that’s Burmese for “poop chute”) offer glimpses of your Cap’n (that would be me) at his wittiest/cleverest/funniest/most embarrassing.

I’ll see you guys in 2020…or maybe sooner.

~From August 15, I’M NOT BEING CHASED, BUT I AM RUNNING (THE WOODSTOCK EDITION), (talking about legalizing marijuana when I become President)…“As your President, I will send a bill to Congress making cannabis legal in 47 states, other than Wisconsin, Michigan and Pennsylvania; since the asshats in those states supported Donald Trump and put him in the White House in 2016, screw’em.”

~From August 15, I’M NOT BEING CHASED, BUT I AM RUNNING (THE WOODSTOCK EDITION), (talking about banning the playing of soccer in America)…”That’s right, circulating fans, as soon as I am elected President, I will immediately impose a ban on the playing of soccer, in any form at any level, in this country. It’s a stoopid, boring game that has no place in modern American sports. Let them play it in countries that don’t have Major League Baseball, REAL football, the NBA, women’s college fast-pitch softball and tiddlywinks. (Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth for AN HOUR AND A HALF. Geez.)”

~From August 8, ADVICE FOR THOSE WHO AREN’T GETTING ANY, AND I DON’T MEAN ADVICE_VOL X, (on history)…”So history will be the theme of today’s post; I considered writing about “llama intestines” as a theme, but in deference to the delicate sensibilities of my loyal readers (all several of you), I decided against that idea. I’m sure some of you, sensibilities notwithstanding, will be disappointed.”

~From August 4, MISSILE ANUSES, (intro paragraph)…”Now before I get started here, let me just say this…anyone who laughs at what they’re about to read will a) hurt my feelings, b) reveal him/herself to be an insensitive asshat, which I’m sure NONE of my loyal readers are and c) receive a visit from several large, ‘roided-out muscular men with poor attitudes and gonads the size of BBs, who will remove you from your home, take you out in the country where it’s quiet and repeatedly whack your peenie with a short length of 5/8” garden hose.”

~From June 13, SPAM SPAM AND SPAM_AGAIN, (nostalgia)…”(You guys remember Peter Paul and the Apostles’ big hit We Can Make A Shoe Smell and A Tiddly Wink, So Why Can’t We Eat Meat On Fridays? PP and A went on to become Peter Paul and Larry, and had another huge hit with Puff the Magic Llama.)”

~From July 4, IT SAID “PRESS RELEASE” SO I DID, (talking about the WATRUK blog being included in’s  “Top 100 Humor Blogs On The Internet” list)…”When asked to comment on the prestigious addition, Captain and Master of the R U Kidding as well as editor of the WATRUK blog Cap’n John Krissongs was quoted as saying, “Wow, I haven’t been this excited since Missy Wallace lost her top doing a half-gainer off the 10-meter board at our local pool back in 10th grade.” Cap’n John went on to say that with this inclusion and a five dollar bill, he could buy a Vente Frappuccino almond latte with no foam, no WD40, no soy, extra Frisbees with a shot of mitten sauce.”

~From June 13, SPAM SPAM AND SPAM_AGAIN, (sharing spam emails I’ve received, this one about a product called “FungAway”)…“Are you afflicted with toe fungus? Do your toes look like they belong to the space creature in a sci-fi movie? Are your feet so ugly that they remind people of something they saw at the local zoo? Do you have excess vaginal mucus or accidental bowel leakage? Well, we can’t cure those last two things, but FungusAmongUs Inc., maker of BaldyLocks Hair For Men tonic, has a NEW product that will restore the youthful beauty of your toes and makes a dandy wax-stripper for your kitchen floors as well!”

~From May 23, NOW WHERE DID I PARK MY DUMBO?, (sharing congratulatory messages on the unveiling of RUKME, or the R U Kidding Media Events news agency; this was from Lori Laughlin, actor)…“I was going to ask you, as a favor from one media god to another, not to report on the allegations against myself and my husband involving bribing University of Southern California officials to guarantee our daughter’s admission to the school; it wasn’t our fault she was too stupid to get in on her own. However, considering how important I am, I decided not to. You may kiss my ring, peasant.”

~From November 29, THOUGHTS ON THE BLOGGER AS AUTHOR, (talking about how I’m not really a writer and don’t have any “epic novels” stashed away someplace in the back of my brain)…”…no sci-fi tale of three-legged, chartreuse striped space aliens from the planet Rgh6%kkTl3.ty22 blasting their way across the outer rings of the Clystron Nebulae with synthesized, gamma ray-generating 56mm harmonizing laser cannons, intent on mayhem and dominance of the Ford Galaxy…”

~From June 27, SPORTS, HISTORY AND WHY SOCCER IS REALLY “STOOPID”, (talking about how baseball is America’s pastime)…”(Actually, I’m pretty sure America’s Pastime is sex, but back in 1916, boring, mundane and uninteresting Congress passed the Make Baseball America’s Official Pastime Since Sex Is Dirty, Messy and Disgusting and Makes Americans Sound Like Pervs Act, a bill that was introduced in the House by Congressman Twono Trump, a distant relative of our current President and alleged serial woman abuser, Donald “Tweety Bird” Trump. The legislation passed both houses by overwhelming votes.)”

~From January 3, LEARNING MY LINES, (sharing bits and pieces from the upcoming “Cap’n John Comedy Hour”)…”We’ll have more Cap’n John and the Tale of the Three-Legged Burmese Hooker after these messages.”

And finally…

~From July 11, I GET LETTERS_VOL IV, (using a sample of my writing to argue that I’m never serious long enough to write a “for-real” novel)…

After all the years of training, the studying and privations, the seemingly endless, agonizing drills, the time had finally come.

He stared at me with his steely gray eyes, and then spoke in a voice that was hard with intent.

“You have your orders, soldier…this isn’t a drill,” he said, as he handed me a wrench.

“No, sir,” I responded, “it’s a 56mm left-handed kroysening wrench, sir.”

“You know what to do, Lieutenant,” he said, as he raised his right hand to his forehead in salute. “Dismissed.”

I snapped to attention and returned his salute, then spun on my heel to leave. As I got to the door, I turned back to him.

“Sir, excuse me, but I think you look wonderful in that cerise bikini.”

I have no set date to return from Massachusetts, but I promise that, just as soon as I get back, you guys will be first ones to know. That’s the good news…

Love and 6-speed automatics,

Cap’n John

Gerald R. Ford, inventor of the “Model T” automobile and President of the International Chevy Chase Fan Club.


