The log of Captian Spiffydoodle

We’ve just bought a house. As we unpack I find an old book in the attic containing a most bizarre history of a man of steel in the days of wooden ships. His name was Phenious P. Spiffydoodle. Who is this Captain Spiffy? Was he real?

The log of Captain Phenious P. Spiffydoodle

8/1/1843
Today I found crewman Jenkins hiding in my broom closet. The crew and I thought we had eaten Jenkins wrapped in bacon with melted cheddar cheese liberally sprinkled on top. Turns out we had eaten Bobbins a one eyed mute with nail fungus. Poor bastard. If only he would of told us who he really was. No matter, cook put Jenkins back on the menu and we all had a good laugh.

8/2/1843
The crew and I spotted a pod of puffins and readied our Phillips screwdrivers duct taped to string. I ordered the men in their inner tubes and the chase was on. Crewman Bob lost an eye. No puffins caught and therefore our casks for puffin blubber stand empty.

8/3/1843
It was a mistake to start a three year voyage with only three barrels of Dolly Madison’s Snowballs and a liter bottle of coke. God help us.

8/4/1843
The crew spotted and caught a mermaid. I told them that it wasn’t a mermaid and took out Walker’s Mammals of the World and introduced them to manatees. They didn’t care. Sick bastards!

8/5/1843
The ships doctor put a cat’s eye marble in Crewman Bob’s eye socket. He looks sexy.

6/9/1823
Today I ordered abandon ship and made the crew get their kickboards and swimmy fins on. When I told them I was just joking it was already too late for seaman Terrance. Seaman Terrance had burned out both his eyes looking at the sun clean through to the back of his skull. If you pointed him due North so the sun shown though his head it made a nice sundial. Sadly, since he couldn’t see he grabbed the etch a sketch from the galley instead of his kickboard. The crew said he made some cool looking stairs right before he drowned. Poor bastard.

6/10/1823
Today we shot the ship’s cat out of the starboard cannon.

6/11/1823
I ordered Franze to dive off the poop and have a quick look see at my rudder. Why? I don’t like him. We hooked a long piece of aquarium hose to a Tetra Silent Run aquarium pump. At the end of the line the ship’s doctor attached an aquarium bubbler stone and this was forced into Franzes nose. As soon as the screaming subsided we lowered Franze over board. He wasn’t under, oh . . . I don’t know, maybe three days when I noticed he looked kind of green. I think we need a placostomis or snails or something.

2/6/1874 6:00 AM Came in to port today. The men hoisted 3 boxes of tuna helper, 1 liter of coke, a bag of chips, ¼ cup of sour cream, one bag of instant onion soup, a box of band-aids with cartoon character Underdog, and a live chicken. Cargo stowed away in my rumpus room.

7:30 AM we were ready to cast off but before we did I ordered the live chicken shot out of the port cannon. There was a great retort and as the chicken feathers fell the men shouted “HUZZAH!” For that brief moment I felt an overwhelming sense of pride, but as the last feather fell we noticed that the cannon had misfired. The head of the chicken had embedded itself into the chest of seaman first class Zippy. The ships doctor warned that the Boy Scout First Aid Merit Badge Book forbade the removal of objects from wounds.

2/7/1874 Chicken and Mr. Zippy are still alive and doing well. I noticed the chicken’s posterior looked uncomfortable without a proper roost. I ordered the ships carpenter to attach a roost onto Mr. Zippys’ abdomen. I suggested three inch drywall screws as these would have a better chance of finding bone.

2/8/1874 Today we committed the body of that brave chicken, and seaman first class Zippy, to the deep. Zippy died of post secondary infection from the roost’s drywall screws. The chicken realizing that his host was now dead committed suicide with a very tiny pistol. Even so the chicken was buried with full honors.

4/1/1874 My supply of sour cream and dehydrated onion soup run low. Somehow I push on.

4/2/1874 Clear day, good weather and so I decided to troll for puffin today. The ship’s Audio Visual Technician was tied to some monofilament and dragged behind the ship for 5 hours. No puffins spotted. This method has attracted puffin before.

4/3/1874 5:00 AM A ship flying the Jolly Rodger was spotted on the horizon, I ordered my ship to slow hoping they would have sour cream or had sighted puffins.

