joe dreck
July 30, 2004

For Joe Dreck (a k a The Captain) life is not an email but an email can be life.
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Subject: Visions; have ya' got any? Or twenty?
Date: Thursday, July 29, 2004 4:01 AM

Since we are nearin' election time we're gonna be hearin' a lot about Vision. Y'know, whose got em' and who don't. How bout you, boyz and gurlz? Are you sufferin' from a lack of vision? Are you one of the millions of Amerikans, whose Self-Esteem is in the basement... because ya' have no blueprints for yer future? When others are sharin' their “visions” must you remain embarrassingly quiet? Pretending to be engrossed...when in fact, ya' have nothin' to contribute! When ya' walk into a room, do ya' hear the buzz? Can ya' hear them?

"He/she, has no vision at all! Can you imagine? Really! There's just no excuse In this day and age."

Do ya' wish ya' could curl up into a ball, and as to not hear the derisive laughter and snide remarks that trails you, like a piece of toilet tissue on yer shoe?

Well, if this sounds like you, perhaps I can help! Course' ya' realize there are visions...and then, there are VISIONS!

Now ya' may be lookin' for a vision of “educational reform” or “urban sprawl” or something along those lines. Talk to James Carville or somebody like that. I'm talkin' here about really cool visions.

Y'know, lots of visuals, colors, trailers and kick-ass audio effects, etc, etc. In other words, everything ya' could ask for in a vision.

Sometimes, even conversations of a revelatory nature with Higher Beings. Many report experiences of Expanded Consciousness, although bein' subjective, these are hard to verify.

Ya' may find yerself leavin' yer body for brief periods of time...or, on the other hand, eons may have passed. Who knows? Since 'Time' Unknowable…don'cha see? Who can say?

I remember one time, during one of my own visions — oh,.this was around ’67 — there wuz a period of timelessness…there wuz no Time...”Time” went away, and left no forwarding address. There was only Me...and the VOID. And “Me” consisted of nothin' more than a Sentient Entity, entirely bereft of body. I couldn't see anything at all except a vast grey, totally featureless Void, and after existin' there for an Eternity, I became aware of the convulsive vibrations of the Universe in my mind, since, I had no body to feel them with....and the vibrations got louder and louder, like a giant heart pulsing all around me. And the pulsing got so Intense that I thought my “Being” wuz goin' to disintegrate!...and I heard voices out in the Void...and I recognized one of them, and I said,

"Linda is that you?"

And she said, "Yes..... are you all right?"

and I said, "I don't know...what's going on? Where are you? And...where am I?"

And she said, "We're Here!"

And I said, "Where's Here?"

And she said, " my living room...and you have your face in the ashtray."

And I said, "Goddamit!!, I'm Serious!...what's happening?"

And she said once again, "I AM serious Charley! You have your face in the ashtray!",

And I said, "Are my eyes open?"

And she said, "Yes"

And that Really wasn't what I wanted to hear, since I thought I was in the Cosmic Void, you see…rather than havin' my face in an ashtray, with my eyes wide open in Linda's' living room. She said,

"Why don't you sit up?"

I said, "Sheeit. I can't sit up! How'm I gonna sit up? Sit what up?? I have no body to sit up... don't you understand? I'm here in the middle of the Void and I have no body."

And she said" "Well...just try!!".

You can see the dilemma here, can't ya'? See...when ya' have no body at's hard to make yer non-existent body do anything!...cuz....y'know...there is no body THERE! But I tried mightily...and suddenly, everything came into focus and I saw all the peoples in the room and I was sittin' on her sofa, leanin' over the grey marble coffee table, and laughin' uncontrollably.

It seems that earlier, I had...”gone into” what appeared to be a three-dimensional world of swirls (the marble top of the coffee table) and as I slowly went deeper and deeper in....the ashtray sitting...and so, I sat there with the bridge of my nose resting on the edge of the tray thereby causin' the “vibrations” I had experienced, while starin' at the patterns of the marble, other wise known as, "The Great Grey Void."

Of course, this may not be exactly the kind of vision yer looking for, especially, if yer running for some kind of political office. Your constituents may be sittin' there sayin', "Hey! Whoa there, Jim! What's all this cosmic void shit? We just wanna' know..."What's yer vision on inner city infra-structure reform?"

Like I said, check with Jimmy Carville on that one. I can't help ya' there!

Then, there wuz the time I used a giant Frito attached to the top of my head to go hang- glidin' over the city one night. It wuz a warm summer evening, crystal clear, and I could see the tiniest details below me, jus' like I had the eyes of an eagle. But hell, anytime you can go flyin', whether yer usin' a giant Frito or whether yer flying a bathtub, or whether yer flying superman-style, thas' always a cool vision.

Nothing is more fun than soarin' over the countryside, swoopin' down to tree top level and then shootin' straight up, increasing yer speed and watchin' the Earth recedin' until it's nothin' more than a pin point of light and....

Well anyway boyz and gurls, there are plenty visions out there. I'm sure if ya' keep lookin', ya' can find one on yer own without any help from me. And hopefully, yer vision won't be anything so droll as “education” or “campaign reform” or some other equally boring shit. the capt.

P.S. Ya' prolly don't believe this…but I had to omit many details so as to be as brief as possible.

Subject: Running for Fitness; the Myth debunked.
Date: Tuesday, July 27, 2004 6:56 PM

First off, let me make this assertion... NO ONE...OK, no one runs for fitness or health reasons! Like, nobody!! Peoples run solely to BE SEEN! Period.

Now some years ago, maybe a dozen or so peoples in this country ran for “fitness.” They put on their high top sneakers and their sweat pants and sweat shirts and ran some laps after hours around the deserted track at the local high school.

Today, it is absolutely de riguer to have color coordinated running outfits. These are a must. One simply must make a “fashion statement.” A person running about in sweat pants today would be the butt of many a derisive comment and considered some kinda ignorant “hayseed yahoo” who obviously knows nothing about “running!”