And boy, I gotta’ tell you, it’s gonna’ come just in the nick of time.

Back a few weeks ago, you may remember, I got an email from Bill (Isn’t It Amazing How Many Billions I’ve Made With My Shitty Products) Gates, telling me that, because I’m such a great blogger, all-around good guy and devilishly handsome to boot, he wanted to GIVE me $5,000,000…in American money no less. (“I HOPE HE DOESN’T START ANYTHING WITH BURMA EITHER”)

No strings, no gimmicks, just, here you go, Cap’n John, enjoy.

I didn’t take Microsoft Bill’s dough, however, because I think he’s a jerk and that his company and the products they make are huge ripoffs and I refuse to have anything to do with him. I may not be much, but I’ve got more integrity than Bill Gates ever thought of having…like Jesus, I may consort with sinners and debauched women, but I refuse to break bread with Pharisees. (Wow, that was esoteric as hell, wasn’t it?)

Don’t get me wrong, I could have used the money, or more to the point, my campaign could have. Yeah, the Cap’n John for President 2020 campaign is having some difficulty attracting donors and raising funds. To quote Mortimer Snerd, who would have thunk it? (I understand that Mr. Snerd is in line to replace Jeff (I’m Not A Racist Just A Roving Asshat) Sessions for Attorney General under our current President…he should fit right in with this administration.)

Let me clarify the above…the campaign is NOT having trouble attracting donors; we have many, many generous folks happily forking over, excuse me, donating a few dollars here and there, a couple of bucks, a fiver, but we haven’t been able to land those BIG BUCKS folks who drop large coin on political campaigns in the hope of a quid pro quo later on from the victorious candidate. (FYI, that’s Burmese for “insert the suppository gently”. Speaking of which, one day last week I looked into the bathroom mirror and noticed I had a suppository in my ear, and right then it dawned on me where my lost hearing aid had gotten to.)

I learned about this disturbing trend in our campaign financing yesterday, when I got a call from my Campaign Manager, Mack DeKnife; Mack was, to say the least, worried.

“Boss,” he said, “the money’s coming in, but in dribs and drabs…we got no big spenders throwing down the large bills.” (Mack has a colorful way of expressing himself, as you can see.) “The ‘Cap’n At The Wheel’ PAC is dead in the water right now,” he exclaimed, and that’s a term we sea Captains are familiar with and fear. “And I’m hopin’ you don’t have any ‘Stormy Daniels’ payments to make, ‘cause if you do, we’re in deep fecal matter, kid you not.”

“Well,’ I said, “we’re okay there, Mack, ‘cause when it comes to women, I’m like a dog chasing a car…if I caught one I wouldn’t know what to do with it. How much has the CATW PAC brought in so far?”

“Lemme see,” he said, as I hear him shuffling some papers. “To date, since we incarcerated back in January, we’ve brought in, ah, $126.38.” Not what you would call a king’s ransom. I sighed out loud.

“Yeah,” Mack continued, “we’ll never get time on CNN with that kinda’ dough…Fox maybe, ‘cause you know what kinda’ whores they are.”

But once again, an unexpected boon may save the day, and it came in the form of another unsolicited email from some rich guy, wanting to give me money for, well, just for being such a great person I guess.

“Hi,” it said, “My name is Charles Koch. A philanthropist, CEO and Chairman of the Charles Koch Foundation Charitable Foundation, one of the largest private foundations in the world.” Must be a pretty solid organization with that many foundations, I thought to myself, since no one else was there at the time. (Yes, I have used that line before…so sue me.)

It went on to say that Mr. Koch, who despite being a philanthropist, etc., apparently doesn’t understand the necessity to have both a subject and a verb in a declarative sentence, had decided to give $500,000 to “lucky individuals” and that I should consider myself “as the lucky individual selected to receive the above amount”. (Help me out here, mateys…is that pronounced “coke” or “cock”?)

So I called Mack back and gave him the good news. “Boy,” he said, “that’s a relief. We can sure use it. I was afraid for a while there that we were gonna’ have to do something drastic to get people to notice us.”

Now I like my camman a lot…he’s a great guy and a solid supporter of my candidacy, but he’s a little rough around the edges, if you know what I mean. His idea of “something drastic” could include gelignite, napalm or a synthesized, gamma ray-generating 56mm harmonizing laser cannon.

“Jack, just exactly what do you mean, ‘something drastic’?”

“Well, boss, it’s like this story my old man tol’ me once when I was just a penknife…seems this here guy was walking down a country lane one day, you know, out for a stroll, and as he’s walking along he sees another guy up ahead, looks like some kind of farmer or something, and this here farmer, he’s standing in front of an ol’ mule who’s hitched to a plow and just sittin’ there, not moving, and the farmer guy is just jawing away at this mule, trying to get him to get up and get plowing. But the mule ain’t having none of it; he’s looking off in space like the farmer ain’t even in the same county as him.”

“So the guy walks over to the farmer and says, “Won’t budge, huh?”, which of course irritates the farmer guy even more. So he turns to the walking along guy and says, real sarcastic-like, no, I can’t get him to move; you got any bright ideas?

So the walking along guy says, yeah, I might, and he turns and sees an old piece of 2×4 laying in the weeds alongside the road. So he walks over and picks it up and then walks back and stops right in front of the mule, who’s still ignoring what’s going on between the two men.

“Are you gonna’ get up and plow?” says the guy with the 2×4, and the mule says fuck-you in mule and doesn’t move.

So the walking along guy hauls back and he cracks this mule, PayaaaM, smack in the kisser, and before the farmer guy could say a word, the ol’ mule shakes his head and then gets up and starts pulling the plow.

“See,” says the walking along guy, as the farmer grabs the reins of the plow passing by, “sometimes you just have to get their attention first.”

I told Mack that I had to go see about shivering some timbers and battening down some hatches and that we would have to continue this conversation later; I have no idea what exactly he has in mind to use as a “2×4”, but I sure hope it doesn’t have anything to do with that Michael Cohen guy.

Taking money from one of the Cock Brothers is bad enough.

Love and payoffs,

Cap’n John


It was the first of a new month and I was standing on the main deck of the R U Kidding, just aft of the mizzen-mast, talking to my 2nd Mate Gertruden Shepard about the newly begun baseball season, when her boss walked over to us with a silly grin on her face.

“Hey,” I said to my 1st Mate, Taffie Wetzel, with a nod and a smile.

