Thursday, October 29, 2015

Captain Caption LXXII - Halloween Edition


    Since Halloween is this Saturday and I've been invited to a party*, I'm in a bit of a pickle.  I haven't picked out a costume yet and all the good ones are already taken at "Halloween City" or the Republican National Headquarters.  So, I need to scramble to come up with something appropriate before the last day of October**.

*    Not true.  I'll probably spend the evening watching the elderly on the Hallmark Channel.
**  Because that's when Halloween is.  Does anyone not know that?
"Wonder if I can still go Trick-or-Treating?"

    Of course, there are some possibilities.  For instance, there's
Witch

Frankenstein Monster
Creature From the Black Lagoon

"That's 'Lagoon of Color.'  Cracker."  
The Mummy
Goblin
Walking Erection
Wolfman.
This is Wolf Blitzer from CNN.
Hey, it's a stretch, I know.
Sue me.

Skeleton.
Although, I don't have the right parts.
"Not a problem."

Clown
The Hindenburg


    After much thought and consideration, and in light of the fact that there are so many worthy choices, I've settled on what costume I'm going to wear to the party *** on Saturday night:  Village Idiot.

***That there is no party has been clearly established.
"I know where you'll be Saturday night, Penwasser.
 During commercial breaks for Murder, She Wrote, you'll be learning
how Liberty Mutual can help you with diabeettus."

    The only problem?  It's a tie.




Maybe I should just not go.  And say I was The Invisible Man, instead.

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

An Odd Combination

I mean....
How many recipes for whipped cream
and feathers can there possibly be?

Thursday, October 22, 2015

Captain Caption LXXI

"Yeah, uh, hello.  
I'd like a...let's see...sealburger with cheese,
 large fries, apple pie, and, say, could you
 throw in a penguin or two?  
Those little fuckers are delicious.  
I don't care what
 those stupid Coke commercials say."


NOTE:  Before anyone gets on a high-horse and says, "Hey, Al, penguins and polar bears live on opposite ends of the planet!", 
I know, I know.  Polar bears live at the North Pole and penguins at the South Pole.  I also know that polar bears don't talk
or drink soda.  Plus, THIS IS NOT AN AL GORE/GLOBAL WARMING POST!  I strongly suspect the picture of Al Gore is 
photo-shopped.  Although, I'm sure he'd piss his britches.
Hell, I would.  Wouldn't you?

Sunday, October 18, 2015

Some People Claim I'm Off My Rocker


Those people are correct


NOTE:  For those of you who are my Facebook friends or are even friends with my alter ego (come to think of it,  I think I'm his alter ego), I apologize for the double (or even triple) posting of this.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah.  We get it.  You think it's funny."
"Yup, it's lahk a play on words."
"Lahk 'dumbass.'"


"HEY!!  What are you talking about??  
I went to Texas A&M!!"

Anyway, to apologize, how 'bout a little bestiality?








Thursday, October 15, 2015

La Ciruela Pasa - The End (Thank Goodness)


Here it is, the final bit of my award-winning entry to the "something, something" writing contest...


Oh yeah, the "Soul-Making Keats Literary Competition 2014."
I like "Something, Something" better.

Anyway, this is long enough, so without further adieu (a French word I used in Part One.  Go back there and figure out what it means).

***********

    As it was my turn to drive, I fiddled with the radio, trying to find
"You know, that really hurts.
I kinda like Air Supply."
a station that wasn’t country or some preacher ranting on about how the Devil listens to rock and roll.

    Hmph, I grumbled, “How ‘bout slipping the Devil a helping of Interstate Surprise?  That’ll take care of things.”

    Ignoring my complaints about the radio, Eleanor blindly reached into the back seat to fish out a pack of cigarettes.

    I glared in her direction.  As you know, cigarette smoke gives me headaches.  To make matters worse, we’d rolled up the windows after the sun went down and the heat of day vanished.  There was no way I was going to put up with sitting next to a blue-haired chimney!

    As I started to protest, Eleanor popped a death stick into her mouth and lit it with the garish disposable lighter she’d picked up at South of the Border.

See?  The place does exist.
NOTE:  White guy not included.
    Only, instead of a Virginia Slim, she lit up one of the bottle rockets we’d bought at Joker Joe’s Fireworks in Hardeeville, South Carolina.  Instantly bursting into a flash of sparks, the little firework whistled as Eleanor screeched.  With a shriek, she whipped her head to one side and flung the now-roaring flare into the backseat.