1:00 PM Ship spotted this morning came to and said mean things to us using megaphones. Our A.V. tech was dead and so I couldn’t return threatening words. I ordered all hands to prepare to defend my life. The pirates swung over to our ship on brand new braided ropes. All had perfect hair, nice white teeth, fluffy white shirts and tight black pants. It was then I realized what we were dealing with. I turned to my cabin boy Hennytwinkles and said, “Ahhh, THAT KIND of jolly.” I ordered all hands to cover their sabers, zip up their scabbards and plug their cannon. Some men refused and were summarily dated in very good taste by these invading handsome gentlemen.

The boarding party continued to date my men and decorate the ship in good taste for a week in which time the ships deck got a faux Italian marble finish. Even the captains’ quarters which I had decorated in contemporary explosive diarrhea (I’m frightened by sudden loud noises.) was redecorated in French provincial.

THOSE HANDSOME BASTARDS!

Last night our captives opened a bottle of Chateau d’Yquem Sauternes (1787), then they forced us to eat a four course meal: entrée, plats principaux, legumes and dessert all free service compris. I showed them my knowledge of French cuisine and ordered a une carafe d’eau, medium rare. After this evil, hideous meal they pinched my bum and were gone in a wink and thus our ordeal was over. I owe it all to my uncompromising will and my buns of steel workout tape.

As I read the excerpts of Captain Spiff’s Log it becomes all too clear that the admiralty under which he was governed does not consider human rights or political correct terms an issue. Indeed one might consider the Captain . . . eccentric?

Captain Spiffy a good and decent man?

1/8/1787 Today I ordered that all men with the slightest emotional problem be beaten ‘bout the head with a tire iron. Afterwards first mate Mark E. Hepatitis (An Italian born gentleman) handed out Jell-O pudding pops on my orders. These men see me as their father, a stern but, even handed father.

1/9/1787 The overriding fuming stench of burning undergarments killed a whale today as the men’s underwear was set aflame on my command in preparation for Naked Wednesday. An incident occurred early in the AM regarding navy Ensign First Class Staplegun. Mr. Staplegun has a small and superfluous 3rd arm growing from his left nipple. It’s long been suspected that he cheats at cards using this arm and its tiny hand, but today was very different. Upon seeing the superfluous arm many men had seizures. Mr. Staplegun will wear his undershirt at all times, including scrotum shaving Friday.

1/10/1787 Many men complain of rope burns sustained during naked Wednesday. I ordered a salt and lemon juice rub down to begin immediately for good health is important aboard ship. I also set fire to the men’s hammocks to rid the ship of bedbugs. On my way back to my quarters I listened to the men’s screams and it did gladden my heart so to hear such joyous praise for their captain. As a bewildering smell or burning hair greeted my nostrils I felt, and not for the first time, that I could sail the seven seas in search of puffin blubber for an eternity with such men and I wept.

1/11/1787 Today I noticed the goat wearing lipstick. This is forbidden aboard ship so I shot Mr. Staplegun with a pellet rifle until he cried. It was a good lesson learnt as it would have been lost on the goat. I know the men respect me all the more. (I allow eye liner as long as it is applied in good taste.) I ordered a second helping of raw fish tripe be given during afternoon snack.

As I delve further into the log of the captain I find that he was a man not without heart and heartache. Within the book itself I read that he had a brief, albeit one-sided, love affair with none other than Emily Dickinson! Apparently the captain had two restraining orders against him in his lifetime. One such order was that he must stay at least 50 rods from the Llama farm nearest his home port. One can only surmise why since I have found no official public documents that record the reason. The log mentions the complaints were lodged against him by Ms Dickinson. Still, I find the Captain had a flair for the romantic. What odd and complex man he was!

For the love of Captain Phenious P. Spiffydoodle

6/8/1847
Last night I attended drunken mendacity night. It is held on the first Tuesdays and opposite, “How to calm ones nerves with the Art of Bonsai” at the beginning of each new month. Others in attendance where:

Hebadia Cirrhosis

Richard (Bob) Vomitt (With two t’s)

Eric Flatus (A recent transfer from HMS Embarrassment.)

Archibald Hallucinata (I actually witnessed live Canadian Geese claw their way through this man’s buttocks.)