“Happy April, fools,” she said. (You could tell she’d been waiting all day to try that line on someone.)

We all had a good laugh, and then I called a couple of my deck-hands, who had been busy swabbing the deck behind us, over to where we were standing.

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“Take Ms. Wetzel back to the stern, bind her up good and then put the plank in place…we’ll join you there in a bit.” TW turned to me with a look of astonishment on her face.

“Aye, Cap’n”.

They grabbed the 1st Mate, who was by now protesting loudly, and dragged her off aft.

When the boys had her trussed up good and tight, we walked back aft as well and with little to-do, made Ms. Wetzel walk the plank…sadly, she walked 11 feet on a 10 foot board, and in the drink she went. One of the hands up on the bow, not knowing what was going on, yelled “Woman overboard!” (Hey, I run a totally PC ship…none of that sexist iguanacrap on my boat.)

I only let her flounder for a few moments, then I had the hands tow her back in, just before a huge school of paranoid goldfish, masquerading as NRA members, moved in to attack her.

“Why did you DO that?!?” she sputtered, dripping wet, after they had her back onboard. “I thought you were going to let me drown!”

“Fooled you, didn’t I?”

Now that we have the frivolity out of the way I’d like to propagate a monumental sea-change here and, whoa, never thought you’d see this, did you, be serious for once, as unusual as that is.

April 1st marks the six-month anniversary of the launching of the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog, and despite all of the nay-sayers and critics who exclaimed loudly that the Cap’n would sink and not swim, you and I and all the silliness that swirls around the Kidding are still going strong.

Okay, limping along vigorously then.

For the past six months I have been boring, excuse me, regaling you with stories of three-legged pigs, or about being a part-time Front Service Clerk for Publix, or with all my advice to the lovelorn columns (remember the three-breasted woman or the retired proctologist who lived in Whoopee Cushion FL) or my Cap’n John For Pres 2020 campaign, or Montpelierians, or my opinion poll, or my trip to the doctor to find out I’m growing a second head or the Antonin Scalia School of Holistic and Organic Legal Education (better known by its acronym ASSHOLE) or with any of the stories of all the other “interesting” things that I choose to expound on occasionally.

And through it all, you guys, my loyal and faithful readers, have suffered, er, sorry, endured.


So two things, mateys…one, I hope to hell that you guys have had 1/10 as much fun reading the Cap’n as I have had telling the stories; two, and here’s the big one, from my heart…thank you.

Thank you, 10Q, danke, gracias, domo arigato, feliz navidad, xie´xie´, e pluribus unum, spasibo, tierra del fuego, in whatever language you care to apply, I am very, very grateful to you all.

Like double-secret probation grateful.

You guys are awesome, I don’t care what Mitch McConnell says.

Hey, as long as we’re all here, how about a few “Cap’nisms”, wadda’ ya say?


                “…the First Amendment of our hallowed Constitution grants the nation’s citizens the right to pop-off with their opinions, any time they like, about anything they want to pop-off about. The Constitution was ratified in 1787 and Americans haven’t shut the fuck up since then.”


                “I know you Oswaldo, you’re not the kind of man who would let his laundry basket sit on the cowling of a P-51 Mustang that was painted orange and why was the persimmon?”


                “And FYI, “yo ho” is not how you say hi to a prostitute.”

                “Hey, it’s going to be under 30 degrees here in central FLORIDA overnight again, with a “freeze warning” having been issued by the county…you’re damn right I’m in favor of global warming. And it better happen pretty damn soon, ‘cause everybody down here is freezing their cojones off. What, are you kidding me?”


                “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?”


                “I’m a retired proctologist living in a senior’s apartment complex in Whoopee Cushion Fl, and I’m having a problem attracting the “right” kind of women; so far, since I’ve lived here, the only woman I’ve been able to get a date with was an old-maid ex-turret lathe operator with three nipples and a pet iguana named Horace.”

                “The guy in the cubicle next to mine at work is a hunk, but he never says a word to me other than “hello” in the morning and “boiled llama parts” when he leaves at the end of the day.”

                “Well, you could march into his cubicle wearing nothing but an engineer’s cap and a big smile, carrying a left-handed monkey wrench, and announce that you’re there to tighten his lug nuts; that oughta’ get his attention.”


                “…a study done back in 2015 revealed that 11% of Americans think that the term “HTML” is actually an acronym for some kind of horrible disease. The report further stated that these same 11% couldn’t find their butts with a flashlight, a map and two hands.”


                “I’m sure Montpelierians (no way I could say that word three times in a row with a couple of adult beverages under my belt) are devastated at this news…I know I would be.”

~From “DID ANYONE CALL MISSING PERSONS?” 12/4/17 (on babies)

                “They’re generally cute, smell pretty good until they do something unspeakable in their diapers (something my ex- and I used to call a “special delivery” whenever my daughter left us one), sometimes noisy but mostly inoffensive, and although they add little to the Gross Domestic Product, they can be counted on to vote Democratic.”


                “-“Freshets Of Profanity” would be an awesome name for a rock band.

                “-do the hokey-pokey and turn yourself around…order given by the Captain to the crew, or if he’s incapacitated, the Machinist Mate 3rd Class Cosign PiRSquared, to immediately after hearing the “Hokey-Pokey” horn, turn themselves around. That’s what it’s all about.”

~From “BOY, THE WETTER YOU GET, THE OLDER IT WANTS” 2/11/18 (on getting older)

                “…and it flashed into my mind that if I said something about needles being stuck to any of the kids at work, they wouldn’t have the slightest idea what the hell I was talking about.”

                “I gotta’ be careful farting that hard…at my age I’m liable to blow my spleen right out my asshole and shoot it across the room.”

~From “OH SURE, NOW YOU TELL ME” 2/3/18

                “From the wonderful Tony Bennett song, “I Left My Heart In San Francisco and My Spleen In Cleveland”.”


                “I once ate an entire box of Entemanns Cinnamon Raisin English muffins (with butter melted into them while they were hot, and with a big glass of cold milk…yes) right before I fell asleep and woke up alternately singing “God Save The Queen” and doing Freddie Mercury impersonations.”


                “No donation is too small, and as Bill Murray said in Ghostbusters, no fee is too big, so send in those dimes and quarters and $100 bills ASAP. And remember the immortal words of Will Rogers, who once opined that we should be happy we aren’t getting all the government we’re paying for.”


