A couple of nites ago I met a rilly interesting old geezer in one of my dreams. His name wuz, "Dollar Bill" and he had accquired that nickname when he wuz younger, cuz he didn't like to carry anything but dollar bills on 'im.

He had been thru rough times and that way, it always made it seem like he had more money. He wuz a train engineer and had led a quite adventurous life. I wish I could remember some of his tales cuz he wuz quite a character.

At one point tho, in a pause of his story tellin', I asked him if he had ever heard of, "Fifty-cents"? But'Dollar Bill, not bein' too hip on th "hip-hop scene," wuz't familiar with him. I jokingly suggested that if he and “fifty-cents” were ta' hang out tagether, we could call' em "a buck-fifty" Ha ha. But he didn't get it, and jus' gave me a blank look.

Still tho, I thought it wuz kinda funny and had ta' chuckle a bit before I woke up. Good dreams!

th' cap't

My friend Tommy D---- suggested that in reference ta' that slam I wrote 'bout Germaine O'Neil of th' Pacers that I jus' didn't recognise, "Republican small town values".

Hmmmmm, ya' know, he may have a point there, cuz that never occurred ta' me. Well ya' know how it is, sometimes us left-leaning, flaming Liberals are so tunnel-visioned that we only see whut's right in front of us. Mea culpa and also mea apologies ta' all those small town Republicans I may have offended. haha. Yeah right! once again, Ha ha.

th' cap't

OK. This is gonna' be one of those e-mails where I'm gonna need yer co-operation. Ya' know th' kind.

Whut I'm gonna' need ya' ta' do is forward this ta' every one in yer address book and make sure ya' tell them ta' forward it too and ta' tell all those peoples ta' forward it on, and so on and so forth. If everyone will co-operate, we can engage hundreds of millions of humans.

This is again 'bout those assholes who take phone calls forcin' ya' ta' shift from foot ta' foot hummin' Broadway show tunes, while they're supposed ta' be takin' care of you first. Cuz hey, ya' know whut it's all about, right! Me, Me, Me. Tell 'em,

"We're sick and tired of it And we're not gonna fuckin' take it any more!"

We need ta' get organised. We need ta' form committees. We need ta' take ta' th' streets and ta' think up catchy slogans that we can chant on street corners and wave some signs around and do some protestin' stuff like that. I have some old used, but still functional barricades left over from th ‘60s that I will be glad ta' donate ta th' Cause.

We need ta' chain our selves across entrance ways ta' businesses that permit their staff ta' treat us in this rude fashion. We need ta' lie limply in th' streets, blockin' rush hour traffic, in such numbers they won't have any place ta' put us all.

We need ta' push our elected officials fer legislation makin' this a misdemeanor, if not a felony, with mandatory sentences. We don't need ta' build new prisons; we can make room by releasin' dope offenders, specially those doin' time on punk-ass marijuana convictions. If we demonstrate ta' these peoples that we are united and committed ta' change, they will be forced ta' address our demands.
We can do eet peoples. Speak ta' yer neighbors, have meetings in yer homes. Write graffiti on buildings, bridges, buses and trains, anywhere peoples can see it. Put posters in prominent places. Carry creme pies with ya' at all times so ya' can dispence some street justice instantly on the spot, til those in power come ta' their senses. Carpe Diem brothers and sisters.

On th' other hand, ya' could jus' delete this and get blotto instead. Thas' whut I'm gonna do.Y'know, whutever.

th cap't

P.S. My friend Ernie refers ta' th' Amerikan masses as "Th' Sheeple" which I thought wuz so apropos.

Last nite I'm watchin' th' TV at th' saloon, readin' th' captions cuz there's no sound. I guess it wuz ESPN and they were interviewin' Germanyne (sp?) O'Neil, one of th' principal hooligans in th' Pistons/Pacers basketball brawl a couple of weeks ago. They asked him whut wuz th' hardest part of his suspension? And he said,

"Th' very worst part of the whole thing for me was trying to explain to my five-year-old daughter why I wasn't playing."

C'MON. PULEEESE. GIVE ME A FUCKIN' BREAK, WILL YA'? Whut a crock of shit! Cn' ya' believe this mook? Well yeah, sure, we all know five-year-old little gurls are some of th' biggest of basketball fans. They get ta' stay up late on game night, especially if their daddy is playin'. I mean, whut, did his little five year old say,

"Hey Daddy, whus' goin on? I watched th' games th' last few nites and ya' didn't get so much as one minute playin' time. Whut th' fuck is th' matter with that dumb ass coach of yers? Don't he know yer a playa'? Jeeeze, whut's goin on?"

