(Editor’s Note: Today’s post is dedicated to my good friend and comrade Robin…the world was deprived of a fine, decent lady when she wasn’t born twins. I have no idea what her “politics” are, but she’s a sweetie, no matter for whom she votes.)

It’s been cool down here in the Sunshine State over the past few weeks, with the lows overnight getting down into the upper 30’s on a couple of occasions; okay, it’s not the Antarctic, but for FL, that’s brisk. And of course the “natives” are all freezing, and griping about the weather as if there has never been another time in the entire history of the planet that the southern peninsula off the east coast of North America has had temperatures in the 30’s. I saw one lady go striding through the Publix grocery store where I work part-time dressed in a heavy, insulated coat, boots, a scarf and…wait for it…earmuffs. At the time the temperature outside was in the mid-40’s.


It’s certainly been cool enough to necessitate a light jacket or a sweatshirt if you’re going out, but dressing like you’re about to race in the Iditarod is a bit ridiculous. (I wonder if she had her dogs and sled parked outside?)

But the need to dress a little warmer recently led me to a discovery that I just had to share with you guys.

I was getting ready to go run some errands the other day, and in line with the depiction above of the weather conditions, I grabbed my fave black hooded sweatshirt off the shelf as I headed for the door. Being in a bit of a hurry and therefore not paying attention, I didn’t realize I had the sweatshirt backwards as I was pulling it over my head. As I brought it down, the hood, rather than falling forward in a neat fold, instead came straight down on the top of my cabeza (that’s Burmese for “llama intestines”) and parked itself thereon, completely covering my face, which I’m sure was a vast improvement over the uncovered version, leaving the back of my head totally exposed to the elephants. While I wouldn’t recommend this arrangement for driving an automobile, it is good for one thing…not seeing all the BS and nonsense that’s going on currently in America.

(Sounds of a phone ringing in the background…)

Excuse me…

“Cap’n John…”

“Yes, First Mate.”

“I wrote what? Oh, I didn’t notice that I had done that; thank you, Ms. Wetzel.”

That was my First Mate, Tammie Wetzel; she monitors my posts in real time for spelling/content and also tries to keep me from screwing up too badly…she tells me that word should be “ELEMENTS”.


Anyway, with the ongoing debate over the |WALL|, in addition to the stock market, global warming, President Trump, the shutdown, the Russia investigation, Trump, the Patriots’ 417th consecutive appearance in the Super Bowl, gun control, Trump, Congress, China and Russia, Trump, that roving asshole Mitch McConnell, the Iranians, the Saudis, the Burmese, Trump and his Insane Clown Posse of a Cabinet/advisors, all coming at us at the same time, all the time…boy, some days it just gets to be too much.

Pull the hood down over my eyes, men, I don’t want to see anymore.

But rather than be like an ostrich and bury my head in the hoodie, I have a better idea, one that I hope I can convince all of you, my loyal readers, to buy into…vote for me for President in 2020.

Yes, that’s right, circulating fans, the Cap’n is running for President…I will be the candidate for the Hearty Party in the next Presidential election.

You might recall that I originally announced my candidacy back in January of last year (LET’S THROW A POLITICAL PARTY!); at that time I also presented to the voters of America a number of positions that I hold with regards to the many issues that face our country today, including imitation, the economy, global warming, the 2nd Amendment and women’s rights, just to name a few.

(Phone begins to ring in the background…)

Shit…excuse me again.

“Cap’n John…”

“Yes, Ms. Wetzel.” (When the audio book of my blog comes out, you’ll be able to hear a bit of exasperation in my voice.)

“Oh, I see. All right, I’ll change that. Thank you, First Mate.”

That was First Mate Wetzel again, telling me that the word I wanted was “immigration”, not “imitation”.

I apologize for the confusion, my own in particular.

Anyway, I would like to take the time now (and good luck stopping me) to restate my views on various issues, and to give you all firm reasons to cast your vote for me, Cap’n John.


