tI jus' read this book yesterday by a guy I went ta' an Amerikan High School with in 1959 in Wiesbaden, Germany. I didn't really know him then cuz we ran in very different crews. His dad wuz a Major General (thas' two stars) and so he wuz a typical military brat, always cognizant that his dad's rank set him apart from everybody else. Military kids are always keenly aware of their own father's military ranking viz a viz their friends father's rank. It has a kinda 'trickle down' effect.

He of course wuz a good student, participatin' in all th' rituals and bullshit expected of a general's son. Whereas my friends and I were only interested in raisin' hell and gettin' drunk every night, which wuz simple ta' do cuz th' Germans didn't give a shit how old ya' were, as long as ya' had th' deutschmarks ta' pay fer yer beer. At that time, beer wuz a dime a glass. Ya' could go downtown, get drunk on yer ass, play th' jukebox, stop and have some bratwurst and potato salad on th' way home, and all fer about two bucks. Can ya' dig that!!

My buddies and I couldn't care less about H.H. Arnold High School (named after General Henry 'Hap' Arnold, WW II Army Air Force Commander for Europe) or its traditions. Th' first day of school, my partners and I were standin' in th' middle of a hallway and some kid came up and said, "Hey, I know you guys are new, but you better not let the seniors catch you standin' there."

And my buddy said, "Whyszat?"

And th' kid said, "Cuz you're standing on the school emblem. No body is allowd to walk across or

stand there."
And we looked down and there wuz a mosaic of an Indian ("The Warriors") embedded in th' floor. And we said, "Fuck off punk! We'll stand any godam place we wanta!. Tell that ta' th' fuckin' seniors."

Well, it turns out, none of th' other seniors wanted ta' press th' issue with us. So, after that, we made it a point ta' meet there every morning before school, and within' a couple of weeks, even th' freshmen were walikin' over th' Warrior. Ha ha. We had destroyed a long standin' tradition almost overnight. Well, see, all of us had been uprooted from different schools in th' states where we had wanted ta' graduate, and we resented like hell bein' there in godam Germany. So, we didn't give a shit about H.H. Arnold high school and it's lame-ass traditions.

As a matter of fact, they created a special detention hall for us, cuz durin' sports games between our school and other Amerikan schools, they let school out early so every one could go ta' th game, but we always sat on the Visitors side and cheered for our opponents. This didn't set too well with our peers or th' faculty. We said,

"Fuck you! We'll sit where ever th' hell we wanta!"

They accused us of not havin' 'school spirit'. Ha ha. Sheeeit. Hey ese, we had plenty 'school spirit', th' problem wuz...it jus' wuzn't fer our own school! Ha ha.

OK, OK, scuse me, I digress. Well anyway, today, James Carroll, as ya' may know writes a column for the Boston Globe, and has also written 8 or 9 novels.

His book of a couple of years ago, American Requiem, an auto-biographical screed, largely about his relationship with his dad, was excellent in his portrayal of the conflicts any military kid has dealin' with a uber-authoritarian father-figure. In his case, a two-star general. (ya' don't get two stars on yer collar askin' a lot of questions. See, whutever th' situation, ya' jus' say, YES SIR, RIGHT AWAY...SIR!!!) There wuz a lot there that those of us who went thru that same kind of experience can identify with. Ditto a lotta' stuff in The Great Santini.

This book tho, Secret Father, is fiction and I suppose would be called a Cold War mystery/thriller. It takes place, partly in Wiesbaden, but mostly in Berlin in 1961, jus' weeks before th' Berlin Wall went up. The central character there is an 18-year-old dorm student at H.H. Arnold H.S. whose best friend is th' son of a major general. He mentions drinking with friends at th' Zimmertal in Wiesbaden. I don't recall that joint but I do remember a place called the “Zillertal” tho which we just referred to as “the zoo.” A lot of us hung out there in ‘59. All these young American teenagers, as young as 8th graders, drinkin' and partyin' and then throw in all th' young GI's tryin' ta' score with 'em. It wuz a wild and crazy time, I cn' tell ya'!

His character also mentions his English teacher Mrs. Klein which wuz a thinly veiled reference ta Mrs. Kleinschmidt, one of two English teachers at school.

His mention of her brought back memories of th' other English teacher, Mrs. Hirsh, who I had for English. I loved Mrs. Hirsh. I remember her with great fondness and respect. She wuz a really special teacher. (I cn' tell ya' one thing; she definitely would not approve of my spelin'! Ha ha)

Had it not been for Mrs. Hirsh's patience and tolerance I would not have graduated when I did. She went way overboard in allowin' me to make up crucial tests I had missed as a result of spending th' afternoon at the Grauerstein, a local bierstube near school. (I spent many an afternoon there in lieu of classes. Ha ha) She let me turn in homework assignments late. She really put out a lot of effort for me. Mrs. Hirsh simply refused ta' let me flunk myself, and therefore, not graduate. She musta' made me her Special Project fer ‘59. It seemed like it wuz more important ta' her that I graduate, than it wuz ta' me.

Damn, I have wished so many times over the years I could have thanked her properly. At th' time tho I didn't fully realise how much I owed her.

Well, anyway, I enjoyed th' book, if for no more reason than it made me think of her again and those carefree teenage days in Deutschland in 'th late ‘50s. If ya' happen ta' see it or American Requiem at th' library, pick it up; I think you'll like it.

th' cap't

Hey, look here, jus' cuz one “bad apple” in Minnesota happened ta' waste 6 or 7 fellow hunters in a minor dispute, I see no big reason fer th' anti-gun whackos ta' be whinin' and complainin', and moanin' and groanin', but ya' know how those freaks are!

I mean, if ya've ever been huntin' yerself then ya' know that automatic assault rifles and rocket propelled grenades, etc, etc, are essential when trackin' and huntin' vicious and dangerous deer. So, whut's th' big deal?

th cap't

One of th' bigger surprises I've had in my life wuz when I wuz in th' third or fourth grade; I can't remember which fer sure, and I found out th' word “chaos” was actually pronounced...'KAY os' instead of 'CHA os'. My teacher corrected me as I wuz readin' aloud in class. I remember though, re-actin' at th' time sayin',

"Hey yo dude!! Whut kind of fuckin' bullshit is this? Where in th' fuck do they come up wit dat? It looks like 'Cha os' ta' me. Jus' who makes up these godammed rules anyway? Huh? Who are these fuckers?"

And thas' when Sister Mary Bob, citing my Anti-Authoritarian Attitude as a justification, whacked my hands a couple dozen times with a heavy duty industrial ruler, She said,

"There's more where that came from, young man, if you don't wise up."

And as she walked away I muttered,

"Up yers Sis!"

and she whirled around and snarled,

"WHAT DID YOU SAY, MISTER?"

and I replied, "I said, 'Yes Sister."

And she glared at me, highly suspicious that wuzn't whut I had said, but could only resort ta' puttin' tha' Evil Eye on me. I mean it too, cuz like, only one eye could look at ya' cuz th' other one went off in different directions and th' good one had a real nasty look to it.

Of course, now that I'm older and more mature I takes these setbacks and disappointments in th' Authorities capricious actions with more Grace and Humility.

yer humble servant,

th' cap't

I wuz at th' libarry yesterday and happened ta' see an article about th'former Susie Stephens from St. Louie. She useta' be one of the nation’s leading specialists on Pedestrian and Bicycle Safety. As ya' know, pedestrians and bicyclists are a subject dear ta' my heart (snicker). Unfortunately, she wuz struck and killed by a tour bus while crossin' th' street!

Kinda' makes ya' think, don't it? Hmmmm.…yeah I know, we cn' only speculate she hadn't had time yet ta' research and write th' chapter, "On crossing a street without being killed by a BUS!"

But th' circumstances kinda reminded me about a situation I wuz in back in ‘80, ‘81? A gurl I wuz foolin' around with at th' time kept buggin' me to take up jogging for the cardio-vascular benefits. Y'know, she wuz pushin' on me the whole fitness' agenda. Y'know, like, "Charley, you're forty years old and have been abusing your body for many years now, It's time you did something good for it for a change! Blah, blah, fuckin' blah, and blah, blah some more."

I got tired of listenin' ta' her incessant whinin' and after awhile I said, "OK, OK, I get yer point."

And so in th' interest of Inter-relationship Harmony I relented. (well, sheeit, ya' cn' only listen ta' so much! Right?)

So I took up runnin'. And, I researched it. I read everything I could find about it — at least a dozen books. But then, one day, maybe a year later, I had ta' re-asses th' whole program when Jim Fixx, the leadin' Guru, best sellin' Author and Advocate fer th' cardi-vascular benefits of jogging, DIED OF A HEAT ATTACK while joggin' in Central Park. Sheeeit. When I first heard about this I wuz initially stunned and then had to let out a loud guffaw of disbelief. Say whut? C'mon! Jim Fixx, dead of a heart attack!!! WHILE JOGGIN'? I said ta' myself,

"Hmmmm....sumthin's the matter with this picture? This doesn't make sense. It would be like...well, like, Susie Stephens gettin' run over by a bus, or somthin!"