And he's gotta tell her,

"Well see Precious, whut happened wuz, a Bad Man, y'know, one of those punk-ass fans, ya' know how they are, fronted Daddy some attitude, he dissed me y'know, so naturally I hadda' sucker punch that five-foot, 125-pound punk a couple of times jus' ta set him straight."

Yeah, and all th' big bucks he lost while suspended didn't matter one bit ta' him, see; whut really bothered him wuz tryin' ta' explain it ta' his sweet five year old. cuz, like all five-year-old little gurls, basketball is rilly important ta' her!

"Fuck a bunch of Barbie dolls, who gives a shit 'bout that? Whut I wanta' know Daddy is; whas' th' spread next time ya' play those assholes?"

Whut is with these dumb-ass athletes who constantly invoke their familial piety ta' explain everything their greedy asses do? Well, I guess they figure we're th' dumb-asses, cuz who else but a dumb-ass would buy their bullshit?

Like, a guy has been playin' (it doesn't matter which sport it is) fer this team fer years, makin' big bucks and somebody comes along and offers him an extra fifty ta' play fer them, and he says, "Well, I've enjoyed all th' years I've played here. It's a great city and th' fans are tremendous and I wanted ta' finish my career here, but, dang it, I had ta' do whut I thought was best for my family."

Ha ha. See these greedy mutherfuckers want us ta' think it's not about th' money, it's about THEIR FAMILY, see? Th' Family comes first. Thas' their main and only concern.

th' cap't

Whew! When th' Intelligent Designer throws a temper tantrum, it's a doozy, ihn't it?

I'll bet ya' that Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell and th' Reverend Phellps are not particularly distressed tho, since they would tell ya' that, after all, very few of th' victims are Christians. These peoples were all goin' ta' hell anyway; now they jus' got in a little early. As a matter of fact, they would prolly tell ya' there may be a lesson here fer th' pagans of th' world.

If ya' might be a godless pagan yerself, remember, it's never too late ta' repent and be saved. Ya' jus' might save yerself a whole lotta' trouble. Jus' a thought.

And speakin' of Pat Robertson, do ya' recall earlier this year when he said that GOD, sometimes known as th' Intelligent Designer, had spoken ta' him personally, PERSONALLY, mind you, and told him that George Bush wuz gonna' win th' election in a landslide.

Now personally, I feel that when peoples start tellin' ya' that th' ID hisself is rappin' with 'em personally, that they should then be straitjacketed and placed in a padded cell and fed with a rubber straw.This is not th' kinda individual I wanta' break bread and gnaw bone with. But, whadda' I know?

th' cap't

I read today where GC has checked hisself inta some kinda' re-hab. He said it wuz a little too much wine and painkillers. Ya gotta' be circumspect with that Mad Dog and downers.

He said it wuzn't any thing serious tho. No big deal. He jus' thought it might be a good idea.
I think George wuz jus' bein' modest. As a matter of fact, he prolly couldn't stand upright...without a little help from his friends.

Ha ha, But whut th' hell, we've all been there, right!

th' cap't

Ya' know I told ya' 'bout St. Anthony recently. He's th' Patron Saint of "Lost Things". My buddy Chris gave me a St. Anthony medal last week, cuz he knows I need some extra help when it comes ta' things gone missin'. There's a reason why St. Anthony holds that position, rather than, say, St. Lance fr'instance, and th' reason is; he's jus' damned good at it. I mean he is simply uncanny at locatin' missin' objects. It's like he employs some kinda' supernatural dowsing rod or somthin'.

Last Thursday, I lost a new pair of gloves. I searched my mustang which I wuz drivin' that night, throughly, front seat, back seat, under th' seats, glove box, everywhere. Not jus once, but a half-dozen times. My gloves weren't there. I called th' saloons I went ta' that night. No luck. I searched my crib, over and over again. Nada!

So a couple days ago I decided, I'm gonna have'ta play th' St. Anthony card. I only use that fer special occasions, cuz, like ya' can over extend yer welcome, if ya' try and take advantage. I mean, ya' cain't be botherin' th' cat every time ya' lose yer mind, or somthin' trivial, ya' know whut ahm sayin'? So, I did th' proper beseechin'. Nothin' happened.

Well, as I told ya' before, sometimes he gets overloaded and jus' can't take care of everybody. I thought of th' old Chinese proverb, "All things come to the Patient man." So, I then played th' Patience Card. (D'ye ever wonder jus' how many fookin' cards are in that deck anyway?)