Who in the world would consider runnin' around a deserted football track with no one about, when one can run thru the Plaza and be the object of many an envious glance. I see these cute young things runnin' in the Plaza with their pony tails swishin' back and forth and when they come to a stoplight and must pause. They can't actually stop, you see, they stand there joggin' in place, bouncin' up and down, kickin' this leg out, then the other as they spin around in circles waitin' for the light to change. They also must assume a haughty, distanced mien too, as tho they were totally unaware that anyone else was there and ogling them. They're unaware of all that you see. By the expression on their face they might just as well be on a deserted track for all the recognition they give their surroundings. Hey, they're jus out for a little run and lookin' fer some fitness! Thas' all.

Like, earlier I wuz drivin' along the west side of Loose Park, (a great place for duck hunting) near the tennis courts and there wuz this dude runnin' there in the street, comin' towards me, about four feet from the curb. At this particular place there are two running tracks that run parallel with each other and are within two or three feet of the street.

They just spent a month building this second track right next to the old track. The old track is perfectly fine, nada a fuckin' thing wrong with it, but some one convinced the city that the potholes could wait I guess. What we need, they said, is another runnin' track right next to the old track...So, there they are...two feet from the street...but this asshole is runnin' in the street! Fuck a bunch of runnin' tracks! Hell, he don' need no steeenking runnin' track! He's not givin' any ground either. He's not movin' even an inch towards the curb. He's like,

"Go ahead. Run me over. I dare ya'!"

I gotta' swerve around him you see to avoid squashin' im', which is what I wanted to do so bad, so very badly, I might add, but...yer not allowed to do that. Man, whas' up wit dat? These peoples and their stupid rules!! So as I go by him I yell out,

"Ya' stupid Fuckhead!! There are two runnin' tracks about three feet from ya'!" While I'm pointing to the tracks. This guy flips me the finger. Can ya' believe that? Peoples are sooo Rude these days, eh!

Well, ya' see, if that guy had been runnin' on one of the two tracks available to him there within feet of where he was, why hell, a person could have driven along that street and may not have even seen him! Wouldn't even have noticed. Sheeeit. But ya' see, his way...ya' couldn't miss him. And that wuz the point, ya' see. TO BE SEEN. The narcisstic punk! I swear, if that fuckin' mook had been rappin' on his cell phone too, I woulda' gone ahead and turned around and I WOULDA' run him over. Several times! Jus' to be sure! Jus' fer the sake of the gene pool.the cap't

Subject: Bein' thrifty
Date: Tuesday, July 27, 2004 3:44 PM
Last week, I wuz crusin' round town, just killin' some time y'know, and I realised I wuz real low on gas. I saw gas at one station fer $1.88 a gallon. I passed it by lokkin' fer a better deal. After a while I pulled into a QuikTrip figurin' that'd be as cheap as any place. But hell, gas wuz $1.92 there. "Sheeit" I said out loud; I coulda saved 4 cents a gallon if I had bought it earlier. On ten gallons, that's like, forty cents savings. So I pulled out of there and decided to gas up later at the cheaper station. Ten minutes later...I ran out of fucking gas!!

No shit! In the middle of no where. Man, I wuz pissed. So I called AAA for road assistance and sat in the hot sun for an hour waiting to have some gas delivered. When the dude finally showed up it cost me thirty fucking dollars for one gallon. Thas' right. 30 bucks fer one gallon!!

Now, since I only had one gallon in the tank, I didn't wanta' run out a second time to save that 4 cents a gallon so I went back to the same QuikTrip I had passed by and paid the aforementioned $1.92 for nine gallons.

So... in my quest to spend $18.80 for ten gallons, as opposed to $19.20, saving myself 40 cents, whut happened wuz; I sat in the hot sun for an hour and then wound up spending $47.28 cents for my ten gallons. Ya' know.....sometimes it just doesn't pay to try and save money, ya' know whut I mean. El estupido capitano

Subject: Poor Martha Stewart. Boo Hoo. Boo Hoo.
Date: Friday, July 23, 2004, 1:28 AM
I feel so sorry for poor Martha Stewart. The poor thing. It's just terrible the way the government conspired, and twisted the facts around, and blew this little personal misadventure so way out of proportion. Just so they could make an example of her. Of course, her sentencing has surely sent a chilling message to all those other “white collar criminals” out there, which is I guess, exactly the message they were trying to get across.

After Martha tearfully pleaded with the judge for leniency, explaining to him what a horrible ordeal it had been and how much she has suffered, and gave him the fifteen hundred testimonials asserting to her character, and after listening, the judge agreed with her that she had suffered! Suffered a lot. Suffered enough!…the judge said! And proceeded to impose a 5-month stint in a minimum security federal facility. (private walls, fences or anything that might disrupt the view...and no hacks, (guards) only "staff". Sheeit. There are more restrictions on a gurl in a college dorm, than in the place they're proposing to send her)

Only moments later, outside the courtroom, as Martha stood in front of the microphones, with a big shit-eating grin now replacing her former humble and contrite mien, now defiantly questioning the government's motives and declaring, "I'll be back!" and thanking all the peoples who supported her, she suggested that they could continue to show their support by continuing to purchase her goods. "I wanta' hear those cash registers ringing out there ya'll!" Oh, it was all very touching and very re-assuring in an Amerikan kinda way. When you think of our "Amerikan Values" and our "Amerikan Justice System" it brings a bit of a lump to one's throat knowing that in Amerika....even the Rich can get Justice!

Keep in mind though, that even after she does that 5 months of what they refer to as “hard time,” she still must endure 5 more months of “house detention.” Yikes. The Horror! The Horror! I don't know whether they have figured out which one of her houses she will have to “be detained” at yet. I read in today's paper that she will not be able to use more than 48 hours a week to conduct her personal business. Y'know like she has to go to the Quik Trip to pick up some nachos and bobby pins, or maybe she has to mail some letters, or cash in some lottery tickets, y'know, that sort of thing. the Cap't

P.S. Ya' know whut? I'll betcha' there are literally millions and millions of sado-masochists out there right now who would be more than willing to go out and commit crimes and then turn themselves in the very next day, if they knew they were going to have to endure that kinda agonising punishment. Really! Stop and think how awful it would be to be stuck in one of Martha's mansions for five months straight with only 48 hours a week off. I mean, ya' can only swim and play tennis and ride yer horses and watch yer “home entertainment systems” and have yer maids and servants cater to ya' for just so long. Whew! Eventually...yer gonna' get bored!

