Saturday, August 1, 2015

Sabbatical

"Hey, listen, I have some great news.  Because he wants to start editing his book, Penwasser is going to take the whole month of August off.  He'll be back around Labor Day, but just like the French disappearing for the whole month, we won't have to deal with h...excuse me?"

"Second times askings...who is this?"

    Yes, it's true.  Just like the French, I am going to take the month of August off.  My book, It's An Adventure, is ready for editing and I want to devote as much time as possible to it (rather than goofing around here-which I enjoy).  
    
"Wait.  Does that mean I won't
be able to get any French Fries in August?"

    I won't disappear entirely.  I'll still read your blogs and comment, but I won't be writing any original crap stuff until Labor Day.  Sure, I could populate the month of August with hideous reruns, but the Christmas season will be here before you know it.  Penwasser Place will be positively foul with rehashed pieces of crap genius as we celebrate the Season of the Yule Log.  

"OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD!
Someone said 'log'!"
    Besides, and you may not really believe this, I take my time with reposts to give you the very best crap material possible.

    So, until Labor Day (or thereabouts), I'm off on a sabbatical.

 
"Seriously, don't get too comfortable.
Penwasser will be back down there before you know it."

Thursday, July 30, 2015

Captain Caption LXVII


"And here I thought having my blood drawn was the most uncomfortable part of having a physical.  
That doctor is so fired."



NOTE to my loyal followers:  I realize that this is the second Trump Captain Caption in a row.  I just wanted to give Barry and Joe a rest.
"Well, and thank Allah for that."

"I'd better find a rest room, then!"

Sunday, July 26, 2015

It's Been a Long Time

"Me love you long time."
    No, no, no, oh good grief.
 
    That isn't what I meant.  By "long time," I mean I don't feel like looking back when I last posted this.  It's been over a year, let's put it that way.  In any event, it occurred to me that many of you don't know where the name "Al Penwasser" comes from.  It also occurred to me that it's nice out, the pool is clean, and the floatie raft I have has a beer bottle holder.  So, I can either write something brand new or....

"That would be 'From where the name Al Penwasser comes'!
Knuckles,  if you please."
'Al Penwasser' comes.
If only...

     For those who've been tenants of Penwasser Place for several years ("Penwasser Place:  Where You Don't Need to Pay Rent and the Rats Don't Eat Much!"), you've no doubt read this already.  Some of you poor bastards a couple of times.  In that case, go find a pool of your own.  But, if you live in Australia (I'm talking to you, Jo Ann), you may as well hang around.  Maybe I can dig up some new pictures for this thing.  After all, it's too frikkin' cold to swim outside.  Yeah, well, sucks to be you (NOTE:  I'll get back to you in November, 'kay?).

    So, without further adieu (French for "futzing around"), may I present....

Call Me Al
(going to the pool now)

    Life was considerably different in the late 80’s (see my last Captain Caption starring A Flock of Seagulls...all you need to know).  We didn’t fret about Mayan prophecies, fume over gas prices, or wonder why Kim Kardashian was famous.  We had Bill Cosby instead of Tyler Perry, Qaddafi instead of Osama (NOTE:  okay, so we don’t have Osama anymore.  Would you prefer I said Ayatollah Khameini?), and Madonna instead of Lady Gaga.  And Dick Clark instead of...uh...Dick Clark.

"And no one suspected a thing.
Be baba skiddily do do wop do beeboo jello pudding pops."

NOTE:  Please excuse my clumsy attempts at 'Cosby-Speak.'



    The “Evil Empire” was still in business and few people did a better job of caging the bear than the U.S. military.  Our influence was felt throughout the world and it could be argued that, like the Union Jack before it, 
the sun never set on the Stars and Stripes.

