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


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