If you read my comments on this most exasperating of the issues that confront America today from my post last January (POLITICS CAMPAIGNS FOR $500, ALEX), you’ll note that I addressed the problem of “imitation”, which as far as I know isn’t a pressing dilemma for our country right now, but Mr. Trump’s goofy idea that we need a wall on our southern border to slow the influx of illegal immigrants, drug dealers, rapists, dumbfucks, international terrorists and who knows what other undesirables most certainly is. I agree with the need for a wall to be built, but I believe it should be built on our NORTHERN border rather than southern, to slow the influx of the “Canadian influence”; keep in mind, it was the Canadians that introduced hockey to the United States, and I for one do not intend to ever forgive them for doing that. Just what I want to see as “sports entertainment”, a bunch of stupid-looking Neanderthals with no front teeth squaring off with and wailing the shit out of each other, retaliation for some perceived slight that occurred while the teams were skating back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, allegedly playing hockey, and for the entire time the fighting continues, the fans are throwing dead fish, hats, cups of beer, snowblowers and eberts onto the ice. Oh yeah, that’s entertaining. Build the wall up North…the next crazy idea we’ll import from Canada is probably socialized medicine, and who wants to have quality medical care paid for by the government?


This one is simple…men are stoopid and women are, generally, always right. Anybody with an IQ above the level of room temperature knows that.


Another easy one…yes. And as your President, I’ll make it free for all citizens over the age of 65 (I’m 67).


As I said back in January (POLITICAL CAMPAIGNS FOR $500, ALEX), I firmly believe that all Americans should have the opportunity for a 2nd chance…if at first you don’t succeed, get a bigger hammer, I always say. So absolutely, if you screw up the first time at something, you certainly have the right to a 2nd Amendment. I cannot understand why this is an issue.


I am not in favor of euthanasia at the exclusion of kids in America…let the Asian countries look after their own children.


Given the status of the weather here in Florida recently, and considering that many of our residents are currently freezing their butts off down here, yeah, I’m in favor of global warming, and I think it had better come to the Sunshine State pretty damn fast, thank you.


When I’m elected President, I will immediately make several moves to further enhance the American economy; first, I will present to Congress legislation that will address a number of problems we have with commerce, including but not limited to the high price of marijuana, the rescinding of sheriffs for Chinese and other imported products (why we need law enforcement to monitor imports from overseas is beyond me), the procreation of municipal bond debentures, the acquisition of defrauded commodity ankles…

(Phone begins ringing again…)


“Cap’n John…”

“YES, First Mate Wetzel, what is it now?”

“It’s what?”

“Yes, I’ll see to that immediately, thank you.”

Ms. You Screwed Up Again Wetzel informs me that the word I wanted above was “tariffs” not “sheriffs”; geez, she can be such a snot sometimes.

I see from the word-counter at the bottom of my screen that I have reached a point of no return, which was a pretty good song by the rock group Kansas back in the late 70’s, and that I need to wrap this up.

More later.

And besides, why shouldn’t I run for Pres? I mean, what does Elizabeth Warren have that I don’t have, other than looks, brains, talent and a Native American tipi in her back yard?

Love and ballots,

Cap’n John

Post Script…FYI, an “ebert” (see above) is a small, furry mammal of the Saskatchewanis ebertis genus that has rather prominent, flat ears, enormous genitalia and is indigenous to Canada.

Post Post Script…Here’s the link to Kansas’ “The Point of Know Return”…enjoy.



Since announcing my candidacy for President in 2020 two days ago (campaign slogan…”My Name Is Cap’n John And I Ain’t Kidding”), I have been virtually non-stop doing candidate-type activities…you know, forming a political party, which entails getting the chips and dip, the liquid refreshments, the invites sent out, etc., as well as creating a PAC (when I said the other day in my announcement post, see “LET’S THROW A POLITICAL PARTY!” 1/10/18, that I thought “PAC” was the Burmese word for “crook”, I was mistaken…it’s actually the Attic Greek word for “lying thieves”; I just wanted to clarify that), raising money, determining what the “planks” will be for my new party’s platform, soliciting donations, writing speeches, raising money, kissing babies, seeking donors and raising money.

Not in that order, of course.

So I thought I would take a short break from all this political frivolity and discuss just how fucking weird things are here in Florida. (Another great segue, from the master of same.)

I moved here to the Sunshine State, where the state motto is (true) “In God We Trust” (I understand the guy who thought this up is now working at an ad agency writing commercial jingles for Edsel automobiles) back in August of 2015; my thought was to immerse myself in the atmosphere of Florida by coming in the absolute hottest, most humid month of the year, you know, just to get a feel for the “real” FL.