Ya' know whut I mean. So I used that as an excuse ta' put an end ta' th' Madness and promptly resigned my position as a Celebrity Runner. Prolly a good thing too since half the time I could hardly walk, due to 'shin splints', and rib 'things' and all manner of other ailments I suffered in my quest for “Wellness.” There wuz never a day when some part of me wasn't functionin' properly. She had brainwashed me with that bullshit Nonsense, "No pain....no gain".

I said, "Sheeeit gurl, 'No pain...No pain' sounds a helluva a lot better ta' me!"

It's like I told her, "I haven't felt SO GOOD since I quit runnin' as I did, since before I started."

She said, "What?"

I said, "Ya' know whut I mean!"

So look here, amigos, take th' cap'ts word fer it. Ferget about all the so called “experts”!! Take their advice with a grain of salt, but, listen ta' Me! If ya' should happen to be a runner, jogger, speed walker, bicyclist, gym rat, etc. etc, etc, ...STOP IT!!!...RIGHT NOW! Ya' hear? Get off that bike! Off those skates, out of those speedos, off those trails and get yer ass back onto th' Sofa where it belongs!

YOU'LL FEEL BETTER! I GUARANTEE IT.

the cap't

It never ceases ta' amaze me how our Government, cowered by th' Pharmaceutical Industry, continues ta' decry the admission of cheaper drugs from Canada on th' grounds that, because they haven't been tested and approved by th' FDA, they may not be safe! Ha ha.

Is that a fuckin' joke, or whut? I mean, y'know, like, Canada is some third-world country where peoples may be brewin' up these drugs in big steel drums in th' yard, usin' eye of newt mixed with powdered bat wings?

I hope yer not one of th' millions who used Vioxx, thinkin' that it mus' be safe, otherwise the FDA would never have approved it in th' first place, whut with their rigorous testin' and so forth. And then, after some studies had raised cautions about it's safety, th' FDA woulda' certainly have pulled it from th' market, if it wuzn't safe! I mean, wouldn't they?

Yeah, right! Pshaw!

Th' odds of th' FDA keepin' ya' safe from bad drugs (stay away from th' brown acid) are about as good as th' CIA or th' FBI keepin' ya' safe from terrorists. Sheeeit.

th' cap'm

I overheard two young college dudes last night discussin' th' possibility of conflict between the United States vs. 'The Evil 7'. (not to be confused with the Big 12) Accordin' ta' one of 'em, China poses th' biggest threat ta' us since they have OVER FOUR BILLION peoples.

Ha ha. Thas' right!! Thas' OVER 4 billion mind you! Damn! I'll wager ya' din't know that two outta' three peoples in th' world were Chinese, did'ja? Well, as I mentioned, these were college students so they would know such things.

He asserted that should th' Chinese mass together on th' West Coast, (this would be a classic example of 'the teeming masses' we hear so much about) armed only with pitchforks, and proceed ta' march eastward...that we could not stop them!

Alarm bells and klaxons immediately went off in my brain as, among all th' possible doomsday scenarios rattling around my head, I hadn't thought of this one! (I wonder how our new AG will address this threat?)

Well, immediately, the other dude poo-pooed that idea, claimin' that th' Mighty United States Navy, "THE GREATEST NAVY IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD", if I might quote him directly, would easily prevent such a gathering.

Gee, I certainly hope so. This was most assurin' ta' me. I felt a lot more secure in th' knowledge that our Navy would be able to prevent such a situation. Whew! That wuz close, eh? I put it out of my mind.

Well, of course, no such luck...as I consequently had a terrible nightmare upon rackin' out of OVER 4 billion Chinese, (I'm not sure exactly how many there wuz since I stopped countin' at 4 billion) wearin' their coolie straw hats, and threadbare, rag-tag clothes, armed with pitchforks...and all of 'em, comin' straight at moi. Yeah right, ME. They were comin' after ME, ME, ME, ya dig? They weren't intent on World Domination, or anything so mundane and banal as that; they all jus' wanted to stick a bunch of holes…in ME! with their pitchforks!! Sheeit.

As ya' can imagine, I wuz mightily relieved when I woke up and realized it wuz only a dream. Cool! No harm done

And yet, there is still some collateral damage in that I have this lingerin' feeling of impendin' doom from the Yellow Peril,” so, as a result, I cancelled my luncheon plans at th' "Golden Dragon" today. I had visions (Yeah, I have visions too. Visions are not jus' fer prospective office holders ya'know) of finishin' my dew drop wok soup, or whatever that stuff is, and upon askin' for my check, havin' th' wait/person ATTACK me instead, with a large pitchfork they had concealed behind their back.

It's not gonna happen tho ese, cuz I pay attention ta' th' messages in my dreams, see? I'm gonna' be a lot more vigilant in th' future. They're not gonna catch me off guard. I'm keepin' an eye out on those Chinese critters.

Look here, th' next time ya' see a Chinese person about on the streets carryin' a large pitch fork, ya'd be wise ta' not make eye contact and to avoid 'em all together, cuz ya' don't know whut they might do with that pitchfork!

Personally, I think one of th' main threats we face from these Chinese beings is, not only being pitchforked to death, but th' loss of technology we are sufferin' at their hands, posin' a serious threat ta' our way of Life. Even as I write this, they are workin' in fast-food joints, all over th' country, disguisin' themselves as illegal Mexican laborers...learnin' th' secret ingredients of Big Macs and Whoppers and other similar high end technical goods so they can start manufacturin' their own Chinese versions. the Beeg Mac, exportin' 'em ta' places all over th' world where we had previously been Dominant, strippin' us of our Culture and Status and Prestige as being...NUMBER ONE in th' Fast Food World. Where will that leave us, huh? It's not a pretty picture, is it?

This is not a time to be complacent, boyz and gurlz. Remember; Keep yer eyes...on th' Chinese!

th' ever vigilant cap't

(This wuz sent ta' me from my friend M___i.)

Fer those of ya' who may think th' cap't a bit too strident from time ta' time, I am a rank amatauer compared ta' th' Doctor. Check this out. This wuz written sometime after th' invasion of Iraq I believe.

th' cap't

"We have become a Nazi monster in the eyes of the whole world, a nation of bullies and bastards who would rather kill than live peacefully. We are not just Whores for power and oil, but killer whores with hate and fear in our hearts. We are human scum, and that is how history will judge us. No redeeming social value. Just whores. Get out of our way, or we'll kill you.

Who does vote for these dishonest shitheads? Who among us can be happy and proud of having all this innocent blood on our hands? Who are these swine? These flag-sucking half-wits who get fleeced and fooled by stupid little rich kids like George Bush?

They are the same ones who wanted to have Muhammad Ali locked up for refusing to kill gooks. They speak for all that is cruel and stupid and vicious in the American character. They are the racists and hate mongers among us; they are the Ku Klux Klan. I piss down the throats of these Nazis.

And I am too old to worry about whether they like it or not. Fuck them." — Hunter Thompson

(And they say I'M strident? Ha ha)

Whut the' hail is that all about? I mean, whut's goin' on here? Whut is that sneaky bastard up ta' now?

Cuz, like, peoples like John Ashcroft jus' don't quit a position of Power such as his, where he is one of the half dozen most powerful figures in Government. They don't go easily. They don't resign and then quietly steal away inta' th' night, y'know whut I mean! They gotta be dragged, kickin' and ragin' andscreamin' and shriekin' until their fingernails finally break.

Remember how four years ago a lot of us here in Missouri couldn't contain our glee when he lost th' Senate race to a dead guy. We thought, "John Ashcroft" in th' Senate, oh no, god no!!

But then, our joy in his defeat wuz short lived when only a brief time later he wuz appointed U.S. Attorney General. Oh sheeit! Th' Horror! Th' horror! Man, that kinda' took th' breath outta' our sails, huh?

And then th' man went on ta' justify alla' our fears. Our Broadway musical suddenly turned inta' a funeral dirge.

And now, he's resignin'? Whew! Sumthin's not right here Jack. Sumthin's fishy. I don't know, but, I got a bad feelin' 'bout this. I mean, like, whut if Our Leader were ta' replace him with some one like, say fr'instance Jerry Falwell? Or Pat Robertson? Whut if he tagged our own, th' Rev. Phred Phillips of Wichita? Think 'bout that scenario! Sounds like th' plot of a really frightenin' horror movie, don't it? Then we really would be thinkin' 'bout "th' good ol' days" when John Ashcroft wuz th' AG!

