Poor Martha Stewart! Gimme' a break, will ya'? Every time I hear MarthaStewart's name and “prison” mentioned in tha' same breath, I jus' wanta' let out a giant, "Oh Pshaw!" So much horse pucky. Don't fret boyz and gurlz and all you Martha fans out there...cuz Martha's not goin' anywhere NEAR an actual prison!

No, no, Martha is jus' goin' off to spend five months in a dormitory, much like a college dorm, except without as much rules and supervision. Cuz ya' see, Martha is an Adult y'know, and therefore doesn't need ta' be watched as closely as like, say, a horny young college soph who's constantly tryin' ta' sneak her date upstairs.

Of course, after Martha's pulled that five months of “hard time” Ha ha; it's not over fer her, cuz she'll still owe them five months of “home detention.” Shudder! Gasp! Can ya' even begin ta' imagine tha' Horror of bein' confined in one of Martha's Mansions fer five whole months.

Recognising the inconvenience of it all to Martha, tha' government is allowing her ta' choose which one of her estates she's gonna' be confined in. A pox on tha' head of those scurrilous bastards who say this government is mean-spirited, evil and wicked. How then explain you this?

Well, let's jus' hope that Martha finds some help while she's inside and is completely Rehabilitated when it's all over and doesn't become jus' another stat like so many others who go thru tha' Revolving Door of tha' System.

Personally, I think she is an excellent candidate fer Rehabilitation and I think when all is said and done, she will put it all behind her, move on, and once again become a productive member of Society. I recall hearin' Martha say jus' a short time ago that those folks who have supported her in tha' past can demonstrate their continuing support by continuing to buy lots and lots of her stuff. So if You would like to show yer support fer Martha, go out tomorrow and max out yer credit card on Martha Stewart products. She'll be glad ya did...and ya'll feel better bout yer own damn bad self too!

Meanwhile, tho, I'm wonderin' jus' who tha' fuck is gonna show me how to build a treehouse outta' used toothpicks? Huh? Who? Yikes! We're gonna miss ya', Martha! tha cap'm

I wuz to tha' Price Chopper grocery store earlier this evenin' and they had some AE 2% chocolate milk there fer 99 cents a quart. Right next to it, they had some AE 2 % chocolate milk in a half-gallon carton fer 2.09 cents.

I thought, "hmmm" so I did some mental cipherin'' (dig this. I did this all without a calculator, or even pen and paper. ya'd be surprised at how many youth find this astonishin'!) and I multiplied 2 times .99 and came up with 1.98 cents fer a half gallon and wuz wonderin', based on these calculations, why in tha' fuck would anybody buy a half-gallon carton and pay .11 cents more, than fer two quart cartons, which if I'm not mistaken is also a half-gallon? Somebody at Price Chopper Headquarters needs ta' re-examine their pricin' strategies, don'cha think? So, I went with tha' two quart plan, but wuz watchin' my back on tha way out, cuz somethin' jus' jus' didn't seem right!

I also bought a small container of Land-O-Lakes vegetable oil. When I got back ta' tha' crib I read on tha' back of tha' tub that it, *can be used successfully in heating and baking.

Whoa jack! Now, frankly, before I read that, I really hadn't thought much about it, but now, I wonder? Are they jus' jivin' us or whut? I mean, they say it can be used 'successfully', but why would they say that in tha' first place unless...I mean, whut happens if it's not successful? Is there any danger of explosion or anythin'? Whut are tha' risks? They're not jus' vague; they don't even address tha' issue. I'm not paranoid or anythin' but ya' cain't be too careful these days, ya' know whut ah'm sayin'! tha' cap't

P.S. After tha' weekly Chief's debacle, in an interview, Tony Richardson was babblin' on and on bout how tha' team wuz gonna have to ask tha' Lord’s help ta' overcome their adversity. Sheeit. Sheeit. and double sheeit. Like God gives a shit bout tha' fortunes of tha' Kansas City Chiefs! Whut with all tha' beseechins' of hurricane victims and ethnic strife and wars and famine with millions of starvin' peoples all over tha' world, he's gonna' take time outta' his busy schezhule to help a football team? Yeah sure!! Fuckin' A! I think he'll listen.