Hey, I haven’t had this much fun since the last time I had root-canal work, but I need to wind this up and get going…Ms. Wetzel just walked by the door to my cabin, where I’m working here at my desk, and when she saw me turned her head away and refused to speak to me.

I think it might be time for her to take another swim…this time I might let the NRA goldfish have her.

With all my heart, thanks you guys.

Love and anchors,

Cap’n John


I had to go to the doctor today.

I hate going to the doctor.

I hate going to the doctor (squared).

A lot.

A number of years ago, maybe 12-13 or so, I discovered a small lump on the back of my head, just behind and a little above my left ear…it was a tiny little thing, much like other parts of my anatomy that I would prefer not to discuss in mixed company (I’ll bet there’s some Republicans reading this right now), but discernible to my probing fingers, which was how I found it in the first place.

It was about the size of the eraser end of a pencil around, and maybe a 1/16” deep…when I held a mirror up behind my head and looked into another mirror, even with my head shaved you could barely see it. (Yes, I used to shave my head…I thought the stimulation might encourage a growth spurt. Sadly, that didn’t happen. Hair, or anything else for that matter. Except the “lump”.)

It wasn’t tender, it didn’t hurt, it wasn’t discolored, it made no ridiculous promises to build a wall along the Mexican/American border, it didn’t do anything but sit there, much like my ex-wife.

So I ignored it.

Over the years it “grew like Topsy” and after careful cultivation, periodic watering and fertilization, it’s gotten quite a bit bigger; it’s now about the size of a ’57 Edsel and weighs approximately 6268 pounds. Okay, I exaggerated a little…it’s about the size of a quarter around and maybe 3/16” deep.

But it’s ugly…and yeah, I know, another wart on the warthog doesn’t make him any uglier, just wartier, but still.

Back around the first of this year, I was at a friend’s place, sitting on a dining room chair, close to a wall. At one point I leaned back to stretch and smacked my “lump” against the wall…not real hard, but hard enough for me to wish that I hadn’t. I said several bad words that I wouldn’t say in that same mixed company I spoke of above (see above, above), and decided it was time to go see someone about removing it. The lump, not the mixed company. (“Mixed Company” would be a great name for a CW band.)

My first thought was a tree service, figuring they could use a chain-saw on it…I called a couple of places but didn’t get any bids. (One guy asked me if I had considered using a small shaped explosive…I hadn’t, but it was a thought.) Then I tried the Roto-Rooter guy, but he was WAY too expensive.

One of my friends suggested a doctor, which seemed like a novel concept, so I called my PCP (that’s the physician, not the drug) and made an appointment.

Did I mention I hate going to doctors? But I went, reluctantly, dragging “lump” along with me, and presented myself for inspection.

The ladies at Doc Johnson’s office think I’m a character (you know the way I write…I’m like that in person too) and they always take good care of me, and the Doc is a good guy, for a doctor. (At least he’s not a lawyer…I wouldn’t want him examining my nether areas with nothing more than a Juris Doctor degree hanging on the wall.) He checked out the “lump”, said that in the entire history of medical science, nothing like this had ever been seen or recorded, and that he was stumped as to its composition or nature.

And then gave me a referral to a specialist. (Does Doctor A get a kickback from Doctor B when Doctor A refers someone to Doctor B? Probably, unless you elect to take the sinter exemption, then you must deduct two-thirds of your base annual melotron ratio retroactively and then apply the 43% capacitor reduction to the blender column.)

Dr. B, to be known here as Doctor B, was happy to examine the “lump” for me, pleased at the notion of being able to see, firsthand, a medical first, as well as have the opportunity to bill the shit outta’ Medicare for the consultation, exam, x-rays, spinal tap (volume at 11, please), root-canal, blood work, transfusion, re-grouting, sonogram, oil-change, cauterizations, several MRIs and a wheel alignment. Dr. B left his office to consider the problem, post-exam, after assuring me he would return in the foreseeable future.

I waited. (Ha-ha, waiting in a doctor’s office, another novel concept.) Quite a while.

After lengthy deliberation (he bills by the hour apparently), he returned, sat down behind his desk and looked me straight in the eye.

“Well, Cap’n John, I have good news and bad news.” (Donald Trump quit and Mike Pence took over.) “I’ve looked at your “lump” and checked it out and examined it in every conceivable way, consulted with experts in the field, pored over all the pertinent literature, checked with CDC in Atlanta, all of which is being billed to Medicare, and, well, here’s the bad news…”

“All indicators point to the fact that you appear to be growing another head. That’s the bad news.”

“The good news is that, those same indicators lead us to believe that this one will be much better looking than the one you currently have, WAY smarter and, due to the increased brain activity, will cause other parts of your anatomy to be enhanced as well.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively when he told that last thing.

Okay, I was just hit with this momentous news…Holy Cranium, Batman, ANOTHER head! Shit, I barely use the one I have now. This was incredible, it was shocking, it was cataclysmic, it was double-secret probation weird. I was incredulous, shocked, I was almost catatonic and my probation was completed years ago.

So what was the first thing out of my mouth, in response to this devastating news?

“So, Doc, just how “enhanced” (I used the two fingers on each hand “air quotation-marks” sign here) are we talking?”

The ultimate “guy” moment.

The day before I went to my appointment with Dr. B, one of the customers at the Publix where I work part-time as a Front Service Clerk (and don’t think it isn’t hard work dragging a title that grandiose around), after I mentioned I was going to see a surgeon the next day, asked me who I was seeing. So I told him.

“Oh,” he says,” is that the blind guy?”

Insert rim-shot here.

Love and scalpels,

Cap’n John



I have received torrents and rivers of letters and emails recently, wondering why I haven’t written anything for the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog since back on the 24th of February (okay, I got two, but compared to none, that’s a torrent), concerned that I might be incapacitated in some way and asking when, oh when, Cap’n John, will you return?

In reverse order…well, I guess my return date is today, 3/15, the infamous Ides of March, on the 2062th anniversary of the assassination of Julius Caesar by a bunch of Roman Senators who were not only upset with his handling of several important issues of the time, including immigration, taxes and sword control, but Caesar’s numerous alleged liaisons with large-breasted women of ill repute as well. (FYI, your Cap’n is a big fan of large-breasted women of ill repute.)

As far as being incapacitated, thank you for your concern, but no, I’m fine, as well as can be expected for someone whose mother dressed him funny when he was a kid.

Lastly, I just got lazy. (Hey, it happens.)