What I have found, to date, is that Florida is a) stormy, b) possessed of the most varied collection of wildlife you can imagine, which includes about a bajillion little brown anoles lizards and bugs the size of a Hummer that fly, c) hot and humid, d) the home of some of the weirdest people in captivity, e) very humid, f) colorful and g) extremely humid. Again, not necessarily in that order.

Those are the high points.

This whole “weird Florida” thing started a few weeks ago when I saw an article in the Tampa Bay Times (motto: All The News Sometimes) about iguanas showing up in people’s toilets. (See link below under the heading “What, Are You Kidding Me?”) 

Rather than rehash the article here, I’ll let you guys check it out yourselves…besides, what the hell else can you say about people finding large, herbivorous lizards that are NOT indigenous to this area doing the backstroke in their commodes? Go ahead, I’ll wait while you think about that…all done?

So here we go, mateys, a compendium, which not a place you live in, of stories from the annals of “Things To Do In Florida When You’re Totally Baked”…or whatever.


       …yeah, Governor Scott, just exactly how the hell does that happen?



       …and I absolutely, positively guarantee you she was doing 45 MPH in the far left-hand lane when she was pulled over.



       …this young woman can eat an ice cream cone from the other side of the table.



       …this does give a whole new meaning to the term “doggy-style”.



       …isn’t it sad when flatulence breaks up a happy relationship?



       …hey, getting a short bag isn’t funny, okay?



       …you guys remember the old BK ad campaign that sang “It takes two hands to handle a Whopper”? (Reminds me of the story I read years ago about vandalism done to a local Mickey D’s… police found a brick that had been thrown through the front window of the restaurant with a note attached: ”You deserve a break today.”)



       …KK was arrested when found hanging around a local Burger King. (Okay, I made that part up.) 



       …thank you.

Love and electro-shock therapy,

Cap’n John

Post script…and even more finally, a woman riding an ostrich.



Now please, I understand that, if we’re speaking of other parts of the U.S., the winter weather here in the Sunshine State is mild by comparison; believe me, I get it. Hey, I spent the bulk of my adult years (“adult” as in chronology, not necessarily maturity) living on the frozen tundra of Northern Illinois…trust me, winter and I are well acquainted. (FYI, the above pic is from yesterday in Savannah GA.)

But the fact remains that, when you live in New Port Richey FL, where the average temperature in January runs between 50 and 72 degrees, finding frost on your windshield first thing in the morning is a bit of a shock. But that’s what I found this morning (01/04/2018) when I walked out of my apartment and to my car at 7:00am.

Frost, as in Jack, not David. 

Since I spend a great deal of my time at my part-time job as a Front Service Clerk for Publix Supermarkets (if Publix had a middle name, based on the titles they give their employees, it would have to be “grandiose”) out on the parking lot, either helping customers to their cars or chasing carts, in deference to the “brisk” conditions outside, I wore a sleeveless vest over a long-sleeved shirt today.

But you would have thought, judging from the outfits of the customers I saw coming into the store this morning, that the wind-chill in the area had dropped to -40 overnight…I mean, come on, people, are you kidding me? One lady came in wearing a parka, a woolen hat down over her ears, a wool scarf knotted around her neck, gloves and boots. (I’m assuming the long underwear.)

You would have thought she was about to go run the Iditarod. And she wasn’t the only one, by any means. 

Winter in Florida, thy name is overkill.

So let’s go back (“…let’s go back, let’s go back, let’s go way oh, way back when”…thank you, Aretha) to the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog in December, when the weather was still warm and the livin’ was easy, and relive some of the highlights, such as they are.


Tchaikovsky was most certainly spinning in his grave. Oh, and FYI, that’s STRAZ, not SPAZ, above…yeah, I made the same mistake the first time I heard the name as well; I remember thinking to myself, since no one else was there at the time, well, that’s pretty rude.”


Now please, let’s not everyone get all drippy and treacly here; no one ever dies of “aloneness”; at least I don’t think you can. (By show of hands, how many of you think “treacly” is a really cool word? Okay, put your hands down now.) I mean, there are worse things that could happen, liking having Donald Trump be elected President. Oh, that’s right, that actually happened, didn’t it?”

~From “TODAY’S SUBJECT WILL BE…” (12/16)…

A number of years ago, just prior to having some minor surgery performed at a local hospital, during the admitting process, the nurse who was taking information from me asked me if I had any other chronic complaints, to which I responded that I also suffered from what I thought of as a severe case of pecuniary strangulation. She duly noted this in my file and moved on to other questions.” 