Ya' know, when teams lose, peoples start askin' lotsa' questions bout their 'character'. They say...now they're gonna' find out whether they got any 'character' or not? Does it ever occur to them that tha' reason why they lose is not cuz god has given up on them, or cuz they lack character; maybe it's as simple as..... they're jus' no fuckin' good! Oh no. not that. Nooooo. There's jus gotta be some other reason!

Just in case you missed my last message, my son's band is not playin at Mike's (on Troost, up from Rockhurst) tonight as I origially told ya' due to a shezhuling mix-up...HOWEVER... this weekend Mike's are having their 40th year anniversary, Friday, Saturday and Sunday, so if ya' haven't been in fer a while, ya' might see some old amigoes from days gone by. the capt.

P.S. And if yer outta state, it's not too late ta' get in touch with Johnny Greyhound. He''ll make sure ya' get here on time.

Zounds! I did it again. I wuz in my kitchen/lab earlier, trying to recreate some of the stuff I wrote ya' about recently, "tha' Captains Delight".

This time however I used a different brand of feta cheese and a different brand of salsa and a different brand of Ranch dressing and some different seasonings. Since I didn't measure out my ingredients tha' first time, there wuz some variation in proportions.

As a result, what emerged wuz a product totally different from the first concoction. This batch tastes exactly like tuna fish! Thas' right, Tuna fish! Whut I have done, in effect, is, usin' only about seven dollars worth of ingredients, I have successfully reproduced a 59 cent can of tuna! Ha ha. I mean, where will it all end ya'll? This is jus' one more step, albeit, a huge one, in my march to tha' Culinary Hall of Fame, wouldn't ya' think? Chef Hoohah

Las' night, watchin' the' Chief's debacle, I heard tha' expression, or variation of it, "shoot themselves in tha' foot", not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES!! Makes me wonder jus' whut their foots musta' looked like after such a fusillade?

I wonder, is there a sports announcer ANYWHERE in this country who is capable of announcing an entire game (any kinda' game) without sayin' this most trite worn out of trie worn out expressions? ANYWHERE? Or else, how bout' "bein' on tha' same page."?

You'd think these peoples could come up with some way of expressin' these thoughts without havin' ta' use tha' same expression everyone else uses, week in and week out thru tha' whole season, wouldn't ya'? I mean they've been sayin' that shit fer years and years. And could some one please eliminate Queen's "We will....We will....WE WILL ROCK YA'!!" Ban

it fer at least a generation. Please!! It shouldn't be all that hard. All they gotta' do is get out there and "Execute Better!"

Hey, "No question about it", these peoples are "arguably" a buncha' FUCKIN' IDIOTS. tha cap'm

Ya' know, earlier today I wuz havin' a baked potato and I wuz using some of my own specially designed salsa on it, and here, I would jus' like to reply to that person whose one word response to my recipe was "Ugh", I can only say that,

"You Sir, are a twit!"

Well anyway, I added a some black pepper for a little extra nuance of flavor and also because I Always add black pepper to just about everything I eat. And also olives too. These are both good with jus' about anything!

So...as I was sprinklin' tha' black pepper on my potato, it triggered a memory of an incident that occured a while back. It happened like this. I wuz in this all nite diner havin' ordered some pancakes. When tha' waitress set them on the table, I asked her if I could get a side of olives. She found this amusin'. I said. "No, really, could I have some olives?"

She said they were unavailable with breakfast and while we were having this conversation, I wuz in the midst of preparin' my pancakes by applyin' tha' syrup, and then I started adding tha' salt and pepper. When she saw me puttin' the pepper on, she giggled and said, "What are you doing?" teehee

I said. "Well, I'm not playin' hop-scotch sweetie! I mean, whut does it look like I'm doin'?"

She said, "Well I've just never seen anyone put pepper on their pancakes before."

And I was getting a little exasperated so I said, kinda sarcastic-like, "Yeah, I cn' brelieve that. And ya've prolly never eaten Chihuahua Chili before either, have ya'?"

She wasn't quite sure she heard me correctly, I guess, cuz' she said, "I dunno, what goes in it?"

"Well, Chihuahua! For one" I replied.