I saw this headline this morning on the ‘Net…”O.J. criticizes Kaepernick over anthem protest”. So apparently even disgraced athletes who are convicted felons think Colin Kaepernick’s ill-advised kneeling during the playing of the Star-Spangled Banner prior to NFL football games was a rancid crock of yak butter. (And thank you to author Christopher Moore for that great description.)

I’m sure all those folks who also didn’t like or agree with Mr. Kaepernick’s actions are greatly heartened at O.J.’s support.

It’s been my experience in life that opinions are a lot like assholes…everybody has one and a lot of them stink. But this is ‘Murica, and the First Amendment of our hallowed Constitution grants the nation’s citizens the right to pop-off with their opinions, any time they like, about anything they want to pop-off about. The Constitution was ratified in 1787 and Americans haven’t shut the fuck up since then.

I see (and like most people, I suspect, occasionally respond to) opinion polls about everything these days, on the Internet, in my daily newspaper, in the mail, even being conducted by individuals in shopping malls, all of them asking “hey, what do you think about…”, presupposing the process of thought, a chancy supposition at best in many cases.

So I thought that, hell, I can be a band-wagon jumper, why not come up with my OWN opinion poll and foist it upon my unsuspecting readers and make it about things I really want to know?

Okay, unsuspecting readers, here we go…

1) ”Pool noodles” would be…

[]             a) a great name for a rock band;

[]             b) a great name for amphibious pasta;

[]             c) the “real” reason J. Caesar was killed or;

[]             d) none of all of the above.

2) Cellular phones are…

[]             a) a blight on humanity;

[]             b) a blight on humanity;

[]             c) a blight on humanity or;

[]             d) all of the above twice.

3) President Donald Trump…

[]             a) is doing a great job…not;

[]             b) is the Devil Incarnate;

[]             c) is an unprincipled horse’s ass;

[]             d) as a President would make a fine truck-driver or;

[]             e) all of the above three times.

4) Satanism is the perfect religion…if you screw up, when you die, you go to Heaven.

                []             a) true

                []             b) false

                []             c) orchestra section, third row, seats 56 and 57.

5) The 115th Congress…

                []             a) is doing a great job…not;

                []             b) is a bunch of unprincipled horse’s asses;

                []             c) should be beaten repeatedly or;

                []             d) if you answered “yes” on Question “a” (line 54) then proceed to section “L” (line 56.53) and repeat as needed, but only if you have checked off box “h3” (line 666, subsection “25.nd%”) then refigure your tax after completing Form A888999555 (line 2, paragraph 2.5) and recalculating your framitz deduction fiscally with addendums.

6) Re my campaign for President in 2020, if I made singer Toni Tennille my candidate for Vice-President, I could campaign as “The Cap’n and Tennille”; is this…

                []             a) a great idea;

                []             b) something that smells like a fish left in a hot car for three days;

                []             c) a really dumb idea or;

                []             d) pool noodles.

7) The Grammys…

                []             a) are a complete bore;

                []             b) are a total and complete bore;

                []             c) are totally irrelevant and a total and complete bore or:

                []             d) stupid.

8) Yesterday at my part-time job as a “Front Service Clerk” for Publix Supermarkets, I walked 8053 steps, or 3.8 miles in a 5 hour shift…

                []             a) not bad for a guy slightly younger than a redwood tree or a tortoise;

                []             b) see answer “a”;

                []             c) all of the above;

                []             d) Mongo Santamaria.

9) Yoga pants are…

                []             a) a blight on humanity:

                []             b) the best thing that ever happened to men in general;

                []             c) tight in all the appropriate places or;

                []             d) the corner of 57th Street and Maple Lane.

10) Opinion polls are…

                []             a) a blight on humanity;

                []             b) a valid and meaningful method of determining people’s feelings about the issues that face our country today, as long as the “people” you ask have an IQ above room temperature;

                []             c) stupid or;

                []             d) endless.

11) Are you (please check all that apply, sequentially)…

                []             a) male;

                []             b) female;

                []             c) other;

                []             d) over 21 years of age;

                []             e) an American citizen;

                []             f) a taxpayer;

                []             g) a standout rodeo performer;

                []             h) deeply confused about which antiperspirant to use;

                []             i) claiming all the residents of your entire apartment complex as deductions;

                []             j) all of the above except a, b, c, d, e, f, g, and h.

Thank you for participating.

By applause, how many of you are really glad that this opinion poll is done…yeah, I thought so.

Love and questionnaires,

Cap’n John

Post Script…a major announcement will be forthcoming from the Cap’n John For President campaign in the immediate future. Stay tuned to this blog for the latest news.






Although it comes as no small amazement to me, nevertheless, I am happy to report that, as of this morning, February 24, 2018, I have yet (this being the operative word here) to inadvertently consume one of those real thin little pieces of wax-paper that they put in between the slices of cheese, to keep them separated. The slices, I mean, not the…never mind.

Please believe me when I tell you that I am truly a huge fan of having my cheese separated.

Of no particular import, I am also happy/unhappy to report that yesterday, February 23, 2018, was the 28th anniversary of my 39th birthday. Plans for a memorial service for my youth are pending. 

Okay, I freely admit that the above photo has nothing do with being a “blockbuster”, but it is a great pic of a Buddha statue, rockin’ down the highway, isn’t it?

If I ever decide to form another rock band, I’m calling it Cap’n John and the Pool Noodle Band (I just recently learned that the name “The Beatles” was already taken). Our first Billboard Top 100 hit will be “Llama Spleen Sandwiches Are Disgusting, So I Never Eat Them On Tuesdays”…it’s sure to be a blockbuster.

Always assuming you want your blocks busted in the first place.

And although this next thing I’m aware of is truly not funny, being in fact pretty damn scary, it does have its humorous aspects, the most fundamental of which is the explanation I have surmised as to why the “marbled crayfish” clones itself (see article at link below)…anything that ugly is going to have HUGE problems attracting a mate, believe me. (Reminds me of that SNL cheerleader skit from a few years ago…”U-G-L-Y, you ain’t got no alibi, you’re ugly.”) I’m trying to decide if the damn things look more like something from a bad sci-fi flick (like The Crawdad That Ate Cleveland), an alien from the planet Zatox or a recent re-animation of 100 batrillion year-old DNA by those Jurassic Park criminals. (They probably got the DNA strand from some saliva that was left on the wrapper of a Three Musketeers bar.) You want the definition of the term “spawn of the devil”…there it is. (Shawn of the Devil?)

Okay, I’m just free-associating here, you know, stream of consciousness stuff.