Now, thas' a scary thought ihn't it!!

th' cap't

P.S. I jus' realised I mis-spelled th' rev. fred phelps name. Iwanted ta correct this cuz otherwise he might have his family and others of his minions out in front of my crib, wavin' their placards and sendin' me off ta' hell fer besmirchin' his name by mis-spellin it. Mea culpa rev.

Last nite, I wuz also rappin' with an amigo of mine who is a tattoo and piercing specialist. He's been in th' game fer quite a few years. He has tattoos and piercins' all over himself.

He wuz showin' me his latest tattoo, which he wuz very proud of, on his neck. I couldn't quite make it out in th' semi-darkness of th' saloon, but it wuz a very elaborate circular design about four inches in diameter. There on th' side of his neck jus' below his ear.

I said, "Thas' cool, I dig that."

I jokingly asked him if he could do th' Battle of Gettysburg on my forehead. But he told me, quite adamantly that he refused ta do tattoos on anyone's face. As a professional he considered that ta' be waaay over th' line and wouldn't even consider it. Bad taste indeed! He asked me,

"Cap't, WHY in th' WORLD would ANYONE want a tattoo on their FOREHEAD?"

This notion wuz incomprehensible ta' him and I'm lookin' at him. With his tattoos all over his hands, arms, chest, back, y'know, everywhere...and it jus' struck me as a bit incongruous that he would find that idea 'strange', ta' th' point of bein' 'weird'!!

And I jus' said,

"Well, I dunno fer sure, but ya' know, some peoples will do anything fer a bit of attention." And then I told him about th' "Twins and More" bumper sticker from a few days ago, lest he think I wuz inplyin' sumthin' bout him.

th' cap't

It's not whut ya' think, No, no, I'm not talkin' bout that. One doesn't need to go about pissing here and there to mark ones passage. We are not animals! Well...yeah, we are...but...let's not get into all that here.

Anyway, last nite, I overheard a young dude telling his friends about the vacation he had had this past summer in the Himalayas.

He described the glorious views, the breathtaking vistas, the pristine beauty of it. He wuz really impressed by th' grandeur of it all. He talked about standing over a 5,000-foot gorge and being so overwhelmed by it, that he wanted to leave somethin' of himself behind, so that others would know he had been there, so...he sailed his Frisbee right out into the abyss, in sheer joy and exuberance.

"YAHOOOO",

and I thought to myself,

"Right on bro! Let em' know ya' wuz there. Make yer mark by leaving a fucking 9-inch plastic disc behind! Cuz it's th' Amerikan way!!" Cool, huh?

th' cap't

"I HAVE TWINS...AND MORE."

Well. SO WHAT! C'mon, I mean, big fuckin' deal!! Like, outside of yer family, I mean, who really gives a shit whether ya' got, "Twins...and more", or not?

Why is it that peoples want to let all th' rest of us know, by way of bumper stickers, that Junior is an honor student? Or that they own a Rhodesian Ridgeback, fr'christ sake? Or...whatever? Do they think we are impressed? Sheeit

So, OK, I think I'm gonna have a sticker made that says,

"I OWN A ROLEX...and MORE"

And put in on my rear bumper. Imagine the attention and respect I will garner from total strangers. Peoples will drive behind me and nod and think to themselves,

"Wow! That dude has a Rolex, and more even. He must really be sumthin! I'll bet he's Reely Cool."

And I cn' cruise round town with a smug, superior mien, knowin' that common folks will have somthin' ta' tell their friends about later in th' taverns and saloons those kinda' folks frequent.

"Ooooh, I saw a dude today who owns a Rolex!! and MORE!"

Th' fact that I don't own a Rolex is completely immaterial, cuz as far as I know, there is no such thing as a ''Truth in bumper stickers law". Sheeit, I mean, like, how in the hell do I know whether that gurl really has "Twins...and more" or not?

Why doesn't she put a large photo in the rear window of these alleged twins?

And whut about that, "and more" part? Thas' just a tad vague, isn't it? Whut exactly does she mean by that? Who are these peoples and just how many of them are they? And whut are their names and their relationship ta' her? And how old are they? Whut are their hobbies and how are they doing in school/work/Life? She's jus' teasin' us with these little snippets of information, but I want some details! I wanta' know, godammit.

the cap't

I wuz rappin' with a couple of gooses earlier. They were packin' it up.

I said, "So, you guys gettin' ready ta' do yer annual 'South thing', eh?"

And this one goose dude said, "Nah Cap't, don'cha read th' papers? Sheeit, man, like, we don't usually split til' December, but we're gettin' while th' gettin's good, and if ya' had half a brain, ya'd be gettin' too."

And I've been thinkin' on that.

th' cap't

My friend Harlene sent this quote to me. It seems so apropos.

th' cap't

"As democracy is perfected, the office of president represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron." — H.L. Mencken (1880-1956)

I wuz earlier today down by yer Osco drugs pickin' up a gallon of milk and th' gurl who gave me my receipt told me if I called th' 800 number on it and participated in their survey they would give me absolutely "free" a six pack of bottled water.

I said, "Thanks sweetie, but um' like, I got a faucet in my kitchen and I get all th' water I need from it. Yeah, but hey, thanks anyway."

Please do me a favor, if ya' EVER see me payin' fer a bottle of water, unless I'm crawlin' on my hands and knees in th' middle of th' Kalihari, step back, drop a dime on me and have me committed forthwith, cuz I'm obviously deranged and may be dangerous!

th' cap't

P.S. Follow that same procedure if ya' ever see me with a sweater tied around my waist or neck, cuz somethin' is definitely wrong with me.

After hearing the definitive decision yesterday, I turned off the TV, turned off the radio. I wuzn't even slightly interested in hearin' th' election analyzed as ta' how, and why Bush won; as ta' how, and why Kerry lost, etc. etc.

I picked up a book and barely left th' confines of my sofa, wishin' I had some heavy duty drugs I could hit up sendin' myself to OBLIVION. I didn't even go out last night, but stayed home, knowin' I would have had ta' listen ta' some Bush supporters gloating and celebratin' his win, and I knew I couldn't deal with that.

Today, I'm sayin',

"Bush din't win! Bush din't win! Bush din't win! bush din't win!!"

…over and over, and over again. I guess I'm in that stage of Grief, y'know, th' one called...DENIAL.

th cap't

P.S. What really scares me is that in a couple of years we could easily be referrin' ta' these past four years as, "th good ol days." like,

"Remember how in th' first four years all we had ta' deal with was a failin' economy, when th' war in Iraq wuz the only one at th' time, when we din't have a draft, th' lack of health care fer th' average citizen, th' decimation of th' environment, outsourcin' of jobs. (outsourcing, now there's a euphemism fer ya') Remember when there only usta' be 20-30 students per class, now there's 60! Remember when we thought a shortage of flu vaccine wuz a Big Deal? Remember when there usta' be a First Amendment? Whut wuz that Fouth amendment anyway? Remember when ya' din't have ta' sign an annual Pledge of Patriotism?

How naive were we?

I jus' received this from an old HS chum of mine. This is whut ya' might call, "the other viewpoint". Ha ha. Obviously everybody, includin' all those millions who voted fer Geo. Bush don't agree with my perspective on things.

"THE ECSTASY, THE ECSTASY, THE ENDLESS ECSTASY...THANK GOD FOR VICTORY FOR BUSH AND CHENEY AND ALL OF AMERICA...THE COUNTRY IS SAVED FROM A HORRIBLE FATE."

Like I said, th' flip side of th' coin. But as I told her tho, one of these days, I'm gonna have ta' lay th' ol'

"I TOLD YA' SO!!" on her.

th cap'm

P.S. I cain't help but wonderin' tho how many of those Bush supporters who say they voted fer him cuz they feel "safer" with him, rather than Kerry, jus' kinda forget how “safe” he kept us all on Sept. 11th? It did, after all, happen on his watch, did it not? Is that whut they're referrin' to when they talk about 'safe'? Jus' personally, that doesn't seem like much of a recomendation ta' me. It doesn't inspire a whole lotta' confidence, but then again, thas' jus' me.

I had th' most HORRIBLE nightmare of my life last night. I can't begin ta' describe ta' ya' how bad it wuz! I mean, god, it wuz BAD, BAD, BAAD!

Fortunately I woke up in a cold sweat before it became too unbearable. I know that I yelled out loud, "HELP ME!! HELP!!!!" several times jus' before I awoke, cuz I could hear the echo in th' room. Unable ta' get back ta' sleep, I lay awake for some time, tryin' ta put th' dread and impendin' sense of doom outta my mind until eventually I drifted back ta' sleep.

Then jus' a little while ago I turned on th' news and found out it wasn't a nightmare after all, that it wuz REAL; that it really had happened!! That Geo. Bush wuz RE-ELECTED and we faced four more years of his INSANITY!!!