Subject: High Risk Cheap Thrills
Date: Wednesday, July 21, 2004 8:22 PM

Last night, drunken sot that I was, I indulged myself in some “risky business.” I should have known better, but sometimes the demon alcohol clouds our better judgement, much as the demon weed does, ya' know whut I mean?

I'm sure ya've heard of a mainly teenage practice called, “hill hoppin',” whereby ya' accelerate yer ride to high speed as ya' crest a hill, sending ya' airborne. It's real exhilarating' as ya' hurtle thru the air...but the biggest thrill of all of course comes from the landing and it's aftermath! The uncertainty of whether ya' can maintain control of the vehicle so as not to kill yourself...and yer fellow thrill seekers. This is when the adrenaline really starts pumpin' as yer fightin' that wheel, slippin' and slidin' back and forth. Whut a rush!

Well, I wuz engaged in a similar caper on my way home last night I call “sidewalk hoppin'.” It is similar to hill hoppin' in many ways, except whut ya' do here, as I'm sure ya' can guess, is ya' run as fast as ya' can up a hill, and then when you get to the crest, ya' leap as far as ya' can, soarin' sometimes 4 or 5 feet through the air. And as yer flyin' through the air, it is appropriate, even de riguer, to yell out a hearty "YAHOOOO" or somethin' similar.

Of course, once again, the landing is whut it's all about. And I wanna' tell ya', it can get pretty darned tricky. One can suffer major boo-boos scrapin' one's knees and elbows if ya' miscalculate. Oh sure, ya' could wear some kneepads and other protective gear to minimise this threat, but then, what the hell would be the point? This is the source of the exhilaration; the uncertainty...the risk factor...the gamble...the danger. THIS is what it's all about!

Well after I made my first run last nite, I heard a lotta' hootin' and hollerin' and carrying on from a front porch where some gurls wuz hangin' out; and so, havin' an appreciative audience, I made three more runs. The last one tho I wuz pretty worn out and jus' barely joggin' by then, so it wuz pretty un-spectacular. But still I know, in spite of the laughter and guffaws, those gurls were prolly thinkin', "Gee, that guy. Whut a daredevil!"

Oddly enuff it wuz my last run — more like a stumble really — when I injured myself, scrapin' my elbow. Tonight when I go into the bar with the big bandage on muh elbow, peoples will be sayin',
"Gosh cap'm, whut the hell did'ja do to yerself?"

And Ill jus' slowly peel that bandage back and wink at em' and say, "sidewalk hoppin"…to appreciative nods no doubt.

So his evening, if ya' find yerself in a particularly bold and daring mood, TRY THIS! Go fer the gusto! the capt

P.S. And don't forget the hearty, "YAHOOOOOO" It will enhance the experience.

Subject: Here we go again
Date: Monday, July 19, 2004 3:59 PM
I have noticed in the last few days where the Bush administration claims to be gettin' some whiffs of Al Quaida from Iran. It also sounds as if they might have some Nu-clar bombs they may be gettin' ready to drop on our heads any minute now.

Whew! If history holds any lessons and these Iranians watch the news at all, I would be suggestin' that they immediately get their asses to diggin' some bomb shelters and start gettin' ready to embrace some Democracy! the cap't

Date: Wednesday, July 7, 2004 3:20 AM

This makes four nights in a row now I have seen Letterman. It just keeps getttin' worse each time. I can't believe that I used to like him in the past. I mean, the guy is terrible. Why didn't I see that before? I find so precious few seconds of Humor in an hour long show. All of his mannerisms, his gigantic EGO, and his whole sthick just leave me shakin' my head in bewilderment.

Did he change, or was it me? He's so predictable! Every single night there are at least two references to his son. (his son is named Harry) And, of course, each guest must congratulate him on his Unbelievable accomplishment of attaining Daddyhood. The reason why they all make such a fuss, I guess, is because this is an extremely rare and unusual thing to happen. I mean, There jus' aren't that many guyz out there who have done this before, are there? It's not like it happens every day or somthin'!

I kinda' think though that each guest is reminded before going onstage, "Psst, remember, Dave had a son about two months ago. Yeah, no kiddin'. So like, ask him how that's going, or give him some advice on how to handle it."

Mon. nite…listened to Dave and his guest banter back and forth about fatherhood, and more specifically, David's fatherhood.

Then Tues. night it wuz Jeff Daniels, who asked Dave if he had had to have the ol' father/son sex talk yet? Well, Dave chortled and pointed out that Harry (thas his son's name) was only two months old, and Jeff said,"Well, it's never too early." Isn't that cute? This is typical of the lame repartee that passes for humor on this lamest of lame-ass shows.

Then last night Bette Middler had some witty observations to make and Dave sat there beaming and 'oh shuckin' and 'oh pshawin'.

During the monologue Dave asked if peoples had heard that Frazier was being cancelled after 11 years. He said, "You all know Frazier, that's the situation comedy where the old geezer lives with his son." (pause)..."Oh no, wait, that's me." The audience didn't exactly break out into loud guffaws so Dave kinda' had to 'splain it to them, "See, I'm the old geezer and..." Yeah, yeah, Dave we get it, but like, once again, really lame, Dave.

Oh yeah, las' nite was also the fourth anniversary of Dave's bypass surgery. Isn't that great?! See, Dave likes to keep us informed about these important mile stones in his life, not out a sense of Ego or anything like that, but simply cuz he knows we really wanta' hear about it. He is only giving us what we want to hear. Have ya' ever heard that one before?? Ha ha..