Norman Ascites

Martin Serotonin (Last week the entire crew watched in horror as a crawdad ate this man’s eyeball out of his skull. Upon inquires as to how he felt he replied, “ok.”)

Brian and Sevear Brammich (Conjoined twins from New Jersey)

Ford Clinich (No one likes Mr. Clinich.)

The idea of the night is to tell lies about women who beat us with heavy cookware. I have never had the opportunity to enter into a marriage formed by myopic lust and unfounded friendships like these good men have. I grew melancholy and turned to thoughts of my unrequited love and put quill to parchment and wrote.

My Dear and most beloved Emily,

I set out in laborious toil to find affluence that the miserable and misguided long for. In doing, my days passed like sand underfoot on some most traveled shore. The matter of tomorrow’s hope is all that encourages me forward.
By chance I came upon a wealth most rare in this world and often unaccounted for. I caught a smile from my beloved Emily. In prospect of days to come had I but a glimpse of that smile and knew it was for me; I would lay down, take rest and long for nothing more but you.
Much devoted love,
Captain Phenious Spiffydoodle

. . . And no, I’m not drunk.

2/8/2001
Today I sent the men . . . man . . . ok, the ship’s goat, the only one left who wanted to be aboard my ship, to an uncharted island to see if it was safe for me to sunbathe in the nude in hopes it will kill that fungus inflaming my loins. I took the escalator down to the beach where I witnessed a sight I shall never forget. A small man had been lashed to a tree so that if a vine were to be cut he would be flung into the air for several miles. He had been smeared with mayonnaise and pickle relish. A long line of cannibal sports enthusiasts had lined up to his left.

Thinking back to the days when I was a lad I remembered how my father and I would spend our weekends. I quickly sprang into action. I had the goat splash gasoline on the small man; I lit him with flint and steel and cut the vine. He immediately sprang into the air with a high pitched scream thus thwarting the evil cannibal’s plans and saving his life.

It seems as if the admiralty took this as a sign of distress because not too long after some men came running down the hall. I boarded ship at once and witnessed my doctor enter the room. My men, including the burning signal flare and goat were hurried out of the room.

I was . . . where? In hospital? I was asked if I would please get off the table.

I remembered.

I remember coming in and admitting myself. I waited forever for someone with a wheelchair to show up. When they did I was given a warm blanked and wheeled through corridors, up elevators. I made jokes, the nurses laughed. Soon I came to a room where a man asked for my shoes. I saw a lady on a gurney. The man asked for my shaving kit. The lady on the gurney looked uncomfortable with her head in such a tilted and twisted way. The man asked for my book. I asked about the lady. “She refuses treatment so she’s here until she gets worse and we can treat her.” I was told. Then the man asked if I had brought any medicine.

I wasn’t listening now. I held my warm blanket and . . . I don’t want to think about what happened next. I went to my room with the metal mirrors and cold water. Maybe tomorrow Captain Spiffy will travel the cosmos in a star ship. Maybe star ship “Spiffy”?


It's obvious now; the Captain is a work of pure fantasy.

People such as this captain . . . it is as if the foundation they set their world upon has come to ashes. It maybe in every mind one may find some ember of wisdom beneath deep ashes because people who have seen failure see what doesn’t work! In this way they are valuable. We who walk in sunlit paths cast our opinions on who is affable in our society. We do so as easily as our bodies cast shadows on the ground. They seem failures to be forgotten. I say they are not and question the methods used in these determinations.

By what yardstick do we decide who is fit or unfit? Is there is a mold to fit? If so, who cast the first? So then, what is normal? Maybe it’s enough to be a positive influence to society. How many do we know that have given so much and came to ends uncomfortable to us? What is the measure of happiness then? Some are so happy that they are without concern and come to harm, harm others or both. Plainly we could say it is a combination of happiness and type of influence. Still someone makes a decision. Hopefully it is the person afflicted. Who else better to make the judgment?

Are they weak in strength of spirit that suffer depression? Is their problem something that could be ignored or something hammered and shaped with the skill of Hephaestus? Is their pain like a cup of poison? Maybe it’s like a gilded cup that is so imposturous that hides its contents to everyone who watch, even to the person drinking? I know some like drinks that I can not stand and I like some that they can not. Though my poison might be bilious and acrid someone might find it tolerable.