"Oh, please with the 'caging the bears' remarks.
Bet poosy mans with the birthmarks-on his head yet-can't be
makings with the shirts off and wrestling the bears."
   Each of the services had their hand in winning the Cold War:  the Army held the line in places like Germany and Korea, the Marines scared people with their haircuts, the Navy ruled the waves, and the Air Force kept golf courses in business.  Together, they promoted truth, justice, the American way, and McDonalds. 

    The Lajes Naval Air Facility in the Portuguese Azores was just such a place.

    Perched nine hundred miles off the European coast, Lajes was a major stopping off point for forces crossing the Atlantic Ocean.  The roar of aircraft pausing to refuel there was as common as flag burnings in Tehran.

We also found time to relax.
    In addition, Lajes was an ideal spot for launching aircraft to locate and track Soviet submarines going back and forth from the Mediterranean Sea.  Crucial to this effort were groups of fixed-wing P-3C Orion sub-hunting aircraft.

    It was also where Al Penwasser was born.




    Petty Officer Penwasser was an enlisted aircrewman attached to Patrol Squadron Eleven during its deployment to Lajes in the final days of the Cold War.   

    Nobody actually saw him, but I knew he existed from the day I reported to VP-11 in 1987.  Many folks warned me to be on the lookout for this cocky individual who always seemed to be on “assignment."

"Hey!  Is that Al Penwasser?"
"Naw, I think it's Donald Trump."
"Huh, I guess all clowns look alike."
    Even though I never laid eyes on him, I did see his service record, training folder, and the volumes of mail he received on a regular basis.

    I never questioned why his picture board photograph always came up missing or why “Classified-Secret” was pasted across his face when it wasn’t.

    It certainly drove the Commanding Officer nuts that Penwasser never checked in with him.

    He did have a checkered career, unfortunately.  Promoted to a senior rank, he was subsequently demoted for parachuting into Grenada armed with only a blow-up doll and a spork.  A week before the actual invasion. 

"Probably should wear a helmet.
That'd be a lot safer."
    After the Cold War, he realized his lifelong dream of becoming a member of the Special Forces.  Exactly WHOSE Special Forces we didn’t know; all we knew is he volunteered for only the most dangerous of missions.  Ya know, like hunting with Dick Cheney, designated driver for Charlie Sheen, or going for a bike ride with John Kerry.


    He stayed in touch, though.  We routinely got postcards from places as exotic as the Orient, the Gulf, or Daytona Beach at Spring Break.  A sentimental rake, he always signed them, “Love, Al.”

    Our last contact with him happened when an 18-wheeler pulled up in front of our squadron hangar.  Evidently, Mr. Penwasser had placed an order for a manure spreader (which we thought was pretty appropriate).  Luckily, we convinced the flustered driver that Farmer Al had transferred, to where we weren’t sure. 

NOTE:  NOT Mayan ruins.
 But, it was the only picture of ruins I had handy.  
I didn't have time to go look.  
Remember:  pool.
    After that, he dropped out of sight.  We sometimes saw his name in guest registers at places like the Pantheon, the Dubai Seamen’s Center, assorted Mayan ruins, or bowling alley bathroom walls, but that was about it.

    Like Vanilla Ice’s career, Chastity Bono’s breasts, and Miley Cyrus’ innocence, Al Penwasser just disappeared.


"Hey, but my junk hasn't gone anywhere.  Haters."

    I never found out where he went or what he did, but his spirit lives on in this blog and elsewhere.  No matter whether the subject is Old Man Toe, Columbus Day, or Heel Piss Cream, I’m proud that Al has once more found a home to annoy people from.

"AHEM!
Proper prepositional placement, please.""

    Oh, and as for that name.  Comes from Portuguese bottled water: 
Yeah.  It's as clever as that.
"And you can't blame me for that."

    

Thursday, July 23, 2015

Captain Caption LXVI

"What do you mean I'm too late for 
my Flock of Seagulls audition?
You know what?  You're fired!""


