About Captain Bastard

Captain Morgan and Coke and New England Patriots football. What more does a guy need?

Congrats Birds

This will erase the ass-whoopin’ in 2004 handed to you by my beloved Red Sox. Timmy Mac and Joe Buck will have hard-ons for the next year until spring training. Maybe on the collector’s DVD they’ll show Buck and McCarver having mad monkey sex in the booth when McCarver has a heart attack and after Joey Buck blows his load on Timmy’s ass, his head explodes.

Kenny Fuckin’ Rogers

Hey douche! you got caught. Like I care, since the Sox were as depleted as the North Korean food supply… face it you moron, you had pine tar on your hand and you got caught, don’t play dumb. Of course, you’re not going to admit it and I bet Tim McCarver’s panties were all in a bunch when you didn’t get tossed.

I’d like to see fellow New Hampshire-ite Chris Carpenter win tonight, but I couldn’t give a fat fuck who wins it all, cause it’s baaseball and baseball without my Sox is like a one night stand without the dirty slut in bed.

Kenny… buddy… if you’re going to cheat, don’t make it so obvious. Take some lessons from the master, Gaylord Perry. Hide it. Conceal it. Don’t put the fucking crap on your hand you tool.

P.S. – I hope Tim McCarver drops dead in the booth and Joe Buck trips over his dead carcass and breaks his scrawny neck. You can’t hold a candle to your father.

Chasing Cars

No, not the Snow Patrol tune you’re hearing on the radio constantly… but me and my car. A 1999 Chevrolet Malibu, that has been from Maine to California not once, but twice. 118,200 miles on it… 110k by me. Well, Old Yeller… time to go out to the back shed.

Hey Chevrolet! You Suck!
Seems like one of the lifters under that gaz guzzling engine of mine decided it wanted to play jumping jacks and dislodge itself from its’ home this morning during my 135 mile drive. Wonderful, now the worst thing that can happen on the ride home is, I break down. Excellent. Top that off with the phone taking a dump on me last night, my fun-filled 12-hour span of self-amusement has become more of a “Samir in his Camaro stuck in traffic” type episode.

An episode, that is what I just might have. An episode. Where I take the baseball bat to the copier… the copier in this case being that hunk of crap Chevrolet sitting in the parking lot gathering dust. A ton-and-a-half fucking paperweight. Being flat broke doesn’t help either, especially when the work I do has not been pouring in like it was a few months back… go figure.

Whomever took the large pile of shit and dumped it over my head, I am going to get my .38 and come after you! Today is like the movie Office Space…

Well, I generally come in at least fifteen minutes late, ah, I use the side door – that way Lumbergh can’t see me, heh heh – and, uh, after that I just sorta space out for about an hour.

I’m going to go space out now. Fuck it.

Hey Verizon Wireless!

Fuck you!

When I buy a phone, and get another one for free and get insurance… when I buy insurance for the PHONES (plural) then I should get insurance on BOTH.

Instead, tonight, my fucking phone fell apart in my hands like a cheap piece of 10-year-old IKEA furniture… wonderful.

Verizon says I have no insurance on it… so I am fucked.

Goodbye, Verizon… you greedy cocksuckers. You just lost a customer and gained a very unfriendly enemy. I will spread the word of your bullshit and hope that you get bought out and all those fucking twats I dealt with on the phone get fired.

To paraphrase.

“I don’t give a shit if you’re not down with it.” Well stated.

Well, I couldn’t give a shit, two fucks, a rat’s ass, nor a fucking damn at this point. 2 hours of sleep and the urge to go postal is all that I have on my mind. 5 pm won’t come here quick enough.

3 hours, I’m surely going to die on my way home tonight after falling asleep at the wheel.

Herro!? I’m A Ve-wey Busy Man Here!

Herro?!

