I stand before you (symbolically only, I always write in my underwear), a vindicated man…I have risen above, triumphant! Where are the critics now, the so-called pundits (FYI, the word “pundit” comes from the Ancient Greek word, “pundidelios”, which means “a person who believes that they are an expert in some field or another and further believes he/she is REALLY cool when everyone else thinks they’re pretty much an asshole”), the detractors, the “nay-sayers” if you will, all those who were so quick to judge, so quick to say “it will never happen”, where are they now, I ask?

I am pumped…I could schedule a 15-rounder with Ali in his prime right now, knowing I would last just long enough for The Champ to uncork a hard right to my jaw and knock me spang on my ass.


(Now, the question at this juncture…should I get on with the explanation or draw out the “suspense” a little longer? Cuttin’ to the chase, baby.)

Despite all of the distractions, I am happy to report to you, my loyal crew, that as of today, Sunday, October 15th, the Welcome Aboard The R U Kidding blog celebrates its…


That’s right, K-Mart shoppers (and how many of you remember that little bit of retail history?), it was two weeks ago today, on a day that will live in infamy, that the WATRUK blog was launched.

I could just plotz…I won’t, but I could. (Not sure how.)


(Check out Was/Not Was…”K-Mart Wardrobe”, above)

(In fact, here’s another great Was/Not Was tune…just because I feel like it.)

Did I mention I was going camping? I didn’t? Good, because I’m not.

With all due respect to camping enthusiasts, what a truly monumental waste of time…oh good, let’s haul our fat butts out to the woods, pitch an effin’ tent, which, I am quick to point out, has no hot/cold running anything, roll around in the poison ivy searching for the effin’ Frisbee, eat half-cooked or burnt food cooked over an effin’ campfire, sleep on the effin’ ground and hope against hope that we will not be a) zipped inside a sleeping bag with a young coral snake or b) sprayed by an annoyed skunk that was in the midst of an amorous interlude that we interrupted or c) eaten by a effin’ bear. (The idea of exiting this life coming out of the south end of a northbound bear is just too depressing. And yes, a bear does that in the woods.)

Staying with the “celebration” theme, in other news this evening, residents of Florida were jubilant today over the fact that another 24 hours had passed without a fucking hurricane. (We’re STILL digging out down here, to one degree or another, from Irma…it’s like a plague from the Bible, Floridians chapter 20, verse 17.)

Hey, I know my Bible, lemme’ tell you…here, check this out, off the top of my head:

-Amphibians chapter 10, verse 25…”Verily, I say unto you that Amos begat Tobias, who begat Phineas, who then begat Ursal, who did the begat boogie and brought us Joshua, who followed with a great begat to bring about Ezekial, who, after a failed attempt to begat with Sheila and tired of all the begetting in general, said piss on it and moved to Damascus, where he got a job as a mattress tag inspector.”

-Excretions 10, Giants 6…”And there was a great rending sound, and an enormous abyss was opened, deep into the very bowels of the Earth, with fire and brimstone, and flames of great size leapt up at the walls of the abyss, a conflagration of immense heat, and a voice came out of the black, fiery night and said, “YES, DODGERS UP ONE ZIP OVER THE CUBS, YES!”

I’ll admit to some paraphrasing.

Love and cathedrals,

Cap’n John

Post Script…Cubs/Dodgers, Game 2, 2017 NLCS, tonight, from Dodger Stadium in L.A.

Post Post Script…Did I mention the Dodgers beat the Cubs last night to take a 1-0 lead in the NLCS? Oh, okay, sorry, just wasn’t sure I had brought it up.

Post Toasties…and per Emily Ratajkowski (I assume she’s Irish)…

End of transmission.




I started playing drums when I was a few months short of my 14th birthday, played all through high school in a number of “garage bands” (these bands ranged on the Cap’n John Suck Meter from “awful” all the way up to “moderately tolerable”), switched to guitar when I was 17+, and rest, as they say, is geography.

I was a member of a couple of pretty good groups, one in particular back in 1973-4…we played around the northern Illinois and lower Wisconsin area and there was talk of agents and record contracts for a time, and then we fell apart and the earth continued to turn.

But I don’t think you ever lose the desire, or the dreams…

Hey, I can dream, okay?

And as long as we’re on the subject of “air guitars”…


And speaking of “concept cars” (yeah, okay, we weren’t, but we could have been, right?), by applause, how many of you think this vehicle looks like a Corvette, a late-model Firebird, an old Chevy Corvair, a great white shark, a french horn, a raisin bagle and a couple of gallons of electric blue paint, all thrown together into a REALLY big blender and shuffled around for a few minutes.

The car was part of the CERV series of experimental vehicles produced by Chevy, (I believe the acronym stood for “Chimney Elf and Rhino Vaginas” but don’t quote me), and although the program has been going on since back in the ’60s, the version you see below was built in 1990.

Given that the vehicle has two front ends, the transmission did not have an “R” position, but instead two “D” slots, allowing it to go forward in both directions, while still going nowhere, much like the Republican Party over the past two decades.


Now here was a great car…I owned this little beauty back in the mid-80s, and I still miss it a bunch. A 1974 Porsche 914, which had a mid-engine mount, AIR-COOLED, fuel-injected flat-four, as well as a targa top, a 5-speed trans, all the Porsche handling and suspension tricks and it was a fun little driver. It was just at 100 horsepower, but the car was so light, it still got up and went when called upon to do so.

Geez, creeping nostalgia has overtaken me…gah, I’m being consumed, help, I’m being sucked under, help me, help me, Obi Wan, you’re my last hope, ahhhhhhhh……..never mind.

If I’m ever forced to grow up, it’ll probably kill me.

Love and 33 LPs,

Cap’n John

Post Script…Dodgers against the winner of the Nats/Cubs series for the League Championship, coming soon to a baseball field somewhere.

Think Blue, you mangy dogs.

Post Post Script…from the cartoonist Wiley…”Knowledge Ruins Everything”; using this as your postulate, and making a (guarded) assumption of the accuracy of the opposite statement, that ignorance is therefore everything, then proving incompetence in our current administration becomes pro forma. (“Pro forma” is Latin for “morons”, as you may recall.)

Post Toasties…

Think Blue, mateys…

Okay, everyone, take five…smoke’m if you got’em…