Back in 2013, one week after the passing of former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, who you will recall had a reputation of being a bit of a ball-buster, guess what song was #2 on the British pop music charts?

“Ding Dong, The Witch Is Dead”. From 1939.

That’s cold.

I have never to my knowledge, at least when I was sober, gagged a lolly, nor attempted to do so, and I can’t help but wonder what impact, if any, this has had on my ability/inability to play the flute. Be assured that I’m looking into this matter and will have a full report, along with evidence and indictments, within 120 days. We will also be investigating the possible (alleged) collusion of the Cap’n John For President 2020 campaign with the Burmese (rhymes with “striptease” and “spring breeze”) as well.

It’s called “Foreign Accent Syndrome” and I can personally attest to the pervasiveness and debilitating nature of this horrid syndrome; I once ate an entire box of Entenmann’s Raisin Cinnamon English muffins (with butter melted into them while they were hot, and with a big glass of cold milk…yes) right before I fell asleep and woke up alternately singing “God Save The Queen” and doing Freddie Mercury impersonations.

I find it sadly ironic (and fiendishly funny) that Girl Scout Cookies, one of the most addictive drugs known to mankind throughout the world, are mentioned in an article (see link below) that tells of the marketing of these dangerous, insidious concoctions by their fanatic sellers outside a “potshop”, where a harmless, medically sound substance is being provided to people with various and sundry afflictions and maladies, to alleviate their misery.

What a shame that we in any manner equate these two totally different, diametrically opposed substances to each other, although given the proclivities of cannabis, using one will most certainly lead to using the other.

Talk about a “gateway” drug…”yeah, man, when I first started with this shit, I was doing like a ½ box of Lemonades coupla’ times a week…now, fuck man, I’m up to 2-3 boxes of Thin Mints ever day, know-what-I’m-saying? It’s brutal, man.”

In no way was any of the above information of any value whatsoever to the ordinary common voter, but to a maniacal, determined Burmese dock worker, it was of the utmost importance and frivolity.


Love and knowledge, which should never be confused with “wisdom”,

Cap’n John


You guys know what you call a boat that lies on the bottom of the ocean and twitches…a nervous wreck. (Now you know why I didn’t try to make a living as a stand-up comic.)

But I gotta’ tell you, I’ve been a boat lying on the bottom of the ocean twitching this past week, as I narrowed it down to one from the list of the various and sundry candidates I was considering to be my running-mate in the Presidential race in 2020…

…that’s right, circulating fans, I am a candidate for President; my name is Cap’n John and I ain’t kidding.

You will recall from my post back on 1/25/18, “MY CANDIDATES FOR V.P.- A V.I.P., AN M.V.P., A GUY THAT SELLS S.T.P. AND A KID FULL OF C.R.A.P. (NOT IN THAT ORDER)”, that there were several qualified (?) individuals that I rejected early on for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which was in some instances gross incompetence, steadily increasing in severity, going all the way up to rampant and undignified mopery.

Putting (as in setting something in place, not the golf-stroke) the ol’ weedwacker in high gear, I tore through, excuse me, I carefully vetted them all, until one person rose above the rest, the cream to the top so to speak, the stepping forward of the best person to be my right-hand man, my Girl Friday and the guy that runs out to pick-up the pizza.

Of all the wannabes, he was the most wannabe…he was double-secret probation wannabe.

My fellow Americans, with great honor, humility and pecuniary I hereby announce that as of today, I have asked Mr. Theodore Roosevelt, the former President, Rough Rider, conservationist, outdoorsman and all-around good guy, to be my Vice-Presidential candidate in the election in 2020. I believe strongly that with my leadership skills, savvy, bullshit, excuse me, experience and devastating good looks, coupled with everything that “Teddy” brings to the table, including San Juan Hill and an awesome ‘stache, we will be an unbeatable combo. We will conserve, we will defend with vigor, we will negotiate with integrity and we will fear no one under 5’4” tall.

I am excited to begin the official campaign with Mr. R.

So far, I haven’t heard back from Teddy’s camp…one of those occasional, annoying communications screw-ups, I’m sure. Like Hillary’s emails.

(Phone rings) Ah, that’s probably Teddy or one of his “people” now…

”Hello, CJ speaking.”

“Hi, Taffie…”

“Oh, he is…I didn’t know that. Shit, that changes everything. Shit.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, all right, thanks for letting me know.”

That was my Second Mate, Ms. Taffie Wetzel, who spell/content-checks my posts as I write them…she tells me that Mr. Roosevelt is dead. Happened back in 1909. Over a hundred years ago.

Hey, I’ve been busy, I missed the obit in the paper, all right?


This was my guy…he said to speak softly and carry a big stick, and that every reform movement has a lunatic fringe, that if you believe you can you’re halfway there and that Republicans are crooked lying douche canoes. (Okay, I made up the last one.) Shit, now what the hell do I do? Teddy was perfect, plus he’s loaded (come on, he’s a Roosevelt, are you kidding me?), which was a BIG plus. Damn, now he can’t even endorse me.

I wonder if Rocky and Bullwinkle are available?

Love and coroners,

Cap’n John

Post Script…The names have been changed to confuse the guilty.

Post Post Script…back to the drawing board. Shit.


There’s a scene in the movie Amadeus (rating=**********1/2 out of 5 stars) where Wolfgang Mozart, though arguably the greatest composer of classical music of all time, as portrayed in the eponymous movie is a certifiable wack-job, is in a milliner’s shop trying on wigs, and not able to make up his mind which he likes best. At one point in the scene he bursts out with, “Oh, they’re all so beautiful, I wish I had three heads!” and gives out this crazy high-pitched giggle, to the delight of the shop-owner and his helpers.

If the “wearing of many hats”, i.e., having multiple jobs/responsibilities is any criteria, I could use a couple more heads as well, preferably quite a bit better looking than the one I currently have.

As most of know by now, besides being the Captain and Master of the R U Kidding, as well as a newly-announced major candidate for President in the 2020 election (Vote Hearty Party!), I am also employed by Publix Supermarkets here in Florida as a part-time Front Service Clerk, a title so grandiose, as compared to the duties attendant thereto, that it is laughable. What I really do is bag groceries, help people to their cars with said groceries, chase carts and tease the cashiers, most of whom think I’m a cutie. (Little do they know.) “Bagger” is a much more accurate and down to earth title, but that’s way too mundane for Pubics and their sense of jargon.