Again, she seemed a bit bewildered, "You mean, like a little Chihuahua dog?"

"Tha's right!" I said, "Now yer catching on!"

And she rolled hey eyes and gave me what you would call a strange look suppose, and said, "Enjoy your meal" and went away, and after that, I didn't get much by way of attentive service. Any more. At all. Tsk, tsk. Some pipples jes' have no sense of adventure about them huh!

By the bye, in the Nov. ‘89 issue of OMNI magazine, should ya' happen ta' have one layin' aroun', the well known Pet Gourmet, Russell Jones, shares his recipe for Chihuahua Chili. Should ya' be entertainin' friends and are looking for that special dish, I will be glad to send you his recipe. Chef Jones warns however, that:

"A Chihuahua will try everything from putting it's tail betwwen it's legs and shivering, to staring you down with large, oil-puddle eyes. But fight back the tears. Remember...a chef's gotta do what a chef's gotta do!"

Sound advice indeed eh? Gut appetité, tha' Cap'm.

(Although I wrote this six years ago, it still seems rather pertinent)

Omigod, as you might have guessed, I am about to play the Cliche Card here. Hello! Helloooo?! Is anybody home? I mean, are we on the same page here, or what? Well, there's no question about it, I may be shooting myself in the foot here, and argueably, this will no doubt come back to haunt me, but, I think that if you're going to talk the talk, then, you gotta walk the walk too. Am I right or am I wrong?

I know, I know, you're saying, Don't go there! Don't EVEN go there. But hey, Gimme a break! This is not rocket science here, so get a Life, huh! We're not talking about Weapons of Mass Destruction; we're not even talking about some extra-curricular activities on the gridiron, we're simply trying to eliminate the tired, worn out phrases we are bombarded with every day. Bingo! You got it. Just some simple fucking Closure, that's all......

Some closure on the Cliche, and after that, it's Katy, bar the door. Every Jack and Jill around is looking for some closure, so, why can't I get some too? You know what ahm sayin'? The next time you hear someone about you using a cliche, poke them in the eye! Big Time!! with a sharp stick! You know what ahm' sayin'?! Carry you a sharp stick every place you go and when some yahoo approaches you and says, "Yo, whas' up?" Well...duh! You know the procedure!

Sincerely yours,

El Capitano, the red pen armed, sharp stick in the hand Cliche Crusader

P.S. For those of you, who upon reflection, find you may have been guilty of this in the past, for verily, who amongst us hasn't succumbed to the insidious and pernicious lure of the cliche at some time or another, just remember...that Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your Life. Maybe that'll help you. And if not...consider this... A mind is a terrible thing to misplace! Duh!

Remember Booker T and the MGs who did "Green Onion" back in 1962? Well the MGs were the back up band on Otis Redding's "Sittin' on tha' Dock of tha' Bay". Tha' whistlin' part of tha' song wuz just something Redding did as a “fill in” until he could come up with some lyrics. But he wuz killed three days later in an air plane crash. So, tha' whistlin' stayed and became an integral part of tha' song, albeit, unintentionally.

They also played on Rufus Thomas. "Walkin' tha' dog."

We all know Glenn Campbell useta' be lead guitar fer th' Beach Boys, and that Waylon Jenings wuz in Buddy Holly's band an wuz supposed to have been on tha' plane tha' day tha' music died, but gave up his seat to tha' Big Bopper I believe. One of 'em anyway. tha' cap'm

It wuz one of those nights! A short time ago I came home drom my wanderings and decided to fix myself some victuals, as I am often wont to do early of a morn. Perhaps I shouldn't have done this, but as our Country 'brothas' would say, "I wuz Hongry!"

"Whut wuz I thinkin'?" ya' say? Well I wuzn't thinkn', at least clearly, thru no fault of my own I might add.

My misadventure started when I attempted to remove a large pot of previously prepared rice from tha' ice box, (also known as a refrigerator) when everything went horribly wrong! It happened so fast I don't even know how it happened. Ya' know how that shit goes; everything is goin' jus' fine and then...BAM...all of a sudden, tha' world is upside down, and ya don't have any idea how it got that way? Somehow, inexplicably, I wound up with this cauldron of rice all over the kitchen floor. It wuz rice here, rice there, oh mcdonald, there was fucking rice everywhere!