Tonite, in Dave's monologue, he said, "It's so cold out there tonite!! Whew! The last time I felt a chill like that was when my gurlfriend said to me, "Honey, I'm pregnant." Har, har. Doesn't that drop ya' off the sofa onto the floor, eh! Not only is it hilarious, but it gives us a bit of insight into Dave's state of mind.

These are jes' a few of the hilarious and often times poignant moments of Fatherhood Dave shares with us each evening. the cap't

(Wed. July 7, 04.)

OK, so, like I wrote that back in Jan. Tonight, feeling a bit of a sore throat comin' on I decided to stay home and so tuned into Letterman to see if he wuz still rappin' bout Harry. (his son) He got thru the whole monologue without a single reference to his son, (Harry) or to 'Fatherhood'. I thought, so good. We made it thru the monologue. Cool.

However, when he sat down at his desk, he wuz grinnin' and foolin' with his belt, unloosening it, he said, "Daddy's gettin' a little tubby." I groaned. Maybe that'll be it for the night. But, noooo.

Less than five minutes later he related an incident that happened over the weekend when he took his son "Otto" for a walk. This got a little titter, y'know, cus, like, every one knows his son's name is Harry. He said, "Oh wait, I mean Harry." Another round of titters. I groaned again. It seems that he had greeted a young teenage gurl with a friendly, "Good day, How are you?" To which she had desultorily replied, "Nyah" which is as close as I can come to Dave's description.

Dave wuz flabbergasted at her nonchalant response to his greeting. I mean, He is, after all, DAVID LETTERMAN, whereas she is just some little proletarian chickie who should have been thrilled just to be acknowledged by him at all. He couldn't believe that was her response to his friendly greeting. "Nyah"

A couple of minutes goes by without any more references to "him" and I'm jes' startin' to get my stomach under control when Dave says to Paul Shaffer, "Y'know Paul. I just happen to have a picture of Harry (his son) here in my coat" and he reaches into his pocket and I'm not shittin' ya'....I'm here by myself watchin' this crap unfol and I let out a really loud, "OH FUCK! I CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS!" (I don't usually talk to my self like that) He's gonna show us a fuckin' picture!

Dave said, "Stop me if I'm making too big a deal out of this..." and I'm sittin' here goin', "Well fuck yeah. Thas' all ya've been talkin' bout for six fuckin' months!!" and Dave is sayin' "I've only done this three other times." and Paul leads the audience in a round of hearty applause urgin' Dave to 'share' with us. "C'mon Dave, Do eet. Show us yer picture! C'mon." And Dave 'Oh shucks' and he's kinda' embarrassed by all the hoopla, but, what can he do? So he sheepishly holds the pic so they can zoom in on it.

And there's this cute kid and Dave is goin' on like, "Would ya look at that! Huh? Isn't that somethin'!!" And he lets out a big Letterman laugh. "Can you believe that?" he asks excitedly, "And that little girl in the park said to ME 'nyah'. Yeah, right, Look at 'im would'ja!!" confirming once more that he has done something spectacular. Once again, Dave doesn't seem to be aware that there are several billion guyz in the world who have also fathered unbelievable chirrun. Dave seems to think he's got a lock on it.

Should I be stuck here again tonight, I can promise you. no, I can't promise that, cuz I'll have to watch him jes' so I can hate him some more, but I do promise I won't subject you to my babblings bout' him anymore, cuz, like, I don't wanta' get caught up in a 'DAVID LETTERMAN SYNDROME' kinda situation. Ya' know whut ahm sayin'.

Subject: Old bit of Ranting bout David Letterman
Date: Wednesday, July 7, 2004 12:34 AM

David Letterman's a daddy. And like...who gives a shit? I mean, big fuckin' deal! In the last 6 weeks, because of various reasons I've had to stay home prolly 6 or 7 times and so I watched his show. Like tonight fr'instance. (Fuck Jay Leno, and his mindless, giggling asshole sidekick, Kevin Eubanks) Every single show I've watched I've had to listen to Dave talk about his son. His son's name is Harry if ya' haven't seen his show before.

After hearing Dave tell us amusing, cute little anecdotes during his monologue, (about his son, Harry) every guest has to make a comment or ask a question about him.

Gimme a break!! I mean, has he done something no one has ever done before? If he wanted to make a statement about him right after his birth, and shown us a pic of him; proud papa and all, that'd been OK. But, sheeit, it's been two months now. Let it go Dave!! Ya' gotta' a son! We know that. Congratulations! Now, do us a favor and shut the fuck up about it and do yer lame ass show!! OK. the cap't ......

P.S. I'm writing this now while Dave is no doubt relating to his guest, Patricia Heaton, some interesting bit of info about what it's like being a daddy. (he has a son named Harry, you see) I'll bet if I tuned in Dave's show about a year from now, he will no doubt be telling some one what Harry said earlier in the day. Fuck it, I'm going back to my comik book!

(Aw'right. I wrote this back in Jan. The next thing is something I wrote about four days after this.)

Subject: The Art of the Joke
Date: Tuesday, July 13, 2004 3:42 PM

A small joke; "What did the snail say when he went for a ride on the back of a turtle?"

Now, I almost never tell jokes cuz I just have no knack for the Art, (There are lot'sa people who don’t have a knack either, but they don't let that stop em'.) However, I told this joke to great effect about two years ago. I wuz sitting on my stool in the tavern at the time, and so I said,

"What did the snail say when he went for a ride on the back of a turtle?"

and I paused for a second.......... (timing you know)........ and then I threw my arms up in the air in a gesture of exhilaration and exclaimed, "Wheeee!" in a high pitched snail kind of voice....... and when I threw my arms up, I propelled myself backwards, stool and all, landing on my head on the floor with a loud THUD!!

Ya' should'a heard the laughter and guffaws! Peoples were cracking up all over the place. I mean, some folks were laughin' who I don't think even heard the joke to begin with. I mean, you know, I thought the joke was amusin' myself in a goofy kinda' way, but I didn't realize how funny other peoples thought it wuz. Jeeeze! One guy, who was helping me get up said, in between guffaws, "Cap'm, ya' don't tell many jokes, but when ya' do, they're good ones!"