We do not take note. As our lives progress so do our intentions and thoughts. Unseen hands mold humanity into future morphs. What the mind found grotesque or beautiful changes with familiarity and experience. The new becomes quaint, old, retro, ancient, laughable and finally forgotten. What seemed ludicrous to our forebears is agreeable and very real today. I read on hoping to find something that will shed light on the Captain’s twisted, tortured mind.

As he suggested, he is now a star ship captain of the future and travels in the “Starship Spiffy”.


Stardate 3, 4006
I have a large inflamed asteroid on my port bow. I asked the ship’s surgeon and sandwich maker to have a look see. This is an excerpt of his last message on his mission to my asteroid:
“Captn’ Spiffy I’ve beamed onto the asteroids surface. It seems as if there is a gas giant nearby. I’m making tape-recorded readings now. My God, the atmosphere is almost pure methane!”

Alarmed I lit a small man and hurled him towards the asteroid. Shortly thereafter the asteroid exploded.

Stardate 16, 4006
Today I decided that all women aboard my starship shall dress in scant clothing, carry paddle boards, wear red lipstick, call me daddy and ask me to spank them in regular intervals. Nurse Lahoho being the exception as she is actually a he and a she all from when that slug found its way into the transporter. I’ve seen Nurse Lahoho having sex with itself on various occasions and his slime trail is rather disquieting. Once Lahoho laid his or her eggs in my George Forman sandwich press, I dislike Lahoho.

Stardate 83, 4006
How strange the thoughts of earth’s primitives; shooting laser beams and photon torpedoes! Today we fought the Extravagans with our urine based stream of yellow bile. All crew members are to drink coffee around the clock until we recharge our weapon systems. These Extravagans go too far and must be taught humility!

Stardate 2, 4006
Today the Extravagans shot a Carol Channing clone torpedo at the good ship Spiffy. The Carol Channing hit our windshield with a sickening splat. As Carol was flying towards my vessel I could hear her rendition of “Hello Dolly” and nearly went insane. With some windshield fluid and a scraper we where off once again

Stardate*^#7, 4006
It seems that the Carol Channing that was shot at us had long lasting affects as her foot and high heel shoe was found in our engine, it had impeded our rate of travel since Stardate .2, 4006.

Stardate #~7, 4006
I had three bowel movements today. I ordered them to be encased in a large carbon chocolate bar. I suspect Lieutenant Scott of stealing my candy. Lieutenant Scott’s taste buds where burned out whilst visiting the enchilada system. In fact, most of his upper G.I. tract, lower jaw, stomach, right arm and penis are missing. As you can imagine it’s hard for Scott to find a date for the annual debauchery dance I have every other weekend in my captain’s quarters.

Lieutenant Scott makes an excellent coin bank for many reasons. One reason is whenever a coin is dropped into his gapping maw he cries like a little girl. I know I saved nearly a thousand in pocket change using Scott. We get to beat him until the money comes out his catheter and collects in his poop bag whenever we want to use the hot chocolate machine in the galley.

Stardate 8888123456789, 4006
I sat at my captain’s puffy comfortable chair that everyone secretly covets. To my left I could gaze upon Lieutenant Rouen my hottie communications officer. I noticed that she had refused my new female dress orders. She . . . intrigues me and awakens both the animal lust and the severe woman magnet within me; the incomparable Spiffy. I noticed some of the boys were parched with thirst. I could use a cool drink of water myself.

I engaged the two-way communicator hastily made from two pork and beans can and kite string. “Hey babe, how about some popsicles?” I stood so she could see my new tights beneath my gherkin. (sic). I ogled her as she approached. I know how they like that.

That’s all that I can remember. I awoke in a large glass cylinder filled with heavily salted lime jello. This was placed in a conspicuous place near the ladies levorotary. Though my now free floating intestinal tract is in my field of view most of the time I can see groups of women gathering to laugh at my horribly non-mutilated genitalia. I suspect evil or very upset dust muffin shot me with a histoplasmatic ray that causes severe thrombolyticia. That’s my guess, but it doesn’t explain the demur and tasteful woman’s shoe supplanted in my anal cavity.