    I immediately swerved around a monstrous hog truck and careened onto the breakdown lane.  Accompanied by a wailing Eleanor, our tires squealed in protest as the Chevy pirouetted down the shoulder of the road. 

Remember, kids.
Smoking kills.
    Struggling to regain control, I watched, fascinated, as the headlights swung through an arc of mangrove swamp and panicked motorists desperately trying to avoid two old ladies-one with her face in flames-screaming from an out-of-control mini-van.

    With an abrupt bump, we finally screeched to a halt against a guardrail.  My heart rattled like it was trying to burst free and I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles shone white.

    I turned to look at Eleanor, who’d stopped wailing and now held her face in her hands.  Slowly rocking back and forth, she whimpered that she’d burned her face off.  As I leaned towards her, I was terrified she was right.

    Suddenly, I caught a whiff of something burning behind me.

    Looking over my shoulder, I saw one of our suitcases glowing like one of those charcoal briquettes in a hibachi.  The bottle rocket had somehow gotten lodged beneath a canvas bag and started it smoldering before winking out.

"See?  We're more than Confederate flags.
We stick our peanuts in water, too."  
    I quickly grabbed the nearest thing I could and immediately doused the bag with warm Diet Dr. Pepper.  The fire went out, but I was sad to see that the soda ruined our sacks of boiled peanuts.  Hmm, but the more I thought about it, though...they were boiled peanuts...they should dry out.

    Confident our car wouldn’t burst into a bottle rocket itself, I turned back to Eleanor.  She’d stopped whimpering but, still held her face in her hands.
"Don't EVER move down South!!!!
They'll stick us in boiling water!!!!"
    “C’mon,” I said as I reached out, “it can’t be that bad.”

    She shook her head, convinced she was hideously scarred.

    “Don’t worry,” I assured her, “it was only a little fire.  How bad could it be?”

    Between you and me, nephew, I was afraid she was going to look like that Freddy Kruger fellow.

    Slowly, she dropped her hands.  With a nervous breath, I peered at her face, prepared for the worst.

    Only, instead of shocked sympathy, I laughed.

    The only things that were damaged were her eyebrows, which had been burned completely off.  That, and a faint brown tinge to the blue wisps of her hair were the only signs that a handheld pyrotechnic had ignited under her nose.

    I collapsing into uncontrollable giggles as an indignant Eleanor huffed that she failed to see what was so funny.  “How would you like to have to draw your eyebrows on?” she snipped.
Welcome to Florida.
It may get a little hot in July and August.
  
Still shaking with laughter, I turned the car around and pointed it back towards Florida.

    Long story short-I know, too late!  Ha! Ha!-I giggled at the thought of Eleanor needing to paint on her brows all the way to our destination of St. Augustine.  Incidentally, what better place for two old broads to settle down than in the country’s oldest city, right?

    Even though it was well past midnight when we got there, the staff was all set to check us into our new home of La Ciruela Pasa. 

    You wouldn’t believe how peaceful it is here.  The night manager, Paulie, assured us it would remain so.  Except during Bike Week.  And the Daytona 500.  Or whenever the jets from the Naval Air Station weren’t night flying.

    Plus, Paulie told us that the adult bookstore across the street was
"Hey!  Why don't you take a picture?
It'll last longer."
only open on weekends.  He also informed us that we really had to watch where we walked during alligator mating season.

    So, here we are, Eleanor and I, enjoying our golden years amongst fellow travelers in the later stages of life.

    You and your family are always welcome to visit.  Just remember to give us a heads up.  We want to make doubly sure you’re here for one of La Ciruela Pasa’s special nights: bingo, karaoke, or teeth swap.  They’re all great fun.

    Plus, Eleanor will need time to paint on
"What?"
her eyebrows.
All my love,
Aunt May”
*********
   Wow, I thought, as I set down her letter.  What an adventure!

    Turning to my wife, I said, “You should read this.  Looks like she’s all set down in Florida.”

    Without taking her eyes from CSI: Miami she nodded. “That’s great.  So, she found a nice retirement community.  What’s it called?”

    I scanned the letter and found the name at the bottom.  “La Ciruela Pasa,” I answered.