So, like today, I'm crawlin' inta th' car from th' passenger side, cus ya' know, due ta' th' wreck, I have th' driver's side door tied shut with some wire. Well I think ya' know where I'm goin' here don't ya'!! Yep, as I crawled over th' gear shift I spied my gloves wedged between th' driver's door and th' seat, even tho I had already looked there four or five times. They weren't there at that time. Today; they were!!

Well, I told ya' th' dude could be mysterious if he chooses. OK, so there ya' go. A real life testimonial from th' capt's files.

OK, boyz and gurlz, next time ya' lose somthin', I guess I don't gotta' tell ya' how ta' handle it, do I?

th' cap't

I got a book fer X-Mas called, When will Jesus bring the Pork Chops? by George Carlin. I useta' like Carlin back in th' olden days, but then I got turned off him cuz it seemed like he wuz mostly re-cycling old material. He didn't seem ta' be movin' on, so ta speak, like he wuz trapped in a ‘60s kinda' mentality or somthin. (I cn' hear the moans and groans of derision as some peoples hear me sayin' this 'bout some one else. Ha ha)

He seemed kinda stale and dated. I jus' wasn't hearin' any freash material. However, a few years back he kinda' won me over again as he had a TV show where he played a cab driver. Ya' cn' see Carlin playin' a cab driver, can't ya'?

Drivin' a hack myself, I kinda related ta' that show and I thought it wuz pretty good myself, but evidently other folks didn't, cuz it didn't last very long at all.

Since that time I hadn't paid much attention ta' his comings and goings. He kinda dropped off my radar.
But this new book of his I like! I am once again inta' Carlin's unique brand of Humor. One of th' things I like 'bout it is that in George Carlin's World...there are NO sacred cows!! Anything and everything is fair game fer his irreverent wit. And man, he really comes down hard sometimes. There's not a mili-liter of PC in his veins. Fr'instance if ya' wanta' talk ta' him 'bout cripples; fine. Jus' don't mention "physically challenged peoples". Oh man, he takes a hard, unsparin', sarcastic look at th' Amerikan landscape, and finds it wanting. And I cn' once again; relate!

th' cap't

P.S. A thought from GC: "Good news for Senior citizens, Death is near!"

Fer the past several days, fer some inexplicable reason, my nostrils have been rough and raw and very sensitive, so, naturally I've been using Bert's Lip Balm in them. Although this helped a lot, today, I decided, whut the hell, why not go all out in my assault on them, so I went ta' the nearest Osco drugs and copped some Vicks Vapo-Rub.

Wastin' no time, I opened the box and inserted two large clumps o' Vicks inta' each nostril. Now I haven't used any Vicks fer at least twenty-five years or more, so jus' fer the hell of it I read the box and discovered, first of all; Vicks are now made in Mexico! SAY WHUT!!? Ya' mean our Chicano brothas and sistas are now manufacturin' Vicks? Damn! When did this happen?

Next, I read th' warning on th' box, and it said in bold letters, “DO NOT USE IN NOSTRILS.”

Once again, "HUH?" Whut th' hail are they talkin' bout? Sheeit. I mean, when I wuz a kid and ya' got a cold, ya' did th' chicken soup thing and ya' always rammed Vicks up yer nose. So, like, whut's the deal here?? Have these Mexicano peoples added some new secret ingredient ta' the formula that is now goin' ta' make my nose fall off? Or explode? Or whut?

I jus' cain't seem ta' keep up with all th' modern developments takin' place around me. Meanwhile I'm sittin' here somewhut trepiditiously (while this may not be a 'real' word, I think ya' know whut I mean) awaitin' th' consequences; if I endure, I guess I'll have'ta' revert back ta' th' Bert's Lip Balm, or else jus' stop abusin' my nasal passages. Sometimes th' decisions one has ta' make daily can get overwhelmin', ya' know whut I mean!?

th' cap't

Did'ja see th' absolutely ridiculous picture in th' paper of a computer generated picture of Jesus when he wuz 12 years old? Some loons in Italy took some pictures from th' image on th Shroud of Turin, which many believe is th' shroud Jesus wuz buried in, and there is a faint image there of a bearded man who they think is Christ.

So they took this image and reversed th' process they use to computer generate pictures of people as they might look as they age years later. They jus' did th' process backwards this time, taking about 20 years off th' age of th' image.