I broke out inta' a sweat again, my knees buckled and I almost fainted. How in th' World did this happen? It's incomprehensible ta' me! I'm in complete Shock. This is toooo much! I feel like a drownin' man goin' under fer th' third time.

Now, the next four years he won't even have ta' worry about his actions affecting his next election. Now he'll have carte blanche ta' do whatever he wants ta'. He'll be able ta' load up th' Supreme Court and affect crucial judicial decisions fer th' next twenty-thirty years. And the further bad thing is we'll have ta' deal with his whole fucked up posse; Karl Rove, Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, Condoleeza Rice, Colin Powell and JOHN ASHCROFT, fr'christ sake!! JOHN ASHCROFT!!

Godamn Sheeit!!! I wish I had th' money, I'd move ta' France in a heartbeat. And if that idea appeals ta' ya', send me a check. money order, cash, an airline ticket. Hell, nail me up in a box and send me COD. Jus' help me get th' fuck outta here!!

th cap'm

OK, OK, I know these are stupid, but I heard 'em Sat. nite and at th' time, due ta' th' booze and 'stuff' I thought they wuz amusin'. First joke:

Q: "Whut's th' difference between Neil Armstong and Michael Jackson?"

OK. think about it!

Give up?

A: Neil Armstrong walked on th' moon. Michael Jackson likes to fuck little boyz. har har. dunb enuff fer ya'?

Awright, next joke, and th' last one,

Q: "Why did Adolph Hitler stop drinkin' gin?"

A: "Cuz it made him mean!!" It made him “mean,” see?? again, har, har

End of joke session.

th' cap'm

It wuz a bust! Whut a bummer! I wasted two hours last night waitin' fer th' doorbell ta' ring. I had my hand on th' doorknob and wuz ready ta' spring instantly. “Trick or treaters” went up and down my street.

They stopped on my right and on my left and across the street, But sheeit, no one stopped at my crib. So naturally, I din't wind up with one single piece of loot in my bag. Not one! sheeit. Evidently some one must have snitched out my new version of “trick or treat.”

Well, I've got another year to map out a new strategy, but as I look at my pathetic, empty bag sittin' there, frankly my dear, I don't give a damn!

the cap't.

P.S. Do you notice how weird, otherwise normal, sane, sensible peoples get when they put a costume on? Somethin' happens ta peoples when they have their face hidden. Cuz now ya' can't 'SEE' em', dig? Like, the real person they are has become invisible, and so now they seem ta' think they have carte

My outlook on th' Halloween 'thing' is, "Bah Humbug!" I mean it too. I am not even goin' 'trick or treating' this year.

Nope, I'm gonna' stay right here at mi casa. After th' shameless way I wuz treated last year, to quote the eminent philosopher Roberto Duran, I jus' say, "No mas. No mas".

See, th' thing wuz, last year, I didn't really wear a costume, but jus' wore my customary black fedora, and black full length coat, and of course, my dark shades. I did go ta' th' effort though of puttin' a three inch long 'scar' on my right cheek to give me a sorta' menacin' mien, which wuz rather successful I might add.

Gee, whut is with peoples anyway? I wuz treated rudely th' entire evening. I distinctly remember though, my last call of th' night, after having endured the taunts and jeers of the punk ass kids sayin' stuff like,

"Hey gee, you old geezer, Halloween is supposed to be for kids. What are you doing out here?"

To which I replied, "Hey, deal with it punks!"

Well anyway, this elderly lady came to th' door, and jus' peeked through it and said in a quavering, reedy voice,

"What do you want?"

And I gave her th' old, "TRICK OR TREAT" bit in my best snarly voice, and she said,

"You should be ASHAMED of your self. Go away!"

Well, I cn' tell ya, I'd had just about enuff 'attitude' fronted me for th' night already, so I said,

"Look here Granny! Here's the deal And get this straight cuz, LIKE, I'm only gonna say it one more time, ya' dig! TRICK...OR...TREAT! Now ya' got a choice here and I hope ya' make the right decision!"

And so, with trembling hands (well hell, she wuz old y'know) she dropped a few paltry pieces of candy in my bag, and rather than push the issue and get on her case fer bein' such a stingy bitch, I jus' said, "Good choice!" and walked away disgusted with th' whole process.

Bummer! Decidin' to call it a night, I looked in my bag to assess my haul. Sheeit. Pretty slim pickins' I wanta' tell ya!

However fortunately for me, I happened to run into a couple of young goblins on my way home who had apparently done rather well, so I figured, "Whut the hell" and so I laid my most intimidating, "TRICK OR TREAT" on them.

They tried to explain to me that it didn't work that way; that I wuz supposed ta' knock on doors and get stuff from th' peoples there, and I 'splained ta' them in a fashion so as ta' leave no room fer doubt that, "This year kiddies, things are different!"

And so they both reluctantly, whinin' and snivellin' th' whole time, forked over half of their stash. (Which I thought wuz fair.) Boy if it hadn't been for those two, th' night would have been a total disaster.

So, this year I have decided that I am not goin' to subject myself to the ridicule and humiliation. This year, I am not goin' out. at all. I'm jus' gonna remain right here in my lair...and when the doorbell rings, I'm gonna leap thru th' door and yell,

"TRICK OR TREAT!!"

And I'm hopin' I don't have ta do a lot of explaining' that this year, WE GOT NEW RULES!!

the Spookster Cap't

Last nite, or rather, early this morn', I wuz down by yer Fred P. Otts inth' Plaza and I happened ta' notice that there were seven young gurl peoples dressed as Fairy Princesses. Yep, seven! With their little tiaras and their gowns and their gossamer wings and their wands. Sheeit.

This doesn't really surprise me that much tho, cuz most every nite I deal with th' "Fairy Princess Syndrome". There are lotsa' young gurlz out there who seem ta' fancy themselves as Princesses, y'know and whutever ya' might do fer them, well, why shouldn't ya'? And more! Cuz, like, they deserve it don'cha know! They are quite special ya' know, and every one else is jus' chaff in th' wind.

When they wanta' drink, ya' should feel privileged ta' but one fer 'em. And god forbid they gotta buy it themselves! (Whus up wit dat?)

But if they should have'ta', well, since they are young and good lookin' it's only right and proper that they should get their drink promptly, and not have ta' wait like the peons ahead of 'em." Oh bartender, Me, Me, Me!!"

So, once a year, on or around Halloween, they even get ta' dress th' Role. Isn't Halloween great that way?

th Cap'm

I have a friend who is a bicycle enthusiast. As ya' may know from previous railings on th' subject..I AM NOT!

He has subtly threatened to sic some of his “biker” buddies on me in retaliation for my practice of runnin' bicyclists off th' road into ditches, trees, parked cars, y'know, whatever is handy at th' moment. (which is a good place fer 'em, I might add)

Fortunately, he and I have never encountered each other on th' hi-ways and byways for it might sorely test our friendship. A showdown, as it were, mano a mano! Should this happen however, I'm confident my four-wheeled, two tons of plastic would prevail over him and his piddley-ass, unwieldy, wobbly, 30-lb piece of metal.

Anyway, I'm not gonna tell ya' his name, however I will tell ya' this; he trades, "pork bellies" No Shit, ese. (and peoples give me shit fer collectin' sesame seeds!) He gets together with these other guys see, and they collect and trade pig stomachs! Who woulda' thought it?

I mean, when I wuz a kid I did some nerdy things myself, what with th' stamp and coin collectin', and the bird watchin', (please don't tell anyone about the “bird thing,” OK) BUT it never occurred ta' me or any of my friends at th' time that the future might lie in tradin' pig stomachs. Hell, it wuz hard enough ta' spot a rare bird occasionally much less get your hands on a real good pig stomach.

Well, as I said, th' thought never even crossed my mind. I jus' wasn't thinkin' in terms of pig guts. And look here, these guys are real SERIOUS about it too! I mean, they definitely get down with th' program! Their eyes bulge out, and they jump up and down, screamin' and yellin' themselves hoarse, wavin' their arms and gesticulatin' wildly about when a pork tummy that no one else has, I guess, suddenly becomes available.

OK, so listen up. Here's th' deal! Let me summarise this fer ya':.He trades pork bellies AND HE RIDES A BICYCLE!

Do ya' see whut I'm gettin' at? Do ya' see the connection? So I'll just let ya' connect th' dots yerself and draw yer own conclusions.

Th' scary thing is, see, these peoples have a chameleon kinda way of blendin' into th' general population so as to be un-noticeable. Ya' know whut? Ya' might even see him at the Wal-Mart with his family and kids in tow and think nothin' about it...and never realise that ya' are in fact, in th' presence of…A PORK BELLY TRADING BICYCLIST!

So...be on alert America; cuz they're out there amongst us!

th' cap't

P.S. If ya've ever seen Invasion of the Body Snatchers ya' got some idea of whut we're up against.