    My wife suddenly pulled her attention from the television.  “What did you say?”

    I repeated the name.

    “You know what that means, don’t you?” asked the four-year Spanish student.

    I shook my head.

    Her face wrinkled into a frown and she said, “The Old Prune.”

    Time for a road trip of my own.

"Don't worry, darlin'.
They said 'peanuts.'"

Thursday, October 8, 2015

La Ciruela Pasa- The Letter


I tried putting this on my "Yay For Me Wall,"
but Mrs. Penwasser would have none of it.
I'll have to settle for my "Yay For Me Blog."
    You may have noticed that there's no Captain Caption today.  Yeah, I bet.  Anyway, I had one scheduled for today, but instead decided to run Part II of my Award-Winning entry to the Soul-Making Literary Competition which netted me $25 and a new car nothing else.

    I had originally thought to post this next week, but was
"And Penwasser actually
has the stones to
compare himself to me."
afraid you'd lose interest in the story or would have no frikkin' clue what happened.  I think it's a lot like Game of Thrones that way.  I mean, so much time goes by between books that I tend to lose interest.  After all, why wait around when I can get sex and violence by putting on the Evening News instead?


    I had also thought to provide you with a handy link by which you can access Part I of this mess.  But, seriously, do any of you have the time to actually click on a link and look at old crap?  Yeah.  What I thought.
"No, the old guy in the hat just won't leave.
He's going on and on about Penwasser.
Now, I don't really blame him.
Sure, that hideous little jerk can be a real pain the ass, but I've got work to do.
Gotta get a head start on my NCAA brackets."
"Who is this?"

   So to help, here's what's happened so far.  My Great Aunt May has decided to relocate to Florida with her friend, Eleanor.  What follows is the letter she wrote me describing her adventures traveling from Connecticut to the Sunshine State.

    Yeah.  None of this actually happened.  I'm being an impish manipulator of facts (aka I'm a liar).  Although, I do have an Aunt May.  Rather, I did have an Aunt May.  She's dead now.

"LIke you'll be.
Probably a lot sooner than you think, wiseguy."

    Wow.  That's it?  Huh.  Yeah, I guess I don't have anything on George R.R. Martin. 
"Especially since there's no sex or violence."
    Captain Caption will return next week.

"So, you have that going for you."

So, without further adieu (French for "A Dieu")...

Part II of La Ciruela Pasa

    “Dear Nephew,

    Aloha from the Sunshine State!  As you can tell, your Aunt May has finally landed where it’s nice and warm.  It must be terrible for you way up there in the Winter Wonderland.  I hear it’s going to be 70 degrees over Labor Day weekend where you are.  Ha! Ha!

    Our trip was quite an adventure, starting when Eleanor’s car
No.  Not racist at all.
I'm shocked this place still exists.
began acting up near a place called South of the Border.  Wow!  I didn’t know Mexico was so close to South Carolina!

    A very helpful man called Ernest fixed us up real nice.  He didn’t look Mexican, although he did wear a shawl over his coveralls.  He told us we needed a new transmission, tires, rear disc brakes, anti-freeze flush, something called a Johnson Valve Realignment, computer diagnostic, front-end alignment, CV joint replacement, lamb skin seat covers, new bearing grease, and BOSE speakers. 

"And foam dice for your rear-view mirror!"
Yeah.  This is racist.
    I thought all we needed was gas, but “Ernesto” convinced us that, for only $4,500, he could make our “death trap” safe to continue.  Shows how much I know about cars!

    Eleanor was reluctant but, once he threw in one of those cute pine tree air fresheners, she realized it was the safest thing to do.  Thank goodness for that helpful amigo!  He really “primped” our ride (is that how you kids say it?)!

They're Chinese!
And they're handcuffs!
    Luckily, the South of the Border gift shop had all sorts of goodies to send to our friends in El Norte.  Eleanor and I picked up plenty of back scratchers, cedar jewelry boxes, frogs-smoking-cigars figurines, Chinese handcuffs, pecan log rolls, and sacks of boiled peanuts.  They’ll make great Christmas gifts.  Oh, shoot, I let the cat out of the bag!  Keep it a secret-shh!
"Oh, yeah?  Well, we got nukes, too.
Smartass."
    After polishing off an authentic Mexican meal of Velveeta on Doritos washed down with something called Mr. Pibb, we picked up our car from a smiling Ernest.  Bidding “Adios!” to our new friend, we jumped back on the highway, a little late, but a lot safer.