The Mad Magazine “Spys” have their horse repossessed, due to non-payment of the loan.”


It seems that Mr. O is a 50-year-old married man, and has suffered from this allergy since the age of 19. Every time he ejaculates, Mr. O “experiences fever, weakness, exhaustion, loss of initiative, headaches, disordered speech, irritability, forgetfulness and frightening dreams, not to mention swollen lips and throat.” Yeah, not to mention. (Needless to say, puberty was the only time sex was any fun for this poor guy.) Further symptoms include loss of a day’s pay, halitosis, hemorrhoids, taxation without representation, voting Republican and rampant mopery.” 


And what part of “fuck you” didn’t you understand?”

Love and nostalgia,

Cap’n John

Post Script…just another FYI, but there will be a quiz on the above material tomorrow…

…after it warms up.


A number of years ago, just prior to having some minor surgery performed at a local hospital, during the admitting process, the nurse who was taking information from me asked me if I had any other chronic complaints, to which I responded that I also suffered from what I thought of as a severe case of pecuniary strangulation. She duly noted this in my file and moved on to other questions.

Nurse: “And did your bowels move this morning?”

Me: “No, to the best of my knowledge they’re still in the same place they were.” 

But that isn’t what I want to talk about today.

Awareness can be such a nebulous thing at times; prior to relocating to Florida back in 2015, like most people in America, I “knew” that the Sunshine State had a large percentage of senior citizen residents, a demographic class of which I had become a charter member several years earlier.

But “knowing” and “knowing” can be two different things indeed, because I hadn’t been living in New Port Richey (named for Lionel’s brother, a prominent local proctologist) for more than a few months when I realized, with a capital realize, that whoa, I’m up to my butt in wrinkles and gray hair down here.

But that isn’t what I want to talk about today.

Speaking of realizing and aging, another thing that has occurred to me recently is the increasing awareness I have that, any time it’s necessary for me to bend down for something, how much farther “down” becomes every year…it sure didn’t used to be that far away.

But that isn’t what I want to talk about today.

According to CBS affiliate KDBC in El Paso (I can never hear the phrase “El Paso” without thinking of Kinky Friedman’s hilarious send-up of Merle Haggard’s song Okie From Muskogee, “I’m Proud To Be An Asshole From El Paso”), 227 pounds of contraband bologna was recently seized by Customs and Border Protection agents from a woman attempting to enter the U.S. at the Paso Del Norte crossing (“Paso Del Norte” is Spanish for “boom shaka laka laka, boom shaka laka laka”). When questioned by the CBP agents, the woman admitted that she thought she was smuggling marijuana, but became suspicious of her cargo upon seeing how large and red the joints were.


But that isn’t what I want to talk about today.

I’ve been thinking about buying a new Cap’nmobile here lately…no particular reason necessarily; the old Edsel is still running pretty good, the mileage is still under a bajillion and it looks better than its owner, but I get bored with cars after a time and, being a conscientious American consumer, go buy a new one. I want another sports car, being addicted to tight turns and going up and down through the gears, and I saw this little cutie the other day (see below) and decided that it might be the one. Still thinking and weighing all options. 

But that isn’t what I want to talk about today.

I was looking for some music/lyrics to a song online the other day, and stumbled onto the sheet music for “Mary Had A Little Lamb” (honest), and I thought to myself, her family must have been shocked.

But that isn’t what I want to talk about today.

I looked this up (see below)…it’s true. 

Shit, now I can’t remember what the hell I wanted to talk about today…oh well, it’s time for my meds, so I’d better wrap this up.

Love and topics,

Cap’n John

Post Script…I will once again quote one of my fave comedians, Ron White…”I had the right to remain silent, I just didn’t have the ability.”

Guilty as charged.

Post Post Script…thank you, Kinky.



Apparently not wanting Pasco County and/or New Port Richey to forget her, Mother Nature decided that Hurricane Irma, back in September, wasn’t enough of a pain in the ass for this area, as well as the rest of Florida, but that maybe we should have a good ol’ Midwestern vintage tornado strike, and on Thanksgiving Day to boot, to remind us that she’s still here and still has the same ill-tempered attitude we’ve come to know and love (yeah, right) as Floridians.