I am motivated ta' write this as a result of of crashin' my car over th' weekend and th' subsequent 'bummed out' factor that ensued.

But, listen up, if ya' should happen ta' be a person who does not seek Inspiration in yer daily Life, who does not want, or need, th' occasional lift of th' Spirit, then...GO NO FURTHER!!

BUT…if yer like th' rest of us…who find Comfort and Peace of Mind in Words of Wisdom, then heed this!!

I have always found Solace and Serenity in th' words and teachings of Mr. Natural. Do ya' remember him? Mr. Natural wuz a central character of Zap Comix, one of th' major “underground commix” of th' 60s and early ‘70s, penned and written by R. Crumb.

Mr. Natural wuz th' short, bald headed, robed, randy, and long bearded Guru, who all th' hippies went ta' fer Advice and Enlightenment. When asked ta' explain th' Vagaries and Capricious Nature of Existence, Mr. Natural's reply wuz, short, and succinct,

"It don't mean SHEEEEIT!"

Got that? Thas' right, "It don't mean SHEEEIT!"

A simple, but effective philosophy ta' live by. Yes indeed, I have found over th' years, when adversity struck, leavin' one rockin' and reelin', bobbin' and weavin', staggerin' about, tryin' ta' avoid th' knock out punch. I always hear Mr. Natural's comfortin' words, "It don't mean SHEEIT! It don't mean SHEEEIT"

And I would repeat this mantra over and over, until, finally, one day, a ray of sunshine made it's way thru th' grey gloom...and then another, and so on and so forth, until finally, th' clouds dissipated altogether and th' sky wuz bright and blue and clear, and th' birds wuz singin' once again, and everything was right with th' world.

So...remember boyz and gurls...when times get tough, don't despair. Say it after me,

IT DON'T MEAN SHEEEIT!

th' cap't

Did'ja see in th' paper where a poll found that 45% of th' Iraqi peoples would rather have a “Theocracy” rather than a Democracy (41%) and of course in a Democracy th' decision would then go to th' theocracy. Whut a stunner eh?

I mean, the Bush administration has been tellin' us fer so long how the Iraqis hungered fer a Democracy. Sheeit, who woulda' thought these Moslems, whose religion is th' most important thing in their lives, who in fact are obviously quite willing ta' give up their very lives for it; who pray FIVE TIMES A DAY, fr'christ sake, who woulda' thought that they would actually prefer one of their spiritual leaders to run their country, rather than some political hack puppet of the U.S. government? I mean, Gee, who woulda' thought that? It's certainly baffling isn't it?

Now that we have removed Saddam Hussein and his brutal regime with it's huge, giant stockpile of biological and chemical weapons, and it's ambitious nuclear weapons program, which wuz jus' short of bein' ready ta' nuke one of our cities; after all we've done fer them, now these Ingrate Bastards wanta' go and have a Theocracy. Sheeit. Whas' up wit dat? Don't they realize how much it's cost us economically, geo-politically, but also in lost lives, ours and theirs, and now they don't wanta' play our game any more? We told 'em we don't covet their godam precious oil, th' oil has got nothin' ta' do with it baby, we jus' wanta' give 'em some of that democracy they been yearnin' fer all these years, and now they tell us,
"Um thanks, but uh, well, like, we'd rather have th' Mullahs guide us and tell us whut ta' do. OK?! But hey dude, thanks anyway. Sorry fer' all th' trouble and all, and uh, we'll catch ya' later huh?"

Damn, don'cha jus' hate it when yer plans go all awry?

th' cap't

P.S. Did'ja happen ta' see a letter ta' th' editor in Saturday's paper where this fuckin' mook wrote, in finishin' up his letter of support fer Bush, "As for the weapons of mass destruction, anyone who doesn't believe Saddam Hussein was a ‘WMD’ has been living on another planet. (Speakin' of livin' on another planet) The world is safer without him. (does that expression ring a bell with ya' Ha ha) Osama Bin Laden is next on the hit list, (can ya' believe this stupid mutherfucker sayin' that th' guy who planned 9/11 is "next" on the hit list. Next???) and I hope it happens soon."

Oh man, kinda' hard ta' argue with that kind of mentality, eh, cuz ya' sure as hell can't sway their opinions with things like Logic or Rationale or Facts. Ha ha. Totally impervious, Bounce right off like a BB off a tank. No flip-floppers these.

All right boyz and gurlz, listen up, no more Vroomin' for the captain. The cap't’s Vroomin days are over

Some peoples might be saying, "Praise the Lord! Our prayers are answered"

You recall I just recently titled something, "I suspect some pipples have shit fer Brains"? Well I just want to confirm that. It's absolutely True, and the reason I can say it with such certainty...is because, I myself am one of those peoples with shit addled brains!

Like, take this early morning for instance, on a wet, slippery street, I managed to pilot my little Mustang hot-rod over the curb and through a 6-foot long, 2 1/2 foot thick brick wall and proceed thence through, and flatten a 15 foot section of chain link fence, and I managed to do it all this SIDEWAYS! Yea verily, I did. Looking at the crime scene in the light of day, I was amazed at how fast I had managed to get going in such a short distance before losing control.

As you might imagine, my Mustang is no longer recognizable as such. Oh it grieves me greatly as I had no liability insurance and besides the total loss on the Mustang, I also must replace the brick wall and the fence and also take care of the various summons I was presented with. (do you happen to know any brick layers or fence builders?)

If one were an optimist, in view of the fact that the way I've been driving this machine, that this was more of a "when" than "if" scenario, one might say I was Lucky to have walked away.

But you know what? I'm not an optimist and I don't feel even the slightest bit Lucky! (sob) I know, I know, you're saying, "Stop your whining cap'm and get on with the Program." but
still...

the cap't

Earlier this afternoon, as I wuz bouncing around town lookin' fer some cheap thrills, I found myself in Eden Alley, th' vegetarial cafe/gift shop in Unity Temple, th' interdenominational church in the Plaza District. I couldn't begin to 'splain to ya' how I happened to be in that place as I'm strictly a Meat Eatin' Pagan! Carnivore, ya' dig. I can, and have, mind ya', subsisted almost solely on th' Hot Dog in various periods of my life, and none th' worse fer it either.

Well anyway, I figured since I wuz there I may as well cut loose with some jack, however I didn't partake of th' tofu, or nothin' like that, but I did amble about th' gift shop and I made three purchases there.

I first purchased a Clear Quartz Crystal necklace. Th' card sez this crystal is an Emotional Balancer. It amplifies Thought and activates all levels of Consciousness. It dispels Negativity in one's energy field.
Now see, thas' jus' whut I need is ta' lower my negativity quotient. Peoples are alla' time tellin' me I'm too negative, or cynical, or pessimistic, or, well, y' know, all that kinda downer shit.

Check this out! It also receives, stores, transmits, and amplifies Energy. (Whew!) Cool, huh? It enhances communication with the Higher Self and Spirit Guides. (I like that 'high-self' part of the concept)

Yeah, and speakin' of Spirit Guides, I have been wonderin' jus' whut in the hell happened to my very own Spirit Guides? They all ran off some time ago, leavin' me 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. This may 'splain why I'm not a Spiritual-type person, since there ain't any Spirit Guides ta' help me along. Well, maybe this will help to re-open those broken lines of communication.

Now, th' the other necklaces 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, like, I have been aware fer some time that all these chakra areas needed some maintenance. Now I got it. If ya' neglect these chakras too long, well, they break down on ya', and that's not good, see?

Finally, I bought a box of Japanese blended incense to relieve stress and promote Serenity. Serenity! Can ya' dig it?

So here I am...sitting here at th' crib, right now, kickin' back, enjoying all three of 'em. Th' incense is burning, (I feel so Serene!) I have both necklaces on, so as ta' get a double-whammy effect there, (I feel so positive and stress free) and I'm jus' laid back and groovin'. Ya' know whut' I mean?!

the capt.

Did'ja happen ta' see in th' paper a couple of days ago where in Ft. Walton Beach, Florida, on Cypress Avenue, they have a large oak tree that th' cops say is a location where a lot of drug sales and prostitution go down. So th' county sheriff's idea to stop th' illicit activity...is ta' CHOP DOWN TH" FUCKIN TREE!! Ha ha.

Well, naturally! If illegal shit is happening around th' tree; if ya' CUT IT DOWN...no more problema. That makes sense, don't it?

This is so typical of th' mentality of th' anti-drug forces. This godam Moron actually thinks if he gets rid of th' tree, see, that he will get rid of' the dope problem. It would be funny if it weren't so fuckin ridiculous and INSANE.