"Oh shit", I exclaimed!

My first thought wuz, "Whut the fuck am I gonna' eat now?"

And while I wuz contemplatin' that, plus trying to figure out how to deal with the mess, I wuz so distracted and so heavy into thought that I completely forgot to maintain my balance, (admittedly not an unusual occurrence) and found myself careenin' over backwards landin' on the open door of my dishwasher, mashin' it all the way to the floor. This is a position it wuzn't originally designed to execute.

I clumsily rolled over on to my hands and knees, and managed to obtain a mostly perpendicular stance usin' the wall as an aid from which to observe the damage.

Sheeit. The fuckin' door wouldn't close now. Now I gotta' deal with this shit.

Fortunately, the utility closet wuz only steps away and I jes' happened to have a dishwasher door closing implement' there. (sometimes known as a “hammer”) Unfortunately fer me, as I tried ta' make my way to tha' closet I had ta' leave tha' stabilizin' influence of tha' wall and cuz of tha' slick rice all over tha' floor...WHOOMP…down I went again.

"GODDAM MUTHERFUCKER!"

I said, or words to that effect. Luckily, I fell in tha' direction I wuz headin' and wuz able to use tha' doorknob of tha' closet door ta' get upright again. After I got tha' hammer, I decided not ta' take any chances on tha' return trip and so I crawled back to tha' dishwasher, and from a kneelin' position, after nine or ten heavy-duty whacks, I managed to get it closed and locked into place. I'm hopin' my landlord, who lives upstairs doesn't get too inquisitive as to why I'm hammerin' at 4 of the AM.

Now, I still gotta' take care of tha' rice situation I had no way of dealing with it at all, cuz the last time I moved I purposely left my shovel behind. I had gotten tired of luggin' it around from place to place for years, on the off chance I might need it someday to bury somethin' in the backyard.

Now, here I am with a mountain of rice and no shovel to work with. Ya' might say, to use the old cliche, that I wuz "up shit-creek without a shovel". (hmmmm, that don't make a whole lotta' sense does it?) Well, it's kinda' moot since I never woulda' been able ta' operate tha' fuckin' thing anyway!

As I knelt there, tryin' to figure out my next move, in a moment of rare clarity, I decided that maybe I should jes' forego the whole project fer the moment and try and deal with it on the morrow, cuz I really couldn't handle it at the time. So, I hadda' launch myself about five feet thru open space to the' doorway, which I managed to grab and hang onto. From there I used tha' hall wall to make my way to tha' bedroom and tha' sweet embrace of tha' Sleep Fairy.

Tha' next day when I staggered into tha' kitchen I wuz shocked ta' see tha' mess there and I thought ta' myself, "Dahym! Whut happened here? Who's responsible fer this shit? Not me.

Uhuh. Nope. I'm not takin' tha' rap on this one. This belongs ta' somebody else"

RESPONSIBILITY, see. It's time peoples started accepting Responsibility for their Irresponsible ways, bein' held accountable, y'know whut I mean! I'm sick and tired of these slackers always tryin' ta' put their shit on some one else, like Me fr'instance....so, I'm gonna' sue the manufacturer of that pot with it's shoddily designed and ill manufactured handle. There is an obvious design flaw there, otherwise I never woulda' dropped it in tha' first place, would I? They need to accept Responsibility!

Aw'right, those assholes who manufactured the dishwasher gadget. Jes' how fuckin' hard would it be for them to install an air bag on that door, huh? Y'know, if they can send a man to the moon, why can't they put an air bag on the dishwasher door? Tha' answer is; they could if they wanted! If nothing else they could at least pad the damn thing so as to minimize injuries to consumers such as myself who happen to occasionally fall on their godammed appliance. Obviously Consumer Safety is not high on their list of priorities, is it? No, no, they jes' wanta' make those big-time bucks, thas all. but hey ese, it's time for them to accept Responsibility.

OK, even though the bartender where I imbibed earlier in the evening is a friend of mine, it is blatantly apparent that he over-served me. Fr'instance, witness my crashing about my kitchen, unable to maintain my perpendicularity. Twice! One doesn't fall on their head for no apparent reason, do they? Tha' answer to this one is NO! It's time he accepts Responsibility.