I recover encased in salty limeness. It stings a little.

Stardate 2, 4006
I wish to discuss my tights in further detail as I am sure they will have historical significance. They are red. The dye in which the redness came from is the gushy insides of magical fairies from the planet Hisrasheesh. The dye was discovered during a light hearted game of smash a small vertebrate. The famous player Colon the Great hit a fairy on the head and a red mixture spurted forth dyeing his uniform red.

Stardate 9888887654321, 4006
I recanted the fairy story over dinner and our ship’s naturalist spouted off and said something about conservation, extermination and all kinds of boring CRAP! When I could take no more I picked up a unicorn horn touched Ensign Inblatz with it and turned him into a metamorphic rock. Well, as you can understand that proved my point.

Stardate 0, 4006
We travel to the planet Dementia to exterminate unicorns. We’ll be there within a day’s time. Ensign Inblatz is in ship’s hospital as a paper weight.

Stardate 1556, 4003
We arrived at planet Dementia and beamed down with a landing party. Our only black crew member died instantly. We tried beaming people of all ethnicities many times in the proceeding 6 hours. I gave up and turned away from the carnage only to turn around again and discover all crew members had their body salt sucked out and then turned into Styrofoam cubes.

I was alone.

After crying hysterically and asking for my mom I quickly stacked the Styrofoam cubes so I could stand on them and get a good look see over the unicorns that infest every square inch of ground on this planet. The cubes broke and turned to dust at once. I discovered later that the cube process can be reversed, but who really cares?

I removed my machete and began hacking away at the pretty magical unicorns. -As far as the eye could see; nothing but smiling unicorns and pink bows- simply ghastly. After hours of hacking I had a large enough area to shoot my blazmo hand cannon. Since Unicorns are filled with elf vomit my work was smelly to say the least. Partially dissolved candy canes of all flavors, fruit roll ups, cookies, entrails, pink skin, blue skin and horns lay everywhere.

The horns collected we were off to our next duty.

Stardate 1557, 4003
I awoke in my chamber of slumber. I was alone. Under my comfy pillows was a box of used trachea stoma filters that I had misinterpreted as a box of saltine crackers last evening in a state of extreme bleary-eyedness. As they tasted acceptable to me I began marking out the original text on the box and wrote, “Saltines” in its place. There, my first official command of the day was finished and I was still in my underwear. Not bad, not bad at all.

It was just then that my slumber chamber door slid open and our mail boy Jimbo burst through. Jimbo was out of breath and in an extreme state of disarray. Thinking that this was just another case of rubber band shortage caused by the yearly atomic engine overall I paid little attention and continued the work at hand.

“Captain, someone changed the yacc syntax to be line-oriented, rather than having it run against the entire input at once, and adding a flag to struct tab, to indicate if or not it's acceptable for a command to occur. The transfer got interrupted and issued a command other than ABOR, the transflag remains set, because only abor can do a longjmp to urgcatch. A small but very important bug makes it possible to interrupt any command with SIGURG! As you know many other bugs are NOT reentry-safe. By delivering a signal when Malloc the wise is free or any other big smart guy of his kind is being called, all subsequent calls to the heap management routines made from a signal handler would have a unpredictable effect, as heap state is completely unpredictable.” Jimbo exclaimed. I immediately decided to pretend I knew what Jimbo was talking about. I carefully placed the delicious used trachea stoma filters in my pantry because I thought they would be good with peanut butter. My only thoughts were about Jimbo and how he had interrupted my thoughts about stoma filters. Bastard!

I decided it would look good if I ran through the door screaming in terror. This was easy enough but as I ran the automatic sliding door closed unexpectedly and sliced off my left buttocks. It was now laying on the floor looking like a pink and very hairy watermelon that had been sliced in half. My screams of terror took on a renewed vigor. As I ran I did not notice that due to recent removal of my left buttocks I ran slightly to the right as the weight of the right buttocks pulled my body mass in that direction. I thought I was running straight but in reality I ran in a very large right circle and found myself in the women’s auxiliary PMS ward where I was severely pummeled with ball peen hammers. Realizing that if I made four right turns I would turn left I managed to escape with minimal brain damage.

Stardate 1558, 4003