Chucklin' and chortlin', and snickerin' and snortin' all the time, and I got up off the floor, y'know, feeling a bit foolish, and got a bar towel to blot the blood forming there on the back of my head. So I pick my stool up and sit back down and I'm sittin' there holdin' the towel and grinnin' and peoples are pattin' me on the back, still laughin' and shakin' their heads. It wuz a good joke. Evidently. the cap't

P.S. Hey look, if you should decide to tell this joke yerself, I would heartily suggest ya' maybe put on some kind of protective head gear first!

Subject: Safety Tip
Date: Monday, July 12, 2004 5:18 PM
Just a few minutes ago, I wuz changing the cartridge in my printer and I fortunately came across this item under “Ink Cartridge Safety Instructions” that stated:

"Keep ink cartridges out of reach of children and do not drink the ink."

I say, "fortunately" cuz, at that very moment, I had that cartridge upturned and wuz jes' gettin' ready for a big snort, when I saw that warning. Whew! That wuz close. Although it din't bother to 'splain jes 'zackley why ya' shouldn't have a bit of a nip, I figgurd, "Hell, these guyz are the experts' like, am' gonna follow they advice."

I jus' wish those hombres at the fillin' station had been as responsible. Could'a saved me a lotta grief. the cap't

Subject: Wake up call
Date: Thursday, July 8, 2004 5:22 PM

Today, earlier, on a whim, I decided to get a medical check-up. I don't really know why, cuz my health is not somthin' I spend a lot of time worrying about. But I figured, "Nyah, whadd'a I got to lose?" So, without a lot of enthusiasm, I reluctantly got up off the sofa and went to Osco's drugs.

See, they've got a gadget there where ya' sits in this chair and ya' stick yer arm in this tube and ya' push a button and it squeezes yer arm til yer eyes start to bulge out. I wuz kinda leery bout the whole thing and I stood there fer some time thinkin' bout the whole situation, cuz, like, I really didn' have to be there, y'know whut I mean. And besides, ya' know the old sayin', "No news is good news."

But finally I sat down and it wuz with some trepidation, I stuck my arm in there. I could feel my heat poundin' already. I paused with my finger on the “start” button, took a deep breath, and said, "What the hell. Go for it". So, I wuz sittin' there and this contraption started squashin' my arm, and my eyes were bulgin' out, and I wuz wonderin' why exactly I had subjected myself to this kind of torture voluntarily...and then, gradually...the pressure eased off. I couldn't help but wonder if 'Army Intelligence' (now there's an oxymoron huh?) knows bout these things? They might come in handy in certain situations in Iraq.

Well, when my reading finally appeared on the screen, this dude walkin' by glanced at the screen and repeated several times in a loud voice, "Dead man walking! Dead man walking!" Whoa. This kinda' got my attention.

An elderly lady standin' nearby, havin' witnessed the whole situation approached me and said, "Oh pshaw" as she patted me on the shoulder in a grandmotherly manner, "Don't pay any attention to him. You probability just got a high reading because you were nervous. You go sit down someplace and relax, and try it again."

I said, "Why thank you Mam, and by the way, "FUCK OFF granny!"

And she said in a shocked, disdainful kinda' way, "Oh my Word!" and I said, "Thas' right sistah, 'WORD'" She scurried away muttering bout' the breakdown of manners among the youth.

She got me to thinkin' tho, and as I thought about it, it made sense. I wuz, after all, like she said, a bit nervous. So I went out to my car, popped a couple of Valium, a couple Percocets, smoked a doobie, swilled a few Buds with some Marlboro back-up and sat there and “chilled” fer a while. Eventually, I got out of my ride, squared my shoulders, and strode back inside for Round Two. Perhaps “strode” doesn't accurately describe my gait at this point. No matter! I did much better that time, I think, as far as I wuz able to decipher it to begin with. Still though, I felt disappointed. Sheeit.

So I went to tha' liberry to see whut kinda health related books they might have there. And while there were bunches and bunches, I saw nothin' specifically aimed toward the Old Geezer on the Sofa Habitué. Like, they covered everyone else, but nada for one such as myself.

So I said, "Fuck it!" I can devise my own Fitness Plan. How complicated could it be? So I am now embarking on a rigorous, vigorous eight-week Fitness, Health and Wellness Program, which when completed, should enable me to compete in the next mini-marathon charity run.

With my plan in mind, I went back to Osco's and I really hated to put out the jack, cuz it wuz like, nine bucks and change, but I went ahead and purchased a 60-day supply of Centrum, multi-vitamin pills. I figure, if I do one hit a day, assuming I can remember that, that will leave me four hits left over, in case of an emergency.

I dropped the first one just a little while ago and already I've been up off the sofa three times. So, it's already starting to work. So now, I'm back here on the sofa, trippin' down that ol' Wellness Road. And it's a might smooth trip I might add. the cap't

Subject: The Demon Within; Computers Possessed
Date: Wednesday, July 7, 2004 5:31 PM
I am writin'' the following in response to a message a friend forwarded to me a while back concernin' the Rev. Peasboro of South Carolina, who says that “DEMONS” are inhabiting our computers now. (Of course, who amongst us hasn't suspected this before? He says only those made after ‘85 have sufficient storage space to accommodate them.)

The Rev. claims this accounts for the reason why normal peoples are goin' to porno sites, shootin' their school mates and fellow co-workers, and just actin' uncharacteristically rude and obnoxious. The Rev estimates that one in ten computers are thus infected

In one instance, his very own computer, quite spontaneously, made insulting remarks to him, and further, insulted his God. And then started cursin' him in ancient Mesopotamian.

So...if yer computer starts actin' strangely, cussin' ya' out, urgin' ya' to go to some filthy porn site, or maybe to pick up your guns and go back to yer workplace and give yer fellow workers what-for, I suggest instead, you turn that sawed-off on yer own computer, and let IT have both barrels! "Take that!! You cursed Demon you!" Ya'll be glad you did. And so will those other folks in yer area who were about to be the object of yer unexplainable wrath!!