They came up with a young boy with a fair complexion, nicely sculpted, BLONDISH hair and BLUE eyes, no less! Ha ha. BLUE EYES and BLOND HAIR! Do ya' know how many fair complexioned, blue-eyed, blond-haired Jews there were two thousand years ago in Israel? Ha ha. Gimme a break!

Also, becuz th' image on th' shroud is bearded they had ta' guess as ta' whut his cheeks and th' lower portion of his face looked like.

Italian newspapers are touting this as an accurate depiction of th' young Jesus. One journalist coverin' th' story said, "I am a journalist and this is based on truth. It's a discovery!"

It apparently doesn't matter at all ta' them that carbon-14 dating techniques used ta' determine th' age of th' shroud in tests conducted in 1988 concluded that th' age of th' shroud dated from somewhere between 1260 and 1390, thus eliminating ANY possibility that th' image is actually that of Christ. Even th' Catholic Church did not dispute their findings, but hey, th' True Believers don't let little details like that challenge their beliefs. No question 'bout it; it's th' young Jesus!!! Ya' got that!

Whut is hard fer these folks ta' comprehend tho is how some gullible and naive peoples let foolish scientific mumbo-jumbo like carbon-14 dating methods cloud th' Truth. On th' other hand, now thanks ta' new modern scientific technologies we now know whut Jesus looked like as a young boy of 12. Th' reasonin' is jus' a bit confusin' ta' me.

th' cap't

I have a counter-theory that whut cosmologists, when talkin' bout th' origin of th universe, call “The Big Bang.”

It wuz in fact, actually a Cosmic Meth lab explosion!

Thas' right. Now, you and others may scoff and jeer, but hey, if ya' don't believe me, I challenge ya' ta prove me wrong!

Nyah, nyah, nyah!

th cap'm

Do politically correct children today make, “snow-persons?”

I dunno. Whadda'ya think?

I recently heard a female person on a local radio station say during a fund raiser, "Call yer pledge in now. We have lotsa' folks mannin' th' phones ta' take yer calls."

And there wuz a brief pause and then she said, "Scuuse me, I meant, we have lotsa' folks STAFFING th' phones."

KKFI. They're very hip and aware there!

Omigod! Whut a faux pas, no! Jeeeze!.

Now, I'm thinkin' bout all th' war movies where th' Captain of th' ship says, "Now hear this! All hands, Man your battle stations!"

I guess today KKFI would change that ta', "Now hear this! All hands STAFF your battle stations."

PC tho it might be, somehow it jus' doesn't have th' dramatic impact, ya' know whut I mean?

Whadda'ya think?

Cn' ya' have a "manhunt" if yer searchin' fer a female fugitive? Kinda' tricky, eh?

Why don't they call 'em "girllycures"?

I guess we need ta start callin' those tigers and sharks, “people eaters.”

How much people-power and how many people-hours would it take ta' fill a people-hole with wooden legged grasshoppers?

Aw'right, aw'right, I know, we're gettin' pretty stupid now, but sheeit, sometimes peoples can get pretty

stupid 'bout this whole thing, y'know whut I mean!

th' cap't

A buddy of mine, knowin' my penchant fer losin' things gave me a St. Anthony medal. If yer not familiar with Holy Tony, as we sometimes playfully refer ta' him, he is th' Patron Saint of “lost things.”

In spite of th' fact that I'm not inta' th whole God game, I non-th'-less use St. Anthony's services alla' time, and look here, he works in some pretty Mysterious ways himself. And a lotta' peoples like that kinda' action. Like, fr'instance, mebbe three days after ya've asked fer his assistance, ya find th' thing ya've been lookin' fer in a spot ya've already searched at least a half-dozen times. And ya' go, "Whoa" ya' know?

Over th' many years he has helped me find so many things that I thought were gone fer good. And one thing I like 'bout him is that ya' don't gotta' WORSHIP him and drop ta' yer knees everytime ya' wanta' address him like so many others of his ilk, and ya' don't havta' sacrifice no bulls, goats, chickens, bunny rabbits or, y'know, any other kinda critters ta' satiate him. (some pipples useta' sacrifice young virgins til they became extinct)

St. Anthony's not demandin' like that. He doesn't try and run yer Life or tell ya' how ta' live it. All he does; is help ya' locate lost objects. Thas' it.

It's a simple procedure too; ya' ask him ta' help locate somthin', and if he's not too busy, he'll give ya' a hand. But sometimes tho, he won't help ya'. I dunno why; thas' jus' th' way he operates. Like I said, he cn' be Mysterious if he chooses.

