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