Y'know, I keep thinkin' about these Demons inhabitin' our electronics, and especially that one Demon that the Right Reverend Peasboro had that particularly nasty encounter with. And I'm wonderin'...why the Demon, after making those rude and blasphemous remarks, y'know, callin' the Rev.'s God, "A Damned Liar", (gasp) and such...why he then reverted back to a 4,800 year old language to "spew obscenities" out?

Wouldn't a simple English,"FUCK YOU" have served his purpose just as well? Or as Dick Cheney would say. "GO FUCK YOURSELF!!" It certainly would have saved the Rev. a lot of time and money, I'm sure. like, instead of having to locate an expert on 4,800 year old languages, so as to decipher the Demon's cursings.

Of course, a lot of Demons are like this, and I hate to use the tired old cliches, and stereotype them, but...lets face it; they're not very thoughtful or considerate entities! These guys wouldn't think twice, before cuttin' in front of you in line and steppin' on yer toes in the process, or zippin' in and stealin' yer parking place without so much as a word of apology.

Sometimes they're just downright 'EVIL'. I guess that's why they call em' 'DEMONS', instead of, "Yo, Clyde" huh! There! I've said it! Castigate me if you will, for my bias and my bigotry, but thas' jes' the way I feel.

Or, another possibility might be that, the Mesopotamians have some particularly vile curse words that English just wouldn't do justice to? And furthermore, and I ask this question out of ignorance, since I don't know anything about computers and such; are they written in ancient Mesopotamian symbols? I dunno', but, hey...mebbe thas' why when I see that gobbledegook computer stuff, I say, "Well, it all looks like ancient Mesopotamian to moi."

Then again, on further reflection, I suppose that a Demon...who is crafty enough to gain control over yer computer, and thus...control over you...would be cleaver enough to figure a way around this small obstacle. the cap't

P.S. It occurs to me that this may present an excellent opportunity for a number of Catholic priests who are currently “on leave,” so to speak, to pick up a few extra bucks doing Computer Exorcisms.

Subject: Enchilada recipe
Date: Wednesday, July 7, 2004 4:13 AM
A friend wrote me earlier askin' if I could be persuaded to divulge my enchilada recipe. Below follows my reply:

Well, Ms. ______ Silly goose. Be real. I'm afraid my enchilada recipe might be hard for you to obtain. See, like, I don't know whether ya' ever noticed or not, but I'm missin' the fingernails on my hands as a result of some Culinary Desperado Terrorists who thought they could "convince" me to share it with em' so they could open up a chain of Mexican restaurants. No way Jose, I tole em' in my best espanol.

Here's whut ya' could do though instead. Ya' could do up some, whut I calls, 'mach enchiladas'. They're fast, easy and tasty too. (kinda reminds me of an ol' gurlfriend, Ha ha)

Take you some fritos, put em' in a bowl. (I like chili cheese muhself) Scatter you some chopped onions about, Pour on yer favorite salsa, Sprinkle on yer favorite cheeses, Stick it 'n the radar range for maybe 40 seconds... and ya've got a pretty tasty facsimile of a cheese enchilada.

Ya' can put this whole thing together from start to finish in about two minutes. it's good. ya'll like it.

Chef Hoohah

(Ya' can also do these up in the oven, slower like, see, so that yer fritos soak up the salsa and soften up and have more of a corn tortilla kinda consistency.)

Subject: Where have all the flowers gone?
Date: Tuesday, July 6, 2004 8:23 PM

(The following is a letter I wrote to Cheese Whiz. The assholes never replied)

Dear Mr. Whiz,

I am writing you from Kansas City, Mo. and have a question for you. What happened to Jalapeno Cheese Whiz? I cannot find it anywhere. What's the deal? I see where you have Cheese Whiz Con Queso pero that just don't get it! You dig? I wants my Cheese Whiz with Jalapeno!! And I want it NOW!

I have been previously making my macaroni and cheese with Cheese Whiz mit Jalapeno for many, many years. I'm talking, a lot of years. Now, because I am unable to locate any of this product, I am unable to enjoy macaroni and cheese any more, and this greatly distresses me. There is a longing there which needs to be satiated, if you know what I mean?!

If you have for some unfathomable reason quit making it (gasp...scuuuse me, I felt faint there for a second), perhaps you have some bottles lying around a warehouse someplace you could send me, cuz in the school I come from, there is simply no other way to do macaroni and cheese except with Jalapeno Cheese Whiz!

Please advise.

With warmest regards to you and yours, now, and in the future, AMEN!

Captain Hoohah

(P.S. Well, as I said, they never answered me. Businesses jus' don't care bout' their customers no more. Sheeeit. Say, Do you have any Cheese Whiz with Jalapeno, boyz and gurlz? Cus de Cap'm pay you top dollah for some!)

Subject: Dog dreams and Dawgs
Date: Saturday, July 3, 2004 5:10 PM
Last nite, I dreamed that dogs could talk! I remember thinking on it at the time that it was strange that only humans and dogs could speak, but not other critters. I jes remembered this dream a few minutes ago, and have been trying to recollect more about it.

While sitting here mulling it all over, I wuz distracted by a series of barkings, howlings, and mewlings from the fucking dogs next door. Those somsabitches! I have told you before about their constant, almost unceasing racket, starting around 8 a.m. and continuing til 10 or 11 p.m. I'm not jivin' ya; they just hardly ever pause. Fortunately, I leave every evening around 8:30 so I miss a lot of their evening action.

Unfortunately, my absolutely insane neighbor, who lives in the basement apartment, picks up the slack and starts his howling around 3:30 a.m.. He usually goes ‘til 4:30 or so. He likes to yell and curse at the TV commentators, especially if they happen to be black. He is not exactly ambiguous about his feelings on the subject. When decipherable I'm listenin' to plenty un-PC ravings.