I have no way of knowing, of course, but I'd bet my last nickel, this fuckin' cretin voted fer George Bush th' last time and will be votin' fer him again this time. Just a conjecture, but I would even give odds on it.

th' cap't

I don't know whether ya've noticed or not but the Pitch has run a full page ad th' last couple of weeks fer an event ta' be held in St.Louie this coming Sunday called, "The Tour de Fat" sponsored in some fashion by New Belgium, th' makers of Fat Tire Ale.

These fiends are promoting this event, get this, to encourage and propagate "walking and bicycling for recreation and transportation purposes." SHEEEIT! C'mon, thas' all we need is more of these fuckin' critters clogging up our paths, sidewalks, trails, hi-ways and bi-ways. Next thing ya' know, they'll be encouraging them ta' use their cell phones during these activities too, thus exacerbating an already unbearable situation. I cain't take it no more.

I'm sure ya'll already know my stand on this issue so I'm encouragin' peoples ta' boycott this whole sordid affair, at th' very least. Now, seein' as how it's goin' down in St. Louie, that shouldn't be too hard ta' do, eh? Ya'know, cuz like, all ya' gotta' do is; not get in yer car and not drive ta' St. Louie. Pretty easy, huh!

However, a boycott, in my mind, is not nearly a strong enuff statement. No, no, we gotta' do more than that! We gotta' counter this insidious movement with some ACTION, ya' know whut I mean!! Some RIGHTEOUS ACTION so they'll know where we stand. So I'm suggestin' and encouragin' peoples ta' go there, but ta' go there and PROTEST!!! Let 'em know how ya' feel.

First, get all tanked up and slobberin' drunk on some homegrown Boulevard Ale, fuck a bunch of Fat Tire Ale. Make ya' up some banners and placards, and chant some slogans, like fr'nstance,

"FUCK YOU AND TH' BICYCLE YA' RODE IN ON!" or maybe,

"WE DOAN WAN NO MORE STEENKING BICYCLISTS AND JOGGERS" or maybe,

"NO BIKERS, NO WALKERS, NO JOGGERS...NO JUSTICE!"

I dunno, hell, make up yer own slogans, and if ya' can't think of any....well sheeit, it don't really matter, jus' yell a lot of gibberish at 'em. And jus' remember, if some kinda' melee happens ta' break out and someone happens ta' get plonked on their dumb heads with a placard, well sheeit, no body said it has ta' be non-violent, ya' unnerstan'. I mean, like, we're not Mahatma Ghandi here, ya' dig! Jus' follow yerheart.

th' cap't

Last night, rather, early this morning I came back ta' th' pad, (“pad”, haha. remember that one?) and unwisely ventured into th' kitchen, which as ya' know in my case, is Not a such a good idea. I know, I shoulda' should have known better but...well, good judgement hasn't always been my best trait, thus th' ensuing tragedy.

Whut happened wuz; I got inta' my “ice box” ta' retrieve a package of sesame seed buns for a culinary project I wuz attemptin', and when I grabbed th' package I picked it up by th' wrong end and all of the loose sesame seeds scattered all over th' floor.

SHIT!! I cn' still see it happenin' in slo motion in my mind right now. (shudder) Ahm' tellin' ya, it wuz horrible.

Since I hadn't added any new seeds to my collection for quite a while, I wuz lookin' forward to these new additions, and now they were all over th' floor. When I finally recovered from th initial shock and got control of myself, I got a flashlight and got down on my hands and knees with a pair of tweezers and painstakingly tracked them down, one by one. All except two that is, which wound up underneath the stove.

In my drunken, ill co-ordinated condition, I wuz unable to move the stove. "Oh, th' pervasity of Inanimate Objects!" I exclaimed. I figured I wuz jus' gonna' have ta' move th' stove. So I decided ta' apply some scientific aids ta' help me in my quest. Then, in keeping with Murphy's law tho, I couldn't find my fulcrum. Where in th' hell is my fulcrum? I couldn't find it anywhere. I looked all over fer it, til finally, dejected and defeated, I racked out, sleepin' fitfully, tossin' and turnin' all night long.

Upon arisin' this noonish, I resumed my searchin' but still; no luck. Damn! How does one misplace a fulcrum? Huh? Then, suddenly, alluva' sudden like...it occurred ta' me; Damn! How did I overlook this important point and that is; a fulcrum is merely th' point where one rests th' lever, see? A fulcrum is not an actual physical thing at all; it's jus' an abstract idea. Well, sheeit, no wonder I couldn't find it in th' closet, eh! Ha ha. I felt kinda foolish considerin' how much time and effort I expended lookin' fer it. Oh well, only I know that and I ain't coppin' ta' it!

So, in spite of th' fact that I didn't actually misplace th' fulcrum, (which made me feel a bit better) I am still sorely disappointed by th' loss of those two seeds and as much as I try and dismiss it as jus' two seeds, no big deal, th' thought haunts me; whut if one of those seeds is th' legendary “ALBINO SESAME SEED?”

Th' fabled, some say mythical, Albino Sesame Seed is Pure White, and it has two tiny pink eyes (spots) which can only be seen with a microscope. It's every collector's dream. It's th' Holy Grail of sesame seed collectors. Whut if it wuz there, right under my stove, and I ignored it cuz I couldn't move th' damn thing? How could I live with that?

Well I cain't! So, if ya'll scuse me, I must be away to the hardware store and buy myself th' necessary implements I need so I cn' move th' stove and solve this mystery, and at th' very least, I can get some of that, y'know, closure stuff.

th' cap't

P.S. But jus' think, boyz and gurlz, if I should have th' Albino Sesame Seed in my possession, I could be on th' cover of “Sesame Quarterly”... the Accolades, the Fame, it boggles the mind, eh?I jus' got done samplin' some chili I prepared earlier today. Once again, fer th' second time in a row, it wuz excellent!

Did'ja know that 'Steely Dan' was named after a dildo in William S. Burroughs novel Naked Lunch?

Did'ja know that Lynard Skynard was inspired by Leonard Skinner, a teacher who once suspended the original members from high school for having long hair?

Did'ja know that the Rolling Stones name was taken from Muddy Water's song, "Rolling Stone Blues"?

Did'ja know Lou Reed lifted the name, "Velvet Underground" from a cheap, paperback novel?

Did'ja know that th' "Ramones" were named after Phil Ramone which was the name Paul McCartny adopted for himself when the Beatles were called the Silver Beatles"?

And of course we all know, "Three Dog Night" is a practice of Australian aborigines to sleep with three dogs on a particularly cold night.

Ya' already knew that tho, didn't ya'?

th' cap'm

Oh yeah, I fergot ta' mention, that along with th' latest success of Operation Chili.

I wuz also able ta' add to my sesame seed collection today. I don't know whether ya' knew that or not, as I don't exactly shout it from th' rooftops, as it were, but th' fact of th' matter is, I collect sesame seeds!

Thas' right. Some pipples collect stamps, some collect porcelain kitties, etc, etc. Thas' all fine and good, jus' not my ticket, ya dig! I on th' other hand…collect sesame seeds! Yeah. I have 'em in a large jar which I keep hidden under my kitchen sink, jus' in case I should be burgled some time. I am countin' on these future burglars not to check under th' sink for sesame seeds. I mean, who would think to look for 'em there, no?

I acquired most of 'em off hamburger buns. (although some were donated by various amigos) See, each time ya' handle a hamburger bun with sesame seeds, some of 'em fall off. Those seeds...I refer to them as, "the fallen seeds", go inta' my collection! Th' others... I eat of course. I have acquired over th' years, what I consider to be a rather impressive collection now. There is somethin', quite inexplicable, about seein' a large jar of sesame seeds, that I find very satisfyin'.

How about you boys and gurls? Do ya'll have a hobby too?

the cap't

I jus' got done samplin' some chili I prepared earlier today. Once again, fer th' second time in a row, it wuz excellent!

Tha's twice in two weeks I haven't been injured or had to call the fire dept. or transformed my chili into a block of lava. I wonder if this is just a fluke, or whether this indicates that perhaps, just maybe, that after twenty-five years...I am finally starting to get the hang...of that chili thang? hmmmmm.

th' cap't

(The following story makes fer a pretty good “micro-cosmic” view of my life. There are easy ways ta' do things, and there are hard ways ta' do things...and then, there's th' capt's way ta' do things.)

I bought a pizza Sunday at Papa John's ta' Go. Th' box had two circular openings in th' lid; one held th' garlic sauce container and th' other held a cup of red peppers.

When I got home and got ready to open th' box I noticed there wuz some writing on th' box around the edges of th' two holes. It said, "Please remove sauce cups before opening box."

I wuz in a kinda cantankerous frame of mood fer some unexplainable reason and I thought ta' myself, "Huh? Sez who? Sheeit, I don't even know these peoples! Jus' who in th' fuck-all do they think they are...tellin' me whut ta' do?"

