What most (all) of you probably didn´t know about the Capt´n is that he served as a ships doctor in his earlier seafaring years, althought for a suprisingly short time, even by his standards.
So, we can, for the first time. heartfully encourage you all to send in questions about your severe medical problems for the good Capt´n to answer.
Please note though, that if any of the advice the Capt´n might give you seems a little outside the book, or, to put it bluntly, straight out lethal, they probably are and we urge you to consult a licensed physichist instead, or at least one that possess a workings set of hands.
First totaly non-faked question.
Dear Dr Capt´n.
Yesterday, I was reaching into one of my many deep cupboards to fetch the jar of honey that I so desperatley desired, when something snapped in my arm. And I mean, there was a clearly audible SNAP emitting from my good reaching-arm!
Upon closer inspection by my comfortably close friend (who is a pig, if that helps) we discovered in horror that it seemed like a “seam” in my arm had ripped open! The later I got a note in the mail saying I had failed to pay the rent for the dirt cave in wich I live, and am being evicted this Thursday!
Please help me with this! I´m a stuffed, yellow bear of questionable girth, if that information makes it easier.
Love “Wheezer”
Dear Wheezer.
Having professionally read yer letter more than one time, wich is the professional approach to reading mail, I have concluded the following:
The greasy, waxy prints one yer paper suggests that ye don´t have hands, but rather huge fingers instead, each with one single opposable thumb, in lack of a better word.
Also, the paper smells heavily of Bee´s wax, wich indicates that yer telling the truth about yer demented obsession with honey, wich I suppose is good, since the first step out of any addiction is admitting yer problems, no matter how sick and nasty.
As for yer “friend” I strongly suspect that yer problem stems from a treason of his doing. It is a widely known fact that all pigs are murderers, and I´m frankly suprised that ye show no knowledge of this in yer letter.
Concerning a solution to this problem, I would say loose the swine, preferably slit his throat if possible, but with yer freakish finger hands in mind, such an attempt could well backfire on ye. Anyway, the murderous pig is probably wearing yer thorax skin like a skirt by now, so I might as well ignore this.
Next question!
Yo Capt´n!
This is not so much a physical problem as it is an emotional one, I suppose… I just feel like I need someone to talk to about it.
I am currently between appartments, but the one I´m spending the most time in is located in what I could only describe as a mouldy cave at the foot of a large mountain. It´s a nice place, althought the location could be better, oh well. My problem is, due to a unexplainable badminton accident in my youth, I´m left with an enlarged eardrum that picks up sounds within an amazing range.
This is a much a curse as it is a boon however, as I can´t help but pick up even unwanted sounds.
I´ve lost several jobs because of this. My closest neighbours are a group of rugged, single men that appears to be some sort of vikings. They throw wild rave parties fairly often, and I can only lie in my cave and listen to them having a wonderful time.
I´ve tried talking to them but everytime, I get so nervous, I cannot help but smashing their door in, ripping several of them in half and turning their fireplace a spooky blueish colour.
Please Capt´n you must help me overcome my shyness, I don´t want to be alone anymore!
Yours truly “Gerald”
Dear Gerald.
I can understand yer problem, perhaps more so that ye realize.
For ye see, yer not the only one, who´ve been scarred deeply by the sport they call “badminton”. Oh I was just a lad back then, naturally, but the memories… The knot that mine soul was tied into that day… The memories will never let it unfold completley.
It all started completly innocent, sure it was night, and a huge fireplace, and we were all drunker than a manatee with an ancor on its head, but all those things were considered incredibly innocent back then.
Oh, the blood, the shrieks, the sound of faces being sliced clean off, the endless squeeking of gym-shoes.
…
I´m sorry, I cannot go on like this..
This letter be opening to many bad wounds of the past.
Next one.
Hello Dr Capt´n
Everytime Im having dinner at my friends house, They serve me a special kind of yellowish meat, I´m not sure what kind of meat it is, but I suspect it´s oompa loompa or something like that.
I´m the only one who´s eating it though, since all my friends eat regular horse-meat. They also stare intensley at me as I eat, even going as far as doing eating motions with their jaws as to encourage me to dig into the dish. This disturbs me, because everytime I´ve finished eating it, I start to vomit profusley, and wont stop until the next morning or so.
Why is this? Could I perhaps be allergic to the mysterious meat? And why are my friends so intent on me eating that specific meat?
I do not dare to refuse them because Im deeply afraid of them all, except Larry, for whom I only feel a slight sickness, but that could well be because he hasn´t got a head.
Please Mr Capt´n, what should I do??
“St Bloated Cheeks” (Q.C.)
Good evening Bloated Cheeks!
Yellowish meat, ye say?
Hmm, it could be cooked and prepared flesh of the “Dubloon Whale” known for their golden colour and flirtatious demeanor. Legend tells of these massive creatures using their strange charms to lure sea men who recognized the charms of a “heavy” partner, to their watery doom.
Until the day, a wizard chubby chaser saw through the whales cruel sport and cursed them all, so that anyone who got real close to them emedietly started to feel what the wizard must have felt back then, when he woke up the next morning.
Regardning yer friends, I don´t know. Theyre probably mental, and ye should definetly dispose of them as quickly and violently as possible. I prescribe a long car ride off a short pier, a fitting end for the likes of those whale-mongers.
Just make sure ye use on of THEIR cars.
More letters, lest I knit yer guts into a sweather out of desperate boredom!
Please Help!
Doctor, you gotta help me!
I was in class the other day, and I accidently farted real loud, and the fart smelled like those puddles of water you find around landfills, you know?
And everyone thought it was immensly funny, and now, suddenly, I am the most popular student at my school! And I mean, ridiculously popular!
The girls are litterarly throwing themselves at me in the corridor, offering me their pink, supple flesh for me to do whatever I want with. I can´t cope with this sudden fame!
Please help me find a way to get less popular! I already tried being intimate with a stray hen I found, at the school auditorium, but this only attracted the much unwanted attention of the school´s league of elderly janitors. Please come to my aid Capt´n! Youre my only hope!
XxXxXx from “Bertrud”
Good Lord Bertrud!
Missing opportunities must be some kind of game ye gets off of!
If not, I can´t think of any valid reason for yer letter, I mean, pink supple teenage flesh AND janitors??
Anyway, if yer serious in yer desire to get rid of yer sudden celebrityhood, have ye considered poisoning the lot?
Like my grandmother capt´n used to say: “There are few things one can cause and undo with a simple mass-poisoning”. Preferably use a special kind of poison that needs to be applied directly to the girls delicates. Gaining access to their locker-rooms should prove no challenge for a man of yer elevated status, in fact, I better come over there and help ye with the poison.
Ye could get me in easily if you tell them I´m a friend of yer uncle. I´m so coming over there, what school did ye attend again? Don´t you DARE start without me Bertrud! I swear to GOD I will skewer ye like the fat little marsmallow ye are if ye so much as think of it!
HOLD ME CALLS!