FYI, although I love to bust their chops re their self-inflation, Publix was named once again in the Market Force Collection’s survey as the Top Grocery Chain in the country, tying with Wegmans, a chain that operates mostly in the mid-Atlantic region, with a 77% customer approval rating. (To give you a frame of reference, Whole Foods came in at 61%, Kroger at 57% and Walmart at -45%.)

Publix has also been named one of the top places in America to work, according to the annual survey done by Forbes magazine, for 20 years running (1998-2017).

So I guess I should stop picking on them…nah.

The other hat that I keep having to don is that of advisor to the lovelorn; since I started the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog, I have received letters, texts, emails, postcards, messages by carrier pigeon, smoke signals and notes in bottles (hey, I live less than 2 miles from the Gulf of Mexico), from folks asking for advice on their love-lives or lack thereof.

As I have done several times previously, I would like to share some of these pathetic, excuse me, heart-rending missives with you…don’t laugh, this could be you writing in someday.

“Dear Cap’n John:

                I’m a guitar player and singer, and have played in a bunch of great bands over the years I’ve been a musician, along with a number of other great players; sadly, I’ve fallen in love with the wife of another guitarist who is one of my best friends. His lady is beyond beautiful, with long, silky blond hair, big blue eyes, a sweet personality and three breasts. I’m obsessed with her and have even written songs about her…I don’t want to bust up their marriage, but I can’t get her off my mind. So here’s my question: I’ve always played Strats before, because I love that piercing high, trebly tone, but lately I’m starting to incline to the Les Paul, to get that fat sustain when it’s run through a Marshall stack and cranked to 14. What do you suggest?

                Pickin’ and Not Grinnin’ in Tulsa”

                Dear Pickin’:

Stay with the Strat…that fat Gibson neck plays like a washboard.

“Dear CJK:

                I’m the President of a major country, and a gazillionaire to boot, as well as being a stable genius, able to recognize pictures of giraffes. I had an affair with a porn star/stripper a few years ago, while I was married to my third, I think it was my third, yeah, my third wife, paid her off (the stripper) to keep her mouth shut and tried to forget her; trouble is, now that the media has found out and brought her back onto my radar screen, I can’t get her off my mind. She’s a beautiful blond woman with big blue eyes and three breasts. What should I do? Should I invade North Dakota, or wherever that crazy Rocket Man guy is located, or nuke the Washington Post?

                King Donald the First”

Dear King:

                You are such a dweeb.

“Honorable Cap’n John:

                I recently met a young girl at a party at her parent’s home, and I am in love! Problem is, her parents and mine hate each other, and will never let us be together. I spent one night with her and it was ecstasy, but now because I killed her cousin, the Prince is pissed and has exiled me to Cleveland. I so hate to leave her, for parting is such sweet sorrow, but I must. Do you think the stripper with the three breasts who had the affair with that dweeb in Washington is available?

                RM in Verona”

Dear RM:

                Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs…whatever that means.

“Cap’n John Krissongs:

                Since you have ignored all our efforts to collect this debt…”

                Okay, never mind this one.

“Dear Cap’n John:

                I’m a single woman in my late 20s and live in a large apartment complex with several pools that I like to hang out at…I’m into fitness and tanning. There’s this cute guy that I keep seeing around the recreation area, and I think he has noticed me as well…problem is, although I know he’s aware of me, he hasn’t made a move. I’m wondering if it’s because I have three breasts. What can I do to attract his attention, besides wear a regular bikini and let one hang out with a name tag on it?

                Poolside Patty the Third”

                Dear Patty:

                What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.

Well, boys and girls, that’s about as much frivolity as my ancient heart can stand…under love’s heavy burden do I sink. Would that I had three heads.

Love and William S.,

Cap’n John


Okay, so what the hell is “fricasseed duck”, anyway? Yeah, I could Google it and find out, but I wanted to see if you guys knew. Is it mandatory for certain types of ducks? Do the ducks mind? Is it a “kinky” thing for them? Are they still located in Anaheim? Could you fricassee a spatula? Enquiring minds want to know, believe me. (Remember that ad campaign from a few years ago for the National Enquirer…could you fricassee an Enquirer reader?)

Just curious.

That’s all well and good, but it isn’t the topic of today’s post, nor is the fact that I’m sitting here in my underwear at 2:53 a.m. writing this…that’s “a.m.” as in “it am really fricasseeing early in the morning and I should be asleep rather than sitting here asking my readers about fricasseed spatulas, thank you”.

Digression, thy name is Cap’n John.

Ever since I announced my candidacy for President in the 2020 election, I have had to undertake all sorts of grown-up activities, such as establishing a political party (voters, say hello to the new “Hearty Party”), creating a PAC for extorting funds, excuse me, soliciting funds from donors, selecting a running mate and setting up a campaign apparatus (almost as good a word as fricassee) with a campaign manager to be in charge and make all kinds of big-person decisions, like where to direct our campaign efforts, where to spend the money we take in, how best to “get the vote out”, whether we should collude with the Burmese and other “getting elected” issues.

Shit, the most important decision I ever had to make previous to declaring was what color underwear I should put on in the morning. (I have a nice pair of “cerise” that I really like, but I only wear them at home…I’m scared that if I wear them when I’m going someplace that I’ll have the proverbial car-wreck and the ER people will see them and laugh their asses off. You should Google “cerise”…it’s really pretty.)

So as a major pain in the ass, excuse me, major Presidential candidate, I have “departments” in my organization that are responsible for certain aspects of the campaign, such as fund-raising, demographics, voter turn-out, fricasseeing, etc., and they report to me periodically, through my “camman”, and I’ve decided to share some of their reports with you, mostly because I feel like it.

So there.

Plunging right in…

~From the Good Thing The Car Didn’t Have Wings Or The Guy Would Have Wound Up In Cleveland Department comes a report of a man who, while driving at a high rate of speed, which had to be roughly that of light I would think, hit a median, got the car airborne and crashed into a SECOND FLOOR DENTIST’S OFFICE. Of course, I’m sure if it had been a real-estate office this wouldn’t have happened.

~From the It’s A Contraction Of The Word “Ugly” Department comes this news that the company that makes Uggs boots has added a new item…thigh-high Uggs. That’s right, exhaust fans, you can now get the nasty, totally hideous footwear in a “super-size” that goes all the way up to near your private area. It’s hard to imagine ever being that cold, or that fashion ignorant.