Now then, there is tha' owner of tha' joint, who also happens to be a friend of mine. However, he needs to be sued for showing bad judgement in the hiring of his personnel. He needs ta' accept Responsibility.

And whut about those peoples who make that Bud? I'm talkin' Anheuser-Busch Brewing Co... said product of which I wuz allowed ta' consume too much, thus causin' my internal gyros to malfunction. They need ta' accept Responsibility. There is no warning on those bottles sayin', "Warning..Warning.. The Surgeon General advises that excessive use of this product may cause one to drop their rice and fall on the dishwasher!"

Oh sure, there's a caution there about pregnant women and driving vehicles, but whut tha' fuck has that got ta' do with me at 4 in the morning? Nada amigos. Nada fuckin' thing! They need to take Responsibility.

And I know I might be stretching it here a bit, but it may not be too far fetched ta' connect the makers of the Uncle Ben product to this debacle. They could do somethin', maybe a simple warning such as, "Warning..Warning.. the Surgeon General advises against the use of this product in conjunction with irresponsible manufacturers of badly designed pots and appliances while under the influence of beverages sold by irresponsible brewers served by irresponsible bartenders, hired by irresponsible owners", or…y'know, something to that effect.

Course, I have no doubt that every one of these entities would deny any culpability whatsoever, all of 'em would prolly try and lay that shit on me...makin' me tha' 'fall guy', and ther's no question that I wuz in fact tha' fall guy, haha but that wuzn't my fault, wuz it! No, no, It wuz those Other peoples who were ta' blame...but they jus' don't wanta' accept Responsibility for their irresponsible ways!! Whut tha' fuck is with peoples anyway? I jes' don't get it! the capt.

While the cap't sarcastically writes about city counsel person McFadden-Weaver's erroneously attributing a remark Geo.Bush made to John Kerry, he then,apparentl — with his head up his ass — goes ahead to refer to her as CYNTHI when in fact her first name is SAUNDRA.

Whas' up with that? How hard would it be to get her first name correct? Some peoples in their glass houses huh! —Joe Dreck

In response to constituents in her district who are seekin' to have a petition to recall her because of their dissatisfaction with her performance, City Councilwoman Mcfadden-Weaver responded by sayin' and I quote,

"In the words of John Kerry and the writer of the song. BRING IT ON!"

Ha ha. Ya' remember when Kerry issued that challenge, don'cha? And this same Mcfadden-Weaver, jus' recently, in an interview about the discovery of several bodies found in her district as a possible result of a serial killer, also made the observation, commenting on the blight in her district,

"Criminals like to hide!"

Whooo! Remember that bit of enlightenment boyz and gurlz. Man, this is one smart cookie here huh!!!

Hey, this has got nothin' ta' do with politics but whut's tha' deal with some guyz anyway when it comes ta' goin' to tha' bathroom? They always amuse me when they say,

"Scuse me, I got to go pee."

I'm thinkin'...well scuuse me, but ya' gotta go..."pee"? Sheeit, in tha' first place, ya' don't gotta' make a public announcement 'bout it to begin with, ha ha, but if ya' feel ya' must, whus' up with that "pee" bidness anyway? Yer an adult now. Ya' can be a bit more direct 'bout it! I mean, gurlz have'ta "pee", and maybe, like, 9 or 10 year old boyz may still "pee", but 31 year old guyz who are 6' 4", and weigh 245 should be takin' a "leak" or a "piss" or if they're sensitive bout it, "use tha' bathroom", y'know, somthin' like that.... ya' know whut I mean, and leave tha' "peein" to those delicate folks I jus' mentioned. tha' cap'm

P.S. I heard Garrison Keilor say today on tha' Prairie Home Companion, "I hate people who talk on their cell phones in public. If God had meant for people to have loud, obnoxious, one-sided conversations in public he would have made them a Crazy Person!"