Oh yeah sure, they tried ta' sugar-coat their demand with that lame ass, condescendin' "Please" bit, but I wuzn't ridin' that nag.

And then I started ta' hear Rage Against the Machine in my mind...

"FUCK YOU! I won't do what you tell me!! FUCK YOU! I won't do what you tell me! FUCK YOU! I won't do what you tell me!!"

So I sez' ta myself, "Fuck it!! I'm not removin' no steenking sauce cups before I open th' box cuz, like, I don't hafta'...... if I don't wanta'!"

So I flipped th' lid up very aggressively with a lot more force than wuz prolly necessary cuz when I did, th' fuckin' garlic sauce cup wuz flung outta' th' box and hit th' wall and th' top came off and I had garlic sauce dripping down my wall. Sheeeit. As I stood there lookin' at it, I shook my head and I whined in my mind, "Curses! Why does this kinda shit always happen ta' Me? Huh? Why?"

th cap't

P.S. It's a lot like th' old Indian parable of th' water buffalo and th' scorpion (since I am a Scorpio-type person myself I play th' role of th' scorpion in this scene) tryin' ta' cross the River Ganges and th' scorpion is tryin' ta' hitch a ride on th' water buffalo's back, cuz he cain't swim, ya' see. But th' water buffalo is not hip to that a'tall, see, cuz he's afraid th' scorpion will sting him, thus resultin' in his Death and Destruction. So he sez,

"Nah, I don't so!" So th' wily scorpion tells 'im,

"Now, why in th' world would I ever do such a thing as that Mr. Water Buffalo? cuz if I stung ya', ya' would die and then I would surely drown myself. That don't make any sense now, does it?"
And th' water buffalo thought about it and realised that it would indeed be follyta' th' extreme fer th' scorpion ta' sting 'im, so he said, "Awright, I'm down with that bro. Let's do it! Get on!"
So th' scorpion climbed up on his back and th' water buffalo began ta' swim across th' river and when they got to th' middle, THUUNK! th' scorpion let 'im have it! Sunk that stinger right in th' water buffalo's back!!

"YEEEEOW!" screamed th' water buffalo in shock and dismay and he looked over his shoulder with his big, brown water buffalo eyes and said in a teary voice, choked with emotion, as he felt th' poison taking effect,

"Now why, oh WHY? did you do that Mr. Scorpion? For now you will surely die also." And th' scorpion said, "Sorry bout that bub! It's jus' my Nature!! Ya' know whut I mean!!"Don't matter whether ya' be's a King, or a Streetsweeper, Cuz, like, everybody's gotta' boogie, Wrth th' Grim Reaper!! ya'know whut ahm sayin'.

Don't matter whether ya' be's a King, or a Streetsweeper, Cuz, like, everybody's gotta' boogie, Wrth th' Grim Reaper!! ya'know whut ahm sayin'!

th' cap't

Last nite, or rather early this morning, I fixed a little snack, before hittin' th' rack. I'm not sure jus' exactly whut it wuz, but I do recall puttin' some hot sauce on it I found, while searchin' thru my refrigerator. This stuff had been there for quite some time. I don't recall when I ever bought it, but I do like a good Hot sauce and decided to use some on whatever I wuz eatin'.

This stuff is called El Yucateco, a Salsa Picante de CHILI HABANERO from Mexico. It's a green sauce and comes in a little four ounce bottle and it's so fucking HOT and POTENT I would guess it would last one fer a couple of years anyway! Prolly more. This is the hottest sauce I believe I've ever had in my life! And I like hot sauce; th' hotter th' better. But this stuff took me ta' my limit.

As ya' may be aware, habanero chiles are one of th' hottest chiles in th' world. In terms of th' 'hotness' factor, a jalapeño chile, fr'instance, is to a habanero, like a Dodge Neon is to a Dodge Viper; like Hillary Duff is ta' Billie Holiday; like Sydney Sheldon is ta' William Shakespeare, like moonlight is ta' sunlight, ya' know whut I mean! Not in th' same league.

It is Painfully hot! And I mean that literally. I don't mean it jus' burns yer mouth a bit, I mean it hurts like a motherfucker!! And I'm not jivin' ya' either. I'm talkin' real, live, PAIN! Do not attempt to ever sample this without havin' ya' a good supply of liquid on hand, an' be ready ta' be HURT!!

So...if ya' like Hot sauce, try this out...but remember; Moderation. Cuz like I warned ya'....it's REALLY FUCKIN' HOT!!

Th' Cap'm

I'm talkin' here about th' Crips and the Bloods. Where did they go? Y'know whut ahm sayin! I mean, whut happened to these guys? They were here one minute: and then they were gone. They used ta' be everywhere. y'know whut' ahm sayin!

They were on th' cover of Time, Newsweek, 60 Minutes, It seemed as though they were on th' verge of takin' over the country, y'know whut ahm sayin! And now I don't hear shit about them any more. Are they sellin' insurance now? Have they retired? Gone fishing? Should I maybe look for them on their web site or something?

I guess I'm just kinda nostalgic cuz I miss em'! Y'know whut' ahm sayin! Th' turf wars, th' drive-bys, th' crack kingdoms, th' initiation rituals, th' slang, y' know, th' dissin' and th' datten.

Hey look, the next time ya' happen to come across one of these dudes at the real estate office, or Starbucks, or maybe picking up a bottle of Perrier and some organic lentils at the local herbal store, tell em' for me, "Yo brutha, de cap'm, he say, "sup"?"

the capt

Today, I'm gonna' to share with ya'll a bit of the knowledge I have accumulated in my dealings with what I call, "the Life Experience". This particular dilemma is one we are all familiar with. It crosses all socio-economic class lines and affects us all whether you are a world-renowned celebrity or whether you are “Back Door Eddie” living in a box under the Broadway Bridge.

It's one of those universal issues we all forced to deal with at some time or another and it don't make no difference who ya' are or what ya' be's. Th' original impetus fer this came from a letter I received recently from a gurl I know that went like this, "Dear Captain, I am writing you out of desperation as I have nowhere else to turn. I recently discovered that my live-in lover has been having an affair with my son. My house was foreclosed on when they moved into their own place and I was unable to keep up the payments by myself. I am writing you from the county jail where I am incarcerated for failure to pay some old parking tickets. While I was here, they discovered that I have a rare form of incurable skin cancer. I am hitting the bricks in about a week and have been unable to sleep nights thinking about what I am going to do when I get cut loose. I am worried sick I won't be able to handle it! Can you pleeeeeese help? My question is this...What kind of potato chip would you recommend I use upon my release? Thanks Capt. I knew I could count on you!"

Well dear lady, ya' came to th' right place. because as ya' know, my reputation culinary-wise, is impeccable. My credentials in this field are unassailable. My answer to ya' is this,

"Cape Cod". Got that? "Cape Cod!"

I have found th' Cape Cod brand to be superior to all other chips. They are mucho crunchy and have what I call a strong "potatoey" flavor, which I like in a potato chip. A caveat here though, as pertains to th' Cape Cod “Vinegar and Salt" variation. I don't recommend them! as they have what I call a "vinegary" taste which I personally don't think has any place in a potato chip. If yer grocery store doesn't carry 'em, tell 'em the capt. sent you and wants to know, why not?

Now then. I would like to address some queries I've had from some peoples who ask me, and I get this alla' time.

"Why do you do it, Capt.? What's in in for you? Are you getting a kickback from the Cape Cod peoples or what?"

I would simply like to say that th' scurrilous allegations that I receive some kind of compensation from this company are completely false and without merit! And I further suspect that minions of th' Frito-Lay Combine are behind this smear campaign against my efforts and my good name.

I do this out of a altruistic, albeit perhaps naive notion... hat I can enrich the quality of life of those...who are just well...plain Stupid! Thas' all! .Thas' jus' the kind of guy I am. So fucking excuuuuuuse me, huh! Fer trying to assist those who don't have a fucking clue what to do when it comes decision time at th' chip section in th' super market.

Ya've seem them before...standing there all glassy eyed...confused...glancin' this way and that...spittle danglin' from their mouth. What should one do? Throw their hands up in the air and say, "Let them eat cake."

No, no. I choose not to stand idly by, but to help!

"Psst. Hey you. Yeah, you! Go with th' Cape Cod. Yeah, go ahead! Ya'll like 'em!"

So remember this...if yer Stupid too, and ya' need help…I'm here for ya!

Your Humble Servant, the capt.

P.S. And hey, don't be embarrassed to ask, cuz, I myself have been known to be quite Stupid too at times.

Do any of you peoples have any clue as to who may have kicked me in the shin last night? I woke up today to discover this mysterious bruise on my shin fer which I have no explanation. I've already had a forensic expert in earlier who took plaster casts and measurements of my furniture and he concluded that this bruise was not caused by any object here in th' crib thus ruling out a 'home accident' as a cause.