    For those of you who didn't live through the 1980s (could be worse.  You could have lived through the 1970s) and so are wondering, "Al, what in the hell are you talking about?", here's a little explanation to get the joke.  Which you still may think sucks.  But at least you'll get it.

    A Flock of Seagulls were an 80s English new wave and synthpop (whatever the frik that is) band originally formed in Liverpool by brothers Michael "Mike" Score and Alister "Ali" James Score, along with Francis Lee "Frank" Maudsley and Paul Reynolds.  Their one big hit was "I Ran."  They broke up in...screw it, I don't feel like looking up the exact date...after their popularity waned and their mousse ran out.

    Probably still don't get it, huh?  Well, a picture is worth a thousand words (two thousand after inflation):


A Flock of Seagulls in all their glory.
Frankly, I think the guy on the end with his hands in his pants looks embarrassed.
 Or is playing pocket pool

Sunday, July 19, 2015

Oh Thank Heaven

 
Al's Traveling Tip:  If you see a Wawa with gas pumps, there are nice clean rest rooms inside.  Don't rest in them, though.  Just pee and get the hell out.
Imagine walking into the bathroom and seeing some dude sacked out on the floor.
Also:  It probably goes without saying you can't take a 'bath' in them, either.
"Thou bets thy ass, English."
    Wawa is a convenience store which started in Pennsylvania and has now spread into New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, and Florida.  It could be in other places, too.  It's just those are the states where I've seen them.  In addition to snacks, you can also buy beer at Wawa (with the exception of Pennsylvania...I think it's an Amish thing).

"Let's see.  I can have fart in a pita or fart on wheat bread.
What the hell is pressed ham, though?"
   For those who do not know, a Wawa is kind of like a 7 Eleven where English isn't a second language.

    


    
    But, that's not the point of this post.


"Where can I send my application!!??"
    Part of Wawa's appeal is that you can get gas there, too.  Sure, you can get gas at 7 Eleven, but I'm not talking about the kind you get from mummified hot dogs from an indeterminate animal.  Most of the gas pumps are self-serve.  With the exception of New Jersey, where state law requires that they pump it for you.

NOTE:  I'll save you the trouble.  Well, that's right neighborly of New Jersey.

"That's just how we roll in the Garden State.
Hey, you gonna eat that?"
   But, when I do have to pump it myself (yeah, I know what you're thinking),  I just swipe my card at the pump and carry on.  I'll get fuel for my vehicle and the Chinese hackers will have my personal information.

NOTE:  This is more than likely a bad thing.


"No, no, too beaucoup!"
"Hey, that Penwasser."
"Okay, you come in."
  Yesterday, I decided to use cash, because I had just cashed my paycheck.  The money was burning a hole in my pocket and I wanted to get rid of it.  So, rather than going to that Korean massage parlor down the street (unfortunately eliminating the chance for a "happy ending"), I decided to use it to get gas.

NOTE:  I really hope you come to Penwasser Place for silly, junior high school humor.

NOTE:  Hee...hee...hee.  I said 'come.'

    Doing that though reminds me of The Price Is Right.  For those of you who have lives and don't know, you win on the The Price Is Right when you come the closest to your bid without going over.  If you go over, you have to give Drew Carey a happy ending.
"Congratulations!
You guessed how much it would cost to fill your car!
But, even though you won,
how about a little something for the effort?"
 
    "Yeah, hi, good morning, I'd like $30 on Pump 5, please."

    "Is that the mustard colored car?"

    "Uh, it's gold."

    "Well, it looks mustard colored."

    "French's!?"

    "No, Guldens."
Okay.  I see her point.
I never use French's mustard.
It insults the quality of my meat.

Yes, that's a double entendre, too.  You're welcome.
    "Oh, well, kinda."

    I pumped my gas for only $25.

    Meaning...I WIN!!!

    But, I needed to go inside to get my change.

    Meaning, I kind of lose.

    But, I can use the $5 I saved by buying a hoagie.

    Meaning...I WIN!!!