So now I'm wearin' my S.A. medal round my neck jus' below my clear quartz crystal. I'm thinkin, that mebbe by jus' wearin' it I can prevent losses before they even happen, that way savin' both him and me a lotta' unnecessary trouble and stress. Y'know, like th' old expression, "An ounce of prevention is worth...blah, blah, blah" (I gotta' admit tho, I never unnerstood whut that "blah, blah blah" meant?)

And my crystal comes in real handy too, see, cuz it is an Emotional Balancer. It amplifies Thought and activates all levels of Consciousness. It also dispels Negativity in one's Energy Field. Now see, that helps me a lot; ta' lower my negativity quotient, cuz, y'know, peoples are alla' time tellin' me I'm too negative, or cynical, or pessimistic or, well, y' know, all that kinda' downer shit.

Hey, and check this out! It also receives, stores, transmits and amplifies Energy. (whew!) All these benefits from jus' one crystal. Pretty cool, eh?

Now, with this miraculous medal I cn' mebbe overcome whut is becomin' a constant daily hassle as I get worked up each day lookin' fer my keys, wallet, money, th' TV remote, th' VC remote, (thas' a remote control fer yer Viet Cong) th' DVD remote, my cell phone, th' duct tape, my gloves, a book, my letter opener, my back scratcher, my comb, my hat, my coat, th' Oreo cookies, my battery charger, th' front door, my glasses, and y'know, when ya' can't find yer glasses it's twice as hard ta' find 'em, cuz, like, ya' cain't see!! Y'know whut ahm sayin'.

Well, y'know, I lose a lotta' stuff every day, but, since I donned my St. Anthony medal at two this mornin', I haven't lost a single thing all day long, so apparently it's workin'.

Hey, lissen' here, if you lose things alla' time too, mebbe' ya' should consult with yer doctor ta' see if a St. Anthony medal might be right fer you!

th' cap't

(While others sing Christmas carols and exchange gifts and do holiday related stuff, th' cap't spews some bile on Christmas Eve.)

THIS ALLEGED LETTER WUZ SENT TO ME TODAY AND I TAKE IT THAT IT IS SUPPOSED TO RE-ASSURE US THAT IN SPITE OF THE QUAGMIRE WE ARE CURRENTLY BOGGED DOWN IN, THAT THERE IS ALWAYS SOMTHIN' POSITIVE THAT CAN BE SAID. TH' FIRST PART IS FROM A FATHER (Mac) WHOSE SON (Todd, th' writer) IS IN IRAQ.

From Mac:

First, I want to thank all of you, family and friends, who have offered your prayers and messages of support. They mean a lot believe me. I will not deny that this is very tough.
Second, send this message from Todd to your entire address book. I want everyone to know that there is no Quit in our soldiers — and there better not be any at home!!

Thanks, Mac

("And there better not be any at home!" SOUNDS KINDA LIKE A THREAT TA' ME. NOTE TH' TWO EXCLAMATION POINTS FER EMPHASIS. BUT HEY, MAC, WHUT IF WE DON'T LIKE YER STUPID, SENSELESS FOOKIN' WAR?)
AMERIKA; RIGHT OR WRONG, LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT, SOUNDS A LOT LIKE TH' SIXTIES, DON'T IT? THAT SAME KINDA' MINDLESS ATTITUDE)

Here, th’ alleged letter from son Todd:

Sent: Wednesday, December 22, 2004 1:42 PM
Subject: I'm OK- Lucky but OK

All — for your information — I'm OK despite the recent blast here in Mosul. My battalion suffered two killed and 9 wounded. Of the wounded, four have been evacuated out of the country but should be OK. The other five were treated and returned to duty. The brigade suffered 8 killed and many wounded. I was two steps into the dining facility when the explosion occurred. I normally do not eat lunch as I am usually out off the base on missions during the day. Yesterday, I was in a late morning meeting and decided to get lunch before heading out. Fortunately, I delayed my move to the mess hall by a few seconds to talk to a soldier-probably saved me from injury or worse-big flash of light, heat and debris — 30 yards away.

Tragically,

(TRAGICALLY? SAY WHUT? IN HIS CASE, I'D SAY "LUCKILY)

Most of the blast was absorbed by some of the many soldiers between me and the explosion.
There is a God! And he acts in mysterious ways.