~From the Apparently Moving To Florida Wasn’t An Option Department, scientists  (why does that word always sound slightly accusatory to me when I use it) now tell us that evidence has been found (a human jawbone) in a cave in Northern Israel indicating that homo sapiens moved out of Africa approximately 180,000 years ago, or about 60,000 years earlier than they previously thought. (Why can’t these “science guys” ever get it right the first time?) However, no ticket stubs or travel brochures were found in the cave, so the method of transportation or what alternative destinations were considered is still unknown.

~From the We Were Bored And Couldn’t Think Of Anything Else To Do Department comes this report that a woman, who used the online name Alexandra58, came home from a shopping trip to find that her “boyfriend and mother-in-law” (her words…and I certainly hope that’s two different people) had decided to shave her baby’s head, thinking it would make the child’s hair grow in “better”; there was no comment from the baby, but the mother was contacted by the ad agency representing Uggs boots about using the child as a model.

~From the Best Idea To Ever Come From A Politician Department was this report on the town of Dorset MN, where they determine a town mayor every two years by drawing names of residents out of a hat, telling us that three-year old Robert Tufts was recently “elected”. His governing style? “Being nice and no poopy talk”. Are you listening, President Tweety Bird?

~From the So Is His Middle Name “Cookie”? Department I learned that the Sesame Street character Cookie Monster actually has a first name…wait for it…it’s Sid. This was announced by the SS people to dispel rumors that the blue-haired, cookie-grubbing animal’s first name was actually Arnold.

~From the So I Assume They Think “STD” Is An Oil Additive Department comes the report that a study done back in 2015 revealed that 11% of Americans think that the term “HTML” is actually an acronym for some kind of horrible disease. The study further found that these same 11% couldn’t find their butts with a flashlight, a map and two hands.

And finally (thank the gods)…

From the I Have An Ex-Girlfriend That Does That Same Thing Department, I was told that lobsters have a bladder on both sides of their heads (who doesn’t?) and communicate and express emotions by urinating on each other, giving a whole new meaning to the term “pissed off” (or pissed on, as the case may be).

I will leave you all with this quote from Ian Malcolm, the mathematician from author Michael Crichton’s books Jurassic Park and The Lost World…”The characteristic human trait is not awareness but conformity, and the characteristic result is religious warfare. Other animals fight for territory or food; but uniquely in the animal kingdom, human beings fight for their ‘beliefs’. The reason is that beliefs guide behavior”. 

I believe it’s time for me to quit…I have to go fricassee a duck.

Love and department stores,

Cap’n John

Post Script…wouldn’t “Pool Noodle” be a great name for a rock band?


As many of you loyal readers of my blog, Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding, are aware, I recently announced my candidacy for President, to run in the 2020 election; this was initially in response to the wave of support for Ms. Oprah Winfrey to run in 2020, based on her stirring speech at the Golden Globes several weeks ago. (See my post “LET’S THROW A POLITICAL PARTY!” 1/10/18) Most recently, there have been articles touting John Kerry and Mitt Romney as potential candidates (see links below), as well as Joe Biden, Bernie “Colonel” Sanders and a host of other Republican and Democratic Pres wannabes.

I will kick all their butts…I’m Cap’n John and I ain’t kidding.

As you are also most certainly aware by now, America has responded with great enthusiasm for my campaign as well…a groundswell is already building. My new political party, the Hearty Party, has been formed and a PAC (The Cap’n At The Wheel 2020) has been created and is busily extorting money, excuse me, raising funds for the campaign from excited donors, a preliminary statement of the Hearty Party’s “planks” has been issued (see my post “POLITICAL CAMPAIGNS FOR $500, ALEX” 1/18/18) and now I believe it is time to name my running mate, the Hearty Party’s candidate for Vice President.

Before I give you this exciting news, I thought I would take  a moment (I’ll put it back later) and discuss what was involved in this momentous decision; remember, as it is said, the VP is only a failed Heimlich maneuver away from the Presidency. 

I considered, and listened closely to the advice and counsel of my advisers and counselors, a number of well-qualified persons for this most important office, using as a criteria their background in government, their academic achievements, their positions on the issues, their willingness to serve, their criminal record and how small a salary they would accept. (Minimum wage was discussed in some cases.)

My first choice was ex-President Harry Truman (see above photo)…sadly, although I believe he was one of our greatest Presidents, Harry is dead, which pretty much took him out of the running.

My next choice was Flo, the Progressive Insurance lady, but she is WAY creepy, and a staunch Republican as well, so we dropped her like a broken elevator.

Next we thought of Miley Cyrus; the feeling was that she would be a great help with the “yah, yah” vote, but that tongue and that constant peace-sign shit was too much. (Miley, FYI…back in my day, the peace sign had real meaning; my generation was trying to end an unjust war that our government was waging at the time, against a nebulous enemy in a foreign land where we weren’t welcomed, done mostly to enrich various already huge corporations; we were being sent to battle like lambs to the slaughter, and the “peace sign” was a reminder of our solidarity and our opposition to being killed in copious numbers by our government for no apparent gain. Seeing you and your idiot millennial buddies using it as a “cutesy” gesture is offensive in the extreme. Shithead.) 

We briefly considered Stormy Daniels, but despite her ginormous boobers, which was for some of my staff a big “plus”, you’ll pardon it, the connection to President Tweety Bird was a definite turn-off, so we dropped her, although there was some talk of making her Official Stripper of the Cap’n John For Pres campaign.

There was a momentary fascination with NASCAR legend Richard Petty, as well as New England Patriot quarterback Tom Brady, but both were rejected for being gazillionaire jocks, which we felt wouldn’t play in Peoria.

What was needed was someone with character, charisma, intelligence, integrity, a strong grasp of the issues and a well-developed sense of Frisco responsibility, although how the “City by the Bay”* was a factor I never understood. Obviously I met all the above criteria, but I couldn’t be my own VP candidate, or so I was informed by my advisers and counselors: if I died, I couldn’t succeed myself. Unless you believe in reincarnation.

The decision was agonizing…

The name will be forthcoming in my next post, so tune-in next week for “Cap’n John Names His V.P.”. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel.

Love and cliff-hangers,

Cap’n John

Post Script…just an FYI here, but I’m not considering Chris Christie from New Jersey…he would have exceeded our budget for Twinkies and Big Macs. 

Post Post Script…coming soon to a blog-post near you, Cap’n John’s “Masturbation Proclamation”.

*From the wonderful Tony Bennett song, “I Left My Heart In San Francisco and My Spleen In Cleveland”.