Looks like North Korea got some nookie! Dubya pops out like a groundhog and babbles some chest-thumping dribble, the Useless Nations had a meeting to cover those new cover sheets on those TPS reports. Since Dubya has slipped below the Mendoza line in popularity, the PM of Japan said some gobbledygook about it being bad… yeah, considering Japan got it handed to them after the US dropped a couple huge brass balls on them and reduced them to a smoldering, melted pile of goo.

North Korea might sell the nukes like they sell cats, dogs, Viagra, chopsticks… I say, get the bunkerbusters… what’s 23 million in collateral damage? Shit, we won’t have a future version of the Kia.

Better Late than Never.

Yankees Lose! Yankees Lose!

As a Red Sox fan, it broke my heart to see that last ground ball out… A-Rod’s dismal “performance,” Steinbrenner blowing a gasket, Torre allegedly being fired cause his players choked like a con-artist in a restaurant looking for a free meal, Johnny Damon eating his shit words and packing it up early… beautious!

$200 million dollar payroll and yet, they choke again. It’s the curse of the Millenium for them, and I am pleased as a pig in shit to witness their 0-21st century.

and Tim McCarver is still a tool.

Kidz Bop

I think the whole idea should be outlawed… especially when I walk into the local toy store and hear those sons-of-bitches singing to the tune of Rockwell’s “Somebody’s Watching Me.” The guy that was doing the singing, what a horrible impersonation, he should be gutted belly to crotch like a rainbow trout.

The kids singing the chorus, that was just sheer hell. I’ve had better sounding mudbutt after a steaming bowl of curried chicken and extra-hot salsa. Let’s legalize firing squads. Top it all off, the toy my daughter wanted “wasn’t in stock.” So said the Corky Thatcher look-alike behind the counter that was counting NERF footballs and chewing on one.

You do know the economy is doing fairly well when the retail outlets are hiring the retarded though.

Spandex. A Priviledge, not a right.

There is a time of year this year where in the state I live, there are fairs during the month of October. These fairs bring out the most evil and odd varieties of rednecks there are to be seen. My case in point… if I had a picture, it’d be so much better, but I did not want to destroy a brand new digital camera.

Some, grotesque freak of nature, part Jabba the Hutt, part Sta-Puff marshmallow man. arge Marge, 300 pounds of backwoods, “Deliverance”-type man-beast, woman-kind. Spandex… god, that just give me frightening chills like I just watched the Faces of Death series for the first time.

She has “frontal-ass.” When you think some force of nature had taken the ass and just wound it aorund to the front. To top it off, it had a moose knuckle, but it looked like a wedgie/granny panty line. In spandex nonetheless.

Someone once said to me, “Spandex is a priviledge, not a right.” How fucking true this is. Of all the fair food I ate. Fries, Italian Sausage, ice cream, pork sandwiches… it all came back almost to haunt me.

Ladies… if you’re a tad on the large side and you have spandex or tight fitting clothing that accentuates that blob hanging off your midsection like a turtlehead poking out of your ass… burn it, throw it away, give it away, just do not wear it. Save the general public the horror show and get rid of the shit.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to slice my skull open and clean it out with a steel brush and some kerosene.

Splendor in the Ass

As I was explaining to Pumpkin the other night, when I saw that ‘mudbutt’ category, I had to explain my mudbutt story. So to take it short, I’ll post the Cliff Notes version.

In a restaurant, ready to leave one night, the waitresses wear these 50′s waitress uniforms that look like candy striper uni’s. Sort skirt right below the asscheek line, one waitress is reaching over the counter, when I go back to my table to get my car keys, her bulletproof granny-sized underwear is exposed with the worst case of mudbutt/skidmark ass I have ever seen in my life.

Now, considering it was “that time of the month”, a) because of the granny underwear, and b) because of the red blotches that were mixed in that made the ass crack of her underwear look like either a Jackson Pollack painting or a Leroy Neiman signature painting… I nearly lost what I had consumed at this fine establishment.

This is forever burned into my memory… like a bitter break-up, it has scarred me for quite some time. My therapist says soon, it will be a distant memory, but that red/bown paintball splatter haunts me. I need some tequila.