(YEAH, I GUESS GOD DECIDED TA' USE TH' BODIES OF HIS FELLOW SOLDIERS TA' SHIELD HIM FROM TH' BLAST. YA' GOTTA ADMIT THO, THERE IS A CERTAIN ELEMENT OF MYSTERY THERE)

Following the blast, soldiers reacted heroically.

(WELL, OF COURSE, THEY REACTED HEROICALLY, THESE ARE AMERIKAN BOYS AFTER ALL WHUT'JA EXPECT?)

At that point no one knew if the first explosion would be followed by additional indirect fire or other device — soldiers treated their comrades, covered the dead and basically did what they do best — create order from the violent chaos of war.

(I LIKE THAT LINE, "create order from the violent chaos of war" VERY GOOD TODD)
The details of the scene are not important other than to say that young men and women should not have to witness sights like that.

(NOW, CHECK THIS OUT. THIS IS RILLY GOOD)

Their ability to maintain there composure and stay 'mission focused' attests to every thing the Army stands for.

(OH MAN, GIMME A BREAK, HUH! DOES THIS REALLY SOUND LIKE A LETTER A SON WOULD WRITE TA' HIS DAD? READ THAT AGAIN. DOES THIS NOT SOUND MORE LIKE SOME ARMY RECRUITER PROPAGANDA SPIEL? SHEEIT. AND THAT "mission focused” BULLSHIT. MEBBE THEY MIGHT 'SPLAIN TO GEO. BUSH, DONALD RUMSFELD, ET AL, JUST WHUT EXACTLY TH' "mission" IS, SINCE THEY DON'T SEEM TA' HAVE A CLUE, Y'KNOW, BESIDES TH' CRAP 'BOUT BRINGIN' DEMOCRACY TA' PEOPLES WHO HAVE NEVER EXPRESSED ANY DESIRE WHUTSOEVER TA' BE A DEMOCRACY! JUS' A SMALL INCONSEQUENTIAL DETAIL I SUPPOSE. BUT WHUT TH' HELL! BUNCHA RAGHEADS!! WHUT TH' HELL DO THEY KNOW?)

Bravery was not isolated to Americans — I watched an Iraqi soldier crawl over to care for a wounded American; Americans treated Iraqis and other civilians without regard to nationality or status.

(JUS' A SMALL TESTIMONIAL TA' TH' UNITY AND SOLIDARITY WITH OUR COALITION ALLIES)

Today the battalion and the brigade was back in the fight — units that lost soldiers including a company commander from another battalion were on mission again within hours of the attack. The news would have one believe that the attack brought this place to a standstill- nothing could be further from the truth.

(NO WAY JOSE)

We proceeded with missions even as casualty evacuation occurred — there was no let up on offensive operations. Tonight we continue to fight and will keep the pressure on the enemy.

(OH MAN, I FEEL LOTS BETTER, I'M GONNA GET A GOOD NIGHT'S SLEEP TONIGHT KNOWIN' TH' ENEMY IS BEIN' “PRESSURED”)

We'll be eating MREs for a while — no worries — I like them with a little hot sauce!

(FERGET ALL THE STUFF YA'VE HEARD BOUT HOW BAD MRE'S ARE. TAKE IT FROM A REAL AMERIKAN SOLJER FOLKS, ALL YA' NEED IS A LITTLE HOT SAUCE, AND, VOILA, YA'VE GOT YERSELF A VERY TASTY AND SUCCULENT MEAL)
The battalion Family Readiness Group is doing incredible support. They have the toughest jobs — dealing with caring for families who have lost husbands and fathers.

(YEAH, NO KIDDIN'. I MEAN, SHEEIT. IT MUST BE REALLY DIFFICULT TRYIN' TA' TELL SOME ONE THAT THEIR LOVED ONE WUZ KILLED IN TH' MESS HALL WHILE TRYIN' TA' BRING DEMOCRACY TH' IRAQI PEOPLES. I SURE AS HELL WOULDN'T WANTA' TRY AND JUSTIFY THAT KINDA' LOSS)

Lisa is very much involved in that process — harder job than mine. We will conduct a Memorial Service here following Christmas and before New Year — hopefully the new year will bring more peace to Mosul.

(I WOULDN'T COUNT ON IT DUDE)

The battalion took a body blow yesterday.

(A "BODY BLOW", THAS' WHUT YA' CALL IT WHEN 15 TROOPERS ARE KILLED. IN TH' MESS HALL, FR'CHRIST SAKE!!)

But we're off the ropes — (EVERYBODY CAN RELATE TA' A LITTLE SPORTS METAPHOR, EH) — no let up in the fight and no lack of commitment for this cause.