You don’t like the weather here in Florida? No problem; wait ten minutes and it will change. (That’s an old Illinois joke, but very applicable here in the, dare I say it, Sunshine State.)

A tornado. We had a fucking tornado on Thanksgiving in NPR, about two miles north of where I live, as a matter of fact. Shit, it isn’t even tornado season in the Midwest, the home of the circular storm…it was like living in Missouri and having an earthquake. (Actually, Missouri DOES have earthquakes, and as far as I’m concerned, they richly deserve them.)

A tornado. In Florida. In late November. I’m going to get my affairs in order, get my will updated and will not be starting any long-term projects, ‘cause if that isn’t a sign of the impending apocalypse, my name isn’t Amelia Earhart.

I was catching up with a friend yesterday on the phone, and he was asking me about my experiences during Irmageddon, and as we were talking I realized that, in my lifetime, I have lived through a) a hurricane, b) a fair number of tornadoes, c) several earthquakes (including one that was about a 6.0 on the Richter, which scared the shit outta’ me), d) the annual Southern California brush fires, one of which, back in 2013, made it to about 5 miles from where I lived in Sherman Oaks, e) a really bad hailstorm back in the ‘80s, which was so fierce that is actually damaged my car, f) the four worst winters in the history of the Chicago area and g) being a Dodgers fan. (So far.)

Sorry, Ms. Nature, but you can take your shitty weather and jam it. (Reminds me of those old Parkay margarine commercials, where the actress playing MN says, after being faked out by Parkay, making her think it was real butter, that it isn’t nice to fool Mother Nature…every time she got fooled, she’d toss a lightning bolt down on some unsuspecting deer or brown bear, scorching the living shit outta’ the poor thing; these days she’s using Florida as a punching bag.)

FYI, this is the sign you see on all the roads entering FL, right behind the “Welcome to the Sunshine State” billboards.

Speaking of really excellent science fiction movies (yeah, I know, we weren’t, but I didn’t have a good segue here, so I said, screw it, damn the tornadoes and full speed ahead), TCM showed “Forbidden Planet” the other night, and even though I’ve seen this movie roughly seven gazillion times, I watched it and, as with every time I’ve seen it, loved it. 

“Planet” (which was loosely based on William Shakespeare’s “The Tempest”, a play about storms that WS wrote after living in Florida for several years) was the first “big budget” sci-fi flick, coming in at just under $2 million, which was serious money back in 1956, when the movie was released. It was groundbreaking for its time, and influenced such artists as Rod Serling, Gene Roddenberry (the creator of “Star Trek”), George Lucas and many others.

For me, the most memorable sequence in the movie is the discovery of what is behind the mysterious evil force that killed all the original settlors on Altair-4, the planet on which the movie takes place, and is now, with the arrival of a search/rescue ship from Earth, menacing the crew-members of the ship, killing several and generally scaring the crap out of everyone else. Without rehashing the entire plot, the entities that are stalking the ship are a creation of the mind of Dr. Morbius, the lone survivor of the original settlors ship and the reluctant host of the Earth-based rescuers… called (I love this) “monsters from the id”. (According to WikiPedia, the id is “the set of uncoordinated instinctual trends” existing in each person’s mind…thank you, Sigmund.) Basically, Dr. Morbius was creating, from his “id”, the monsters that were attacking the new arrivals. (Long story how this happened, but take my word for it, okay? And here’s how the Id Monster looked in the movie.)

And Anne Francis, who played Morbius’ daughter, Altaira, was way, totally hot in this movie…as Wayne and Garth once commented, if she were a President, she would have been Baberaham Lincoln. Racy shit for 1956. (Here’s Robby the Robot, Morbius’ servant (right) trying to look up Alta’s dress, the perv.) 

TCM is showing “The Dirty Dozen” tonight…another great flick, with no monsters of any type that I can recall (Robert Ryan plays an asshole, but I wouldn’t say he was a monster).

I’m going to watch it, assuming we don’t have a flood, a plague of locusts or a complete reversal of all matter in the universe, moving outward at the speed of smell from a point 2456.395 parsnips WNW from Altair-4, which is located in the lower left oblique quadrant of the Snickers solar system. (Three Musketeers? Payday? I know it’s a candy bar.)

Of course, if another channel was showing “Twister”, I’d probably watch that…Helen Hunt is just as hot as Anne Francis, as far as I’m concerned.

Love and barometers,

Cap’n John