Right on Mr. Keilor, I couldn't agree more!! Last night, or rather early this morning, around 3:45, I, along with all the other peoples on my block were privy to this teenage Drama Queens drunken argument with her boyfriend “Jordan”:

"You Fucking listen to me Jordan! Shut the fuck up and fucking listen to me Jordan. Fucking listen to me Jordan! You know I fucking love you andyou treat me like fucking shit and you know I'm fucking right. I don't even know where I'm fucking at and I'm trying to fucking talk to you and you won't even fucking listen to me. Do you fucking hear me Jordan? Do you fucking hear me Jordan? Fucking listen to me, godamit, will you fucking listen to me. You don't fucking care........."

This is the first minute of what wuz a 25-minute conversation, the rest of which wuz exactly like this part. It wuz some pretty POWERFUL stuff I wanna' tell ya', and I'm jus' glad myself and all the other residents around here were able to share her angst. I jes' hope that “fucking Jordan,” the cad, realises whut a sweetie he's got there! Now, if ya'll excuse me, I gotta' go wee wee.

Aw'right boyz and gurlz, I doubt whether ya' recall me tellin' ya' about the last time I barbequed. It was tha' Labor day weekend, the year ‘99. Ya' know, back in that world we useta' live in before everything changed. Prolly ya' don't remember huh?

Well, anyway, whut I didn't mention at the time wuz the fack that I injured myself in preparation of same! Yes I did but I didn't mention it at the time, cuz I didn't wanta' throw a pall of gloom over any festivities ya' might be engaged in while celebratin' Labor Day. Havin' had time to think and reflect on it, I think this story now needs ta' be told.

Whut happened wuz; I injured my back while liftin' tha' lid on my cooker. Aaaargh. I could barely walk ese, much less Boog-a-Loo. But, bein' tha' cap't and all, ever mindful of my rep, I endured the excruciatin' pain, stoically, in silence. Well cept' fer maybe a couple of dozen peoples I may have casually mentioned it to.

The only reason I 'm sayin' anythin' 'bout it right now is in the hope that, maybe, jus' maybe, one Other person might be spared the agony I went through. Remember; this barbecuin' is a serious and tricky business. And as my case illustrates, it can also obviously be dangerous and hazardous to yer health...so...I recommend that ya' never attempt to do this by yerself. Ideally ya' would have a Trained Perfessional Barbecue Consultant on hand, and perhaps one other person to stand by with a Fire Extinguisher, jus' in case ya' made some minor miscalculation in your bricquets to lighter fluid ratios.

As a general rule of thumb, don't matter whether I'm cookin' indoors or outdoors, I don't usually go for the extinguisher unless the flames are at least a foot over my head. Of course, this varies from individual to individual. Some folk panic as soon as the top of the stove goes up in flames. These are what I refer to as "Chicken Little-types". A friendly word of Advice; these kind of peoples don't make for good room mates. They are continually racin' and thrashin' blindly about, wavin' their arms wildly, and all the time shriekin' and screamin',

"We're all gonna' die! We're all gonna' die!" at the top of their lungs.

Sheeit. This can be most annoyin' and distractin' when one is wrapped up in the Fourth Lotus Position, lookin' to cop a little Serenity while yer repast is grillin' or simmerin' or brewin, or, y'know, whatever.

Well anyway, after our little chat, perhaps as you are “on the grill”, so to speak, you will be more MINDFUL as ya' go about your business. Jus' remember, those fires can get out of control if yer not careful. Believe me, I speak from experience!!

So of course Fire Awareness is important, but tha' point I'm tryin' ta' get across here in tha' hopes that the tragedy I went thru won't happen to anyone else is; make damned sure ya're in a good stance before ya' attempt to lift that lid on yer grill! the capt.

P.S. I think rather than celebratin' "Labor" or "Work", we oughta' have a "Day Off Day" where we celebrate Not Workin'! I could get into that.

Do ya' remember that song from ‘64 by tha' Shangri-las, "The Leader of the Pack"...with the line, "Hey Betty, is that Jimmy's ring you're wearing?"

"Uh huh"

Did'ja know Billy Joel was playin' piano on that? Gasp! the cap't

Hey, ya' know how I mentioned drunk drivers and peoples who talk on their cell phones while drivin', have accidents at tha' same rate? Whut about a person drivin' drunk and also talkin' on their phone at tha' same time? Whew, huh! the cap't