And so, because of the dogs, the construction going on across the street, and the Demons inhabiting my neighbor's head, I am not able to get in much in the way of "Meditation Time” here. Curses. Ten Thousand Curses! Too many Bad Vibes, as they used to say.

Whut will my Zen Master say when he finds out how negligent I've been in my meditation exercises? Whut can I say?

"Well gee, Sensei, what with the noise and the clatter and the Insanity and the confusion it is most difficult for me to achieve a state of harmony and serenity!"

And he will no doubt reply with some obscure, enigmatic, quote from the Master hisself, which I will have to dwell on and ponder for many days, trying to extract its cryptic meaning.

Well anyways, back to the Dog Dream! In thinking on it, I thought that perhaps the catalyst for the dream might be that I am always wondering just what the fuck it is, that these dogs are barking about alla time? I mean, what the hell is it with them? The problem is that I can't understand them, you see, hence, perhaps the “talking dog dream?” Maybe they are saying:

"Hey yo everybody, Look! It's a ‘59 Chevy convertible! Check it out!" or maybe,

"Hey you! Assholes! Hows bout a little somthin' to eat out here, huh? Whada'ya say?"

or maybe they're sayin',

"Yo Dawg! Yeah, I'm talkin' to you!! Ya' little white fluffy haired Punk! Get yer Ass out of my neighborhood before I climb this fence and rip that little rhinestone collar right off yer scrawny neck!!"

or maybe it's like,

"Man, turn that godam siren off, Whadd'ya say!I Jeeeze! It feels like someone is driving a white hot spike right thru my brain. Of all the places to live in town, these insensitive pricks gotta move one block from a fire station!! Whut the fuck were they thinkin?"

I dunno. all I can say is that with all the barkings, howlings, clankings, rumblings, the jackhammers, the bulldozers, the early mornin' screamings and so on and so forth, it's no wonder that I must retreat to the quiet of a friendly saloon each evening in order to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet, don'cha think! Thas' not askin' too much, is it? the cap't

Date: Saturday, July 3, 2004 4:21 PM
If ya' wanta' create an impression in yer local saloon, try this on yer next visit.

Order up a shot of Tequila; ask for the customary lemon wedge and salt.'s la difference. This is whut will separate YOU from the ordinary jackleg tequila drinker.

Take yer salt and pour some on the bar and make a “line.” Then...take you a straw and SNORT that line...grab yer lemon wedge in yer left hand and SQUEEZE a generous amount into both eyes...and then...and then...with yer right hand, SLAM that shot down! YEEEOW!!! That buzzing sound ya' hear will be yer nasal passages frying and yer eyeballs melting. Then follows the collective gasps of Awe and Admiration and a standing ovation from yer fellow swillers.

This works. Whada'ya' ya got to lose? the cap't

Subject: A typical day in the life of the cap't.
Date: Thursday, July 1, 2004 4:00 PM
Earlier this afternoon, as I wuz bouncin' around town lookin' for some cheap thrills, and I want to say right here, forget about that; there ain't no such thing as "cheap" any more, thrills or otherwise, I found myself in Eden Alley, the Vegetarial Cafe/Gift shop in Unity Temple, the Interdenominational Church of the Bean Curd in the Plaza district.

I can not even begin to 'splain to ya' how I happened to be in that place, as I'm strictly a Meat Scarfin' Pagan muhself! I mean, sheeit ese, some of my best friends are Vegetarials, so they're Jake with me, but as fer muhself, I AM CARNIVORE!!

I can...and have.. mind you........subsisted on, and borderline/worshipped the Hot Dog all my life. I won't even bother to try and explain the level of my admiration for 'the Dog' cuz it would prolly leave ya' dazed and confused. But anyway, I figgurd since I wuz there I may as well cut loose with some jack, so I made three purchases.

I first purchased a Clear Quartz Crystal necklace. This crystal is an Emotional Balancer, the card says. It amplifies thought and activates all levels of Consciousness. It dispels negativity in one's energy field. Now see, that's jes' whut I need is to lower my Negativity Quotient. (NQ). Peoples are alla' time tellin' me I'm too negative, or cynical, or pessimistic, or, well, you know, all that kinda' shit. Hey and check this out! It also Receives, Stores, Transmits, and Amplifies Energy. Whew! I mean, thas' a lotta' hats for one crystal to wear, eh! But thas' not all; it also enhances communication with the Higher Self (I like that "high-self" part of the concept) and Spirit Guides. Yeah and speakin' of Spirit Guides. I have been wonderin' jes' whut in the hell happened to my very own Spirit Guides? They all ran off some time ago, leavin' me here to fend fer myself. Prolly went, no doubt, to some place like New Yawk City, where they could find a more affluent host, I suppose. Well, this may help to re-open those broken lines of communication.

Now, the other necklace I got is a Leopard-skin Jasper stone. It acts as a Stress Reducer and also dispels negativity. It has masculine qualities and works with root, sacral and solar plexus chakras. Now, I have been aware for some time that all these areas needed some maintenance. Now I's gettin' it. If ya' neglect these chakras too long, see, well, they break down on ya', and that's not good! So, like, always keep yer chakras well oiled; this helps to keep yer flywheel runnin' smoothly.

Finally, I bought a box of Japanese blended incense to relieve Stress and promote serenity. Serenity! Can ya' dig it? So here I am...sittin' here at home right now, enjoyin' all three of them. The incense is burning, so, like, I feel so Serene! I have both necklaces on, so as to get a double-whammy effect there, and ese, I feel so fuckin' positive and stress free and my chakras are cookin' and I'm communicatin' with my own dam bad high self just laid back here on the sofa chillin' and groovin' and I'm receivin', storin', transmittin' and amplifyin' energy all over the place. In short, I'm in 'the Groove'. Ya' know whut' I mean? the capt.