(HIP HIP HURRAY, THREE BIG CHEERS FER TH' USA)

Thanks for your thoughts and prayers for our lost and wounded comarades.

Love, Todd

NOW, TA' ME THIS WHOLE FOOKIN' THING SOUNDS LIKE IT WUZ WRITTEN BY SOME ARMY HACK WHOSE JOB IS TA' SEND OUT POSITIVE PRESS RELEASES (sometimes know as “spin”) TO A GULLIBLE AMERIKAN PUBLIC, REGARDLESS OF TH' CIRCUMSTANCES. OK, PEOPLES, LET'S MAINTAIN A POSITIVE ATTITUDE OUT THERE. I SUPPOSE ANY DAY NOW, SOMEONE WILL BE TELLIN' US THERE'S A LIGHT AT TH' END OF TH' TUNNEL, BUT HEY, GIVE CREDIT TA' TODD. HE PRETTY MUCH COVERED ALL TH' BASES. I MEAN, LOOK....

FIRST OFF, WE ARE ADMONISHED TA' NOT DISAGREE. NONE OF THAT CRAP. THERE'LL BE NO "QUIT" ON TH' HOME FRONT ALLOWED. YA' GOT THAT!!

SECONDLY, WE GET AN AFFIRMATION THAT GOD EXISTS, EVEN THO HE IS RATHER MYSTERIOUS. PEOPLES TAKE COMFORT AND LIKE TA' HEAR STUFF LIKE THIS IN WARTIME.

THIRDLY, WE ARE ASSURED THAT OUR TROOPS ARE WELL TRAINED AND THEIR MORALE IS HIGH.

FOURTH, A REMINDER THAT WE'RE NOT IN THIS ALONE. TH' IRAQI PEOPLES ARE RIGHT THERE BY OUR SIDE, (BEIN' BLOWN UP IN TH' MESS HALL, TOO)

FIFTH, IN SPITE OF THIS TERRIBLE TRAGEDY OUR TROOPS CONTINUE TA' PERSEVERE AND PRESSURE TH' ENEMY.

SIXTH, OUR TROOPS ARE BEING WELL TAKEN CARE OF. THEY ARE WELL FED AND THEY LOVE THEIR MREs, ‘SPECIALLY WITH A BIT OF HOT SAUCE.

AND FINALLY WE ARE ONCE AGAIN RE-ASSURED THAT IN SPITE OF THIS SMALL “BODY BLOW,” OUR TROOPS ARE DEDICATED, AND COMMITTED TA' FIGHT AND DIE FER TH' CAUSE...TH' CAUSE BEIN', FREEDOM AND DEMOCRACY FER IRAQI'S WHO DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT FREEDOM AND DEMOCRACY THEMSELVES.

HEY, DO YA' HAPPEN TA' RECALL HOW WE SPENT TEN LONG YEARS AND 59,000 AMERICAN DEAD TA' BRING DEMOCRACY TA' SOUTH VIETNAM? AND DO YA' KNOW WHUT KIND OF DEMOCRACY THEY HAVE IN SOUTH VIETNAM TODAY BOYZ AND GURLZ?

THESE IRAQIS, POOR CRITTERS. THEY JUS' DON'T REALISE IT...BUT WE DO KNOW WHUT'S BEST FER 'EM! MCDONALDS, BURGER KING AND JERRY SPRINGER ARE NOT FAR BEHIND.

TH' ONLY CRITICISM I CAN MAKE CONCERNIN' "TODD'S" LETTER, AND Y'KNOW HOW I AM, I HATE TA' BE CRITICAL, IS THAT HE DIDN'T END HIS ACCOUNT WITH A HEARTY...

"GOD BLESS GEORGE BUSH AND DONALD RUMSFELD, GOD BLESS AMERIKA AND GOD BLESS YOU"

THAT WOULD'A MADE FER A NICE CLOSIN' TOUCH, DON'CHA THINK?

th' capt

P.S. Hey and ya' know whut, I could'a chided him on a couple of mis-spelled words too, if I'd wanted ta', but whut th' hell, ahm not a nit-pickin' kinda person, and besides, I sometimes mis-spel th' occasional word muhself.