    But, they put too much mayo on it.
"Just because I got nowhere to go doesn't mean you can put me in a frikkin' sandwich!"
NOTE: An obscure reference to An Officer and a Gentleman.
Most of you probably won't get it.  I hope at least some of you do.
    Meaning...I LOSE!!!

    But, I'm not at 7 Eleven, so I don't need shots.
Oh, thank heaven!
NOTE:  For those of you wondering how I was going to fit the title of the post into this thing.

    Meaning...I WIN!!!!

    But, mayo gives me heartburn.

Meaning, I LOSE



Thursday, July 16, 2015

Captain Caption LXV

"Huh, well whaddya know?  Grandma does have a fat ass.
Probably has cankles, too.
But, I'm not going to ask her to pull her pants leg up.
Bill told me to keep her as clothed as much as possible."

Saturday, July 11, 2015

If Your Right Boob Offends You...

  Sometimes, topics for Penwasser Place just fall into my lap (goodness knows, Mrs. Penwasser no longer does so).
  
  So it is today.  
  
  One of my favorite blogs is written by Stephen Hayes, the The Chubby Chatterbox.  Unlike me, Steve is a real storyteller who puts lot of thought into his writing.  Me?  I'll just post a picture of a man humping a fish, tell a dick joke, and call it even. 
  
Still, let's see you find anything like this on PBS!

      What's more, Steve is also a talented artist.  I always enjoy visiting his blog to feel lacking in comparison.
  
  He's even better looking than I.
  
  I learn an awful lot from him.  So, it was on July 3rd when he was wondering why it was women fixate on men who are proficient with bows and arrows.
  
  I opined that it was a phallic thing (see?  Dick joke).
  
  It was a very entertaining post in a "why is he more talented than I?" kind of way.  The only thing he never told us is where he shot his archery instructor and what happened.  Please, Steve, if you're reading this, feel free to answer in the comments.
  
  Believe it or not, I also read comments from other bloggers.  One such, from "The Bug" caught my eye.  She (or he...although probably she) said, "I tried shooting a bow and arrow once, but I had the problem the Amazons eliminated..."
I don't care if it's a girl.
You gotta put some britches on, dude.
  
  Surprisingly, no one responded with a "what do you mean?"  Although, I'm sure Steve knew what she was talking about (remember I wrote how wicked smart he was?).   I got the joke, too, because I'm full of useless crap like that.
  
  For those who don't know (especially those who clicked on that link and are wondering.  Really, you should have.  I went through all the trouble of putting it in...ooh, THAT sounds dirty...hee...hee...hee...  See?  Dick joke):
  
Olympia Stepinpoopalot cut off her left leg, though.
Apparently, she never got the memo.
  According to popular legend, the Amazons (a group of female warriors from Greek mythology.  C'mon, who doesn't know that?) cut off (or burned...yeesh!!) their right breast so they could to shoot an arrow.  Evidently, amply endowed ladies had trouble with their accuracy.

NOTE:  If they were like Mrs. Penwasser #1, they would have had no such trouble.

  Thus relieved of their "burdens," they were able to plug anyone stupid enough to jump ugly with chicks sporting one boob.
"I cut off both.
Just so I could shoot from both sides."
NOTE:  Yes, I know I said a few weeks ago that I wouldn't poke fun at Chaz anymore.  Well, I couldn't help it.  Sometimes, comedy, like Nancy Pelosi, isn't pretty.
 
"So, fellas with moobs are fine?
Good to know."
    By the way (WARNING:  Useless trivia ahead), some people say that the word "Amazon" comes from the Greek "a" (meaning "without") and "mazos" (meaning "breast").  But, who knows, it's all Greek to me. 
    And now you know something that will enrich your life and make you better as a person.  Yeahhhh, probably not.

    But, do yourself a favor anyway and go visit The Chubby Chatterbox.

    You can even keep your boobs.


Clearly not a genuine Amazon.