    Several hours later, we turned around at the Welcome to Virginia sign.
"Yup.  That's $100.  Each.
Gotta buy new shirts."
  
Following a good night’s sleep at the Emporia Days Inn, where they charged by the hour-how convenient!-we finally headed in the right direction.  Thank goodness for the nice men who helped us pack our car as we were leaving, although I had no idea there was such a thing as a $100.00 Motel Luggage Recovery and Handling Fee.

    It was a beautiful ride down the highway.  I wish you could have seen all the beautiful places we saw:  lush pine forests, dense swamps, rolling farmland, and charming little gas stations with huge tin men dressed as lumberjacks holding tires standing in front. 

    And, let me tell you, that highway was immaculate, especially in Georgia.  Why, I wish I had a dollar for every man in overalls (but no shirt) I saw scraping some dead animal off the road.  What public servants!

    We managed to go for quite some time without stopping. 
"We've got seven year old hot dogs, too."
Before we left Virginia, I bought a couple of bags of pork rinds and a two liter bottle of Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper with Splenda from the 7-11.  We had plenty of food.

    I must admit that I got plenty hungry when Eleanor mentioned she saw something called pressed ham from inside of a high school bus.  Must be some sort of Southern specialty, I thought.

    We pulled off at a truck stop near Savannah.  A huge place with fuel pumps as far as the eye could see, it was all hustle and bustle.  Monstrous trucks idled in line waiting to fill up and we saw quite a few women truck stop employees bounce from truck to truck.  Such Southern hospitality! 

    After topping off our gas tank, we hungrily looked for a place to eat.  All that ham talk had left me famished.  Finally, after spotting a blinking neon sign which said “Eats” behind the shower area, our search was complete.

    Inside was a charming diner set-up.  It was a lot like you’d find back home, except for the farm equipment and dead things hanging from the walls.  Our waitress, a cute little girl who wore her hair up in a huge orange bouffant with a box of pencils sticking from it, sweetly asked us where we were from.

    After we told her New England, she made a note in her order pad and chatted about how beautiful the weather was down South, especially in the winter.  With a chuckle, she laughed at how all us “Yankees” swarm down I-95 every time it snowed in New York.  Then, with a serious look, she told us how important tourists like us were to her business.
Try the veal.
 It's to die for!
  
When Eleanor corrected her by informing her we weren’t tourists and that we were moving down South for good, she made a funny face.  Almost immediately, though, she smiled again and said, “Well, in that case, how ‘bout y’all get what we call the Interstate Surprise?  It’s what all the locals eat!” 

    We declared that would hit the spot, so we ordered two.  Closing her note pad with a flourish, our waitress spun on her heel and disappeared in an orange flash of pencils toward the kitchen.

    Within minutes, our orders arrived and we proceeded to devour them like we hadn’t eaten in days.  Well, my pork rinds had run out after we’d passed South of the Border for the second time and my pecan log roll had melted into the heater vents, so I was a little hungry.

    Even though my food was tasty, I found several little pebbles in the meat which I took for grits.  I also thought I detected a faint order of burnt rubber but, no matter.  I wolfed it down like it was my last meal.

    Eleanor, on the other hand, insisted she saw tire treads on her cut of meat. 

    “Don’t be silly,” I scolded her, “those are grill marks from when they cooked it.”

    Even though she gave me a skeptical look, she managed to clean her plate as well as I.

    When our waitress returned, she asked if we wanted dessert.  As much as I like sweet things, I had to say no because my stomach was a little unsettled.  Must have been that rich Southern food, I opined.

    “Takes a while,” she said.  “Some people never get used to it and have to go back North.”  She placed the check in front of me.  “Ya’ll have a nice day.”

    I turned to look at Eleanor, who appeared a little greener than when we first walked in.  I asked if she was ready to go.

    With a pained expression, she blurted that she was indeed ready to go.  At that, she leapt from her seat and bolted to the Ladies Room.  

    Seconds later, I joined her.

    An hour later, we were back on the road.

To be continued....
"Not so easy, is it?"
"Thank goodness.  He's finally gone."
"Who is this?"