Y'know, like, five years ago I bought a wallet fer th' first time in over twenty years. Thas' right, it had been twenty years since th' last time I owned one. I got tired of losin' my money on th' floor alla' time as I reached inta' my pocket ta' pull out some cash. I wuz soo proud of it and tried ta' show it ta' anyone I came in contact with, but peoples jus' didn't seem ta' be interested. I ran inta' a Wall of Indifference. They couldn't care less. I said,

"Fine! Ya' constantly wanta' show me pics of yer dogs and cats but ya' don't wanta' look at my new wallet, eh? Well, Kiss off!"

And they said, "But sheeit, cap't, it's jus a godam wallet! Whas' th' big deal?"

And I replied, "Hey well sheeit, Milo is jus' another godam dog, but ya' wanta' show me pics of him alla' time! Whadda' ya think, like, I've never seen a fookin' dog before!?"

I'm not bitter or anythin', y'know, cuz, like, that wuz five years ago. Life goes on.

So. like, I jus' bought a new wallet a few days ago, but this time I wuz kinda low-key 'bout it, rememberin' th' apathy and indifference I experienced last time and so I only mentioned it ta' a few peoples, and yet, some how, Word on th' Street spread that I wuz packin' some “new leather.”

This time, I had several peoples who came up ta' me, totally unsolicited, and wanted ta' actually see it, and then made, whut appeared ta' me ta' be some rather insincere, complementary exclamations. Y' know, like,

"Ohmigod Cap't! Like, it's just soooooo fookin' cool", and, "Gee whiz cap't. Thas' rilly somthin! Whut a wallet!!"

Y'know and stuff like that. Hey ese, I knew they wuz jus' playin me, I wuz hip ta' that, but, whut bothered me; wuz one individual in particular, a guy who I only know casually, and who has always aroused a certain suspicion in me. I have always suspected him of being The MAN. He tried ta' make an apparently off hand, casual reference to the “secret compartment.”

Whoa!!! Alarm bells went off on my head, y'know, kinda like ya' get on a submarine jus' before ya' dive. AOOOOOGA! AOOOOGA! That loud klaxon sound. My mouth went dry. My heart started poundin. My pulse wuz racin' and I wuz weak-kneed. And I thought ta' myself, "Yo man, this is some Good shit!"

Awright, awright, never mind bout that — back ta' my story.

How did he know 'bout th' secret compartment? I dunno. I jus' discovered it myself on Sunday. I tried ta' remain calm and nonchalant. I told him that, at this point in time, I could neither confirm, nor deny the existence of such a compartment and that I would have no further comment.

My mind slipped inta' neutral tryin' ta' figure out how he had got on ta' me? Then, it slipped again. It's been doing that lately, slippin' in and out of gear. Then, suddenly, I remembered mentionin' th' possibility of th' wallet, like, maybe, havin' that kind of capability in an email I had sent out, shortly after purchasin' same.

That mus' be it. We never rilly know jus' how secure these communications are, do we? We don't know whut agencies, domestic or foreign, may be monitorin' whut we assume ta' be private communications.
Of course that's it! No doubt, deep in th' bowels of th' earth, in a bunker underneath Ft. Detrick, Maryland, headquarters of th' NSA, a computer triggered by th' buzzwords, "secret compartment" alerted officials there, who promptly sent one of their minions ta' investigate. Ta' find out whut I know...and when I first knew it. Ta' find out whut kind of data I am I am carryin' around that would justify a secret compartment.

But, as ta' whut I know? Well sheeit, peoples who know me will tell ya' that I consistently maintain that I, "don't know much". They always come up to me and say, "Hey Capt. Whadda'ya' know?"

And I alla' time say, "Not much!"

Ask anybody! So, I think I have been consistent there. I mean, I've never once said, "Oh man, I know a lot! No shit, ese, ya' wouldn't believe th' secrets I'm carryin' here in my wallet!"

No, no. never.

Well, ta' make a long story short, I stepped away from this dude and immediately fled back to my crib, where I pulled th' shades and activated th' perimeter defenses. I don't think it wuz jus' a co-incidence either that a black helicopter jus' happened ta' be flyin' over my house as I pulled inta' th' driveway. Fer th' moment, I am going ta' ensconce myself here, livin' off th' can of tuna and the crackers I bought fer th' Last Apocalypse. (I knew they would come in handy some day. Now if I could only find some use fer all this plastic sheeting and duct tape)

Well perhaps I can jus' lay low and re-enter Society when this has all blown over. However, this poses another problem, since I jus' got a nasty letter from Society earlier this afternoon informin' me that I am in arrears...and that if I don't make a Contribution soon..... they are going ta' cancel my membership!

Sheeit! It's jus' one fookin' thing after another, ihn't it?

th' capt.