Did anyone happen to notice any suspicious characters loitering about my person last night? Well actually, I guess that's pretty much of a dumb question isn't it? After all, considering all the various conspiracies against me, when Aren't there suspicious characters about?

I suppose I will have to get in touch with Huggy Bear. Nothing goes down in this town without Huggy knowin' somethin' about it. If a bear shits in th' woods, Huggy gets a whiff of it before you can say Kemosabe. Ya' know whut' I mean? Hell, he can prolly tell me what kind of boots they were wearing altho I'm suspectin' some right wing heavy duty industrial govt, thug boots got to me.

Maybe this is just a warning: telling me to Back Off! But PSHAW! They can't stifle the Captain! I'm going to find this perp (for those of you who watch TV, this term needs no explanation, As for the rest of you: Get with the Program, huh) and mete out a bit of 'street justice' on his head and shoulders, and a righteous kick ta' th' shin too while I'm at it. I've got one lead to check out, so I guess it's time for me to put my foot in the path and be about my bidness. Later. Bruised, but not beaten' the capt

Try this: Watch CSI: Miami and count the number of scenes where that clown, whattziz name, somthing? Kelly; see how many scenes he's in where he's not standin' with his hands on his hips! Ya'll be lucky if ya' can fine even one. Thas' all this guy does is stand aroun' with his hands on his hips and say things in that dry, flat, monotonous tone, devoid if any inflection of any kind.

I'll bet he even walks with his hands on his hips. I bet he showers with his hands on his hips. He goes up and down th' elevator with his hands on his hips. He even does th' horizontal bop with his hands oh his hips I'll betcha!

His momma shoulda' tole him, "Junior, take yer friggin' hands off yer hips. Ya' look stupid and peoples will think yer a Moron!" But I guess she didn't.

Or maybe, since he can't act, mebbe his actin' mentor tole 'im, "Look, since ya' can't act, jus' stand around with yer hands on yer hips alla' time, and mebbe no one will notice." th' cap't

Earlier today, around 4 of the AM part of th' day, I decided to prepare some of my famous chili. I am glad to report that it wuz a highly successful operation.

As we know from past experience, this is not always th' case. But in this instance everything went smoothly and accordin' to plan, with no collateral damage to report. The EPA and the local fire department both lauded me for a job well done. I am most pleased, because sometimes these affairs can end in tragedy as we all know. Sometimes, when one attempts a project like this, at that time, and under those circumstances; things can suddenly go horribly awry, if ya' know whut I mean?

I wish there were some way I could give ya' the recipe so that ya' might duplicate this culinary sensation I have produced here today, but alas, I don't keep any records concernin' ingredients, quantities, temps, etc. and besides I barely recall bein' there myself. As a result, my creations you see, are for the Here and Now...because that's where I live. Tomorrow is another day and...Another bowl of chili, ya' dig?

One of the magical things about this pot though is that I have been eatin' chili almost continuously since I woke at the crack of noon and yet the pot is still full. Ya' see, I let it simmer on very low heat during the night and today when I got up, I raised the temp slightly and every couple of hours when some of it had cooked off, I simply added some more water, beer, V-8 juice, you know, whatever was at hand. I mean, the pot is Still full! It's fucking uncanny! I'm not smokin' ya, I could've fed multitudes of dudes with this pot. I'm thinkin' at the present rate of consumption it will last me about 9 or 10 days.

Well, since it has been simmering now for about 13 hours, I'm gonna' put it in the refrigerator, so that all the flavors can properly meld. Check you later. the capt.

P.S. Can you guess what the capt is having for lunch tomorrow boyz and gurlz?

If nothing else boyz and gurlz, remember this of th' “debate”: "Keeping th' Peace is hard work."

"Fightng terrorism is hard work."

"Being Commander in Chief is hard work," etc, etc. It's all jus' hard work, y'know, being president and all. A lotta' peoples don't realise it, but it's jus' damned hard work. (scuse me, I didn't mean ta' sound redundant) th' cap't

Tell me, how many times have ya' heard in th' last few days that this is not actually a “debate?” I have listened to a number of wonks patiently 'splainin' how and why this isn't really a debate.

Question: OK. So...Since it's not really a 'debate'...then why in th' fuckall do they keep callin' it one?

Why don't they jus' call it th' Presidential Dog and Pony Show? Makes more sense ta' me. th' cap't

I discovered this little safety trick quite by accident (isn't that th' way of a lot of discoveries?) and though I wuz preparin' a chuck roast at the time ya' could apply this to most any thing yer preparin' in your oven.

I had put my roast in the oven at (deleted) degrees for (deleted) hours and after some time I decided to check on it's progress. So I opened the oven and donning my large oven mitts, I carefully removed the pot with the roast and gingerly set it on the counter. Then I (pay close attention here boyz and gurlz) doffed the mitts and set them nearby and pinching the handle proceeded to lift the lid to see how my roast looked. YEOOOW!

"CURSES! TEN THOUSAND CURSES"

I screamed and I dropped the lid, much like one might drop a hot potato. In case yer not getting this; th' fuckin' lid is very hot! OUCH! oooh, FUCKING OUCH!!

See, here's the crux of the whole thing, ya' should leave your gloves on while handling the lid! Ya' might wanta' jot this down cuz it's gonna' be on the final, and besides, this is one of those things ya' learn that ya' can actually use in Real Life.

Also, by leavin' yer mitts on it makes it much easier to operate yer knife and fork when ya' don't have giant blisters on yer thumb and forefinger. It makes it easier to operate your cigarette lighter. It makes it easy....well, I could go on, but I think ya' get the picture. Plus, th' smell of burning flesh tends to overpower the pleasing aroma emanating from yer roast.

All in all, if ya' leave your mitts on while handlin' yer pot it makes for a more pleasing dining experience. Try it. I think ya'll agree. th' capt.

"Say! Who wuz that masked man, anyway? He gimme this silver bullet"

"Why, don't you know, parder'........... thet ther wuz the Looooonnne Raaanger!"

(Meanwhile, off in th' distance)

"Heigh Ho, Silver.......Awaaaay"

Here's a little trick fer you culinary novices ya' might wanta' try if ya' have a gas stove.

What I do is: I turn the gas on high and let it burn for 15 or 20 minutes or so before I place my pan, pot, skillet, whatever, on th', what do you call that thing, you know, that little round metal grill thing that goes over the flames? Well, anyway this allows your fire to get real hot. See what I mean? Try it next time. It works! The capt.

Y'know, a couple of days ago I wuz drivin' around 85th and Holmes and I saw a large billboard for B.B.'s Lawnside Bar-B-Que that said:

EAT, DRINK,
and be
MILDLY DEPRESSED

and I thought ta' myself, "Sheeit, whut kinda enticement is that supposed ta' be ta' try and get peoples ta' come ta' yer joint?" Get, "mildly depressed"? I mean, whut...do ya' call yer friends and say, "Hey fuck goin' out and havin' some fun! Whyn't we all jus' go out to B.B's and get depressed?"

I dunno, it seems dumb ta' me. I mean, if they jus' wanted ta' be dumb about it all, why not jus' say:

"EAT, DRINK,
and be MARY"

I mean, thas' kinda dumb, huh? Be Mary? But then of course, ya' know fer sure tho, there'll be one person who'll say, "Yeah, I c'n dig eatin' and drinkin', but who's this chick Mary and why would I wanta' be her anyway?"

Fuckin' nitpickers, eh!

But hell, maybe B. B's are onta' somthin' here. Y'know, a place ta' go and get depressed with some other folks who are also depressed. They won't even let ya' in th' door unless yer at least 'mildly depressed; ya' laugh, ya' chuckle, ya' giggle, no way Jose, find ya' some other joint, this place is not fer yer kind, y' dig!! And don't even ask yer waitress how's she doin' tonite, cuz Jim, she got a tale of woe ta' lay on ya'!

Ya' think you got problems? Sheeit.

Mebbe, they could do a kinda Karaoke nite, called, y'know, "LIFE'S A FUCKIN' BUMMER", fer th' REAL LOSERS, not jus' th' 'mildly depressed', but peoples who are down n' dirty depressed, where anyone bummed out enuff' c'n grab th' mike fer three minutes an' describe jus' how Shitty and Miserable their Life is, and how hard it is ta' drag themselves outta' bed ta' face another fucked up day. Winner of th' contest gets three free nites at th' Motel Six on th' outskirts of Belton with no radio or TV ta' distract them from contemplatin' just how miserable they are, along with three bottles of Mad Dog and a complimentary bottle of

Oxycontin, jes' ta' ease th' pain a bit, should they feel th' need.

Then again, bein' a blues club, mebbe all they wuz tryin ta' get across in a back handed fashion wuz...? well I dunno, it still jus' seems DUMB ta' me! th' cap't