Subject: More Babble on the Commercialization of EVERYTHING
Date: Tuesday, June 29, 2004 4:36 PM
So... I wuz' sittin here thinkin' (DANGER, DANGER, Beware of falling debris!!) bout all this, wondering how far it could go, this Commercialization of Everything? And it occurred to me.....WOW.....all these Marketing Engineers have overlooked a huge opportunity. Check this out; St. John's Cathedral, the Church of the Immaculate Conception, the Mormon Tabernacle, Beth Shalom, etc, etc, etc...see whut I mean? Think of all the names of churches.....all old, out dated, archaic kind of names! No kinda "buzz" a'tall. Are they not Hip?

Whut about the "Reorganised McDonald's Church of the Third Millennium"? How about' the "Taco Bell Third Millennium Tabernacle"? Perhaps amidst the statuary, would it be too much really, to slide in a small likeness of the Pillsbury Doughboy? A Ronald McDonald perhaps? I think not in lieu of the fact Pillsbury built the new annex, and McDonalds supplies the french fried wafers. So much tastier then those old-style wafers.

How bout a few small mosaics in the aisle leading up to the altar? An NFL logo would work there very nicely, don'cha think! The stained glass offers many windows of opportunity. (get it? "windows of opportunity" eh? har har har)

In light of their ongoing financial support, would it be asking too much from the priest/pastor/preacher/ acknowledge after the sermon a simple message of gratitude? Such as, "On behalf of myself, and (enter here whatever Deity applies), I would like to thank Burger King for making it possible to bring you the preceding Inspirational Messages!" A simple, yet tasteful acknowledgement, eh.

Think whut it would mean; no more annual fund raisers necessary! No more car washes. No more raffles. No more cookie sales. Everything all ready covered by the Big Brother corporation. Plus the consumer/worshippers at say, Wal-mart's First Church of Reformed Disciples could receive valuable coupons after each service.

And why not simply have the service televised and brought into the local Starbucks so that one could worship while still enjoying a nice flavorful cup of Espresso, satisfying both one's Spiritual and Caffein jones simultaneously!

Well as ya' can see, the possibilities are endless. Now ya' may scoff and jeer in derision at my matter, I'm used to that....the Seer, the Visionary...all thru history have always endured this kind of boorish behavior by those surrounding them who were not so enlightened. Ya' might even refer to it as "A Confederacy of Dunces" if ya' wanna'......BUT...... you just wait and's gonna happen!! It's not a matter of IF, but WHEN! And when it does, I, El Capitano am just exactly the kind of person whose gonna' say...I TOLD YOU SO! I TOLD YOU SO!! I TOLD YOU SO! nyah! nyah! nyah! the cap't

P.S. As ya' might perceive, if ya' read between the lines, I am against this sort of tripe, HOWEVER... having said that, I can't help but see the possibilities of some financial gain for myself in this here trend. Even so far as I'm thinking of writing various Corporations to see if any might be interested..... and if so.... how much they would be willing to pay me..... to have their logo or slogan tattooed on my forehead? (Yeah, it's true; I can be bought...... lock, stock, and barrel and soul...if the price is right. but, don't tell anybody. By the way, I ain't cheap!)

Subject: Wine Tasting Event
Date: Sunday, June 27, 2004 4:26 PM
A couple of nights ago, I wuz invited to a wine tasting tonight down at Frondizi's in the Plaza. But when I discovered there weren't goin' to be no Mad Dog, (Bold, yet not Audacious!) or Spitfire or Annie Green Springs, I had to take a pass. Whut would be the point, eh? I mean, whut the hail kinda wine tastin' would that be anyway, huh? Sheeit.

This young dude, who invited me. works there, and in urging me to go, told me I would add "an Air of Sophistication" to the whole affair, and when he said this to me, I wuz takin' a swig of beer at the time and wound up spewin' most of it out all over the bar as I guffawed in reaction. Which wuz actually fairly typical of the "sophisticated kind of moves" I'm associated with. Ha ha. the 'sophisticated cap'm'

P.S. Hey look here, if ya' happen to need a mature, sophisticated escort for yer young Missy, Buffy, Muffy, Tiffany, y'know, whatever... for the next big "Social Event of the Year" ...I'm yer Man! Call me, y'heah'?

Subject: Confusion in the ranks
Date: Sunday, June 27, 2004 3:22 PM
For those of you who may have been confused about what "thundersticks" are? Thereby rendering that whole rather meaningless question meaningless ...those are those plastic bat like things peoples beat together at sports contests to make a lot of noise. I don't even know if they're actually called that or not, but you know whut i'm referring to, don'cha?

i wuz always confused when one wuz supposed to bang them tho, cuz like, a batter is up there, the count is 3 and 2, it's a crucial pitch in a crucial game, and the opposing team's fan bang their boomers together to make a racket to break the batter's concentration, (Whut? do they think their pitcher has ear plugs or somthin?) whereas, the local fans bang theirs together to break the pitchers concentration (Whut? Do they think the batter has ear plugs in his ears or somthin?)...and it kinda seems to me like they cancel each other out. So what's the point? I think it's just something so the fans can get involved, y'know. And
who gives a shit whose concentration is broken.

Like a dumb-ass basketball game. Team A gets the ball and takes it down court; team B's fans all chant DEEE-FENSE DEEE-FENSE DEEE-FENSE over and over like, maybe, their guys are confused and don't know what to do. So, they're all chanting like a bunch of mindless fucking idiots...but suddenly the ball is turned over and now team B takes the ball down to their end of the court, and now team A's fans are all yelling DEEE-FENSE, DEEE-FENSE...DEE FENSE....????

Just remember, the next time ya' go to a basketball game, all ya' gotta do is yell out DEEE-FENSE DEEE- FENSE every now and then and ya'll make a great fan! Peoples around you will shake their heads respectfully in quiet admiration, and think, "Man, this person riilly Knows their basketball!!" the cap't

Subject: A Philosophical Question of sorts
Date: Saturday, June 26, 2004 8:41 PM

Last night while sitting in the saloon, in a drunken-loon state of mind, a
modernist Zen-like thought occurred to me,

"What is the sound of one Thunderstick clapping?" the capt


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