Captain Jim knew this was going to be close.  Three German stormtroopers were patrolling the road ahead, and earlier that morning he spotted a sniper in the grain silo and another in a tree on the other side of the field.  He knew there must be more, as snipers always worked with spotters.  So that meant at least seven Nazis, and he only had his trusty 1911 and one extra magazine. “Sixteen bullets,” he thought, “and no gun for Private Numbnuts.”

He was, of course, referring to the shivering, cowering mess next to him in the ditch.  Private William S. Wilkes, originally from North Forks, Iowa, but more recently rescued from a German detention center in town.  In the mad scramble out of the jail, Private Wilkes dropped the gun Jim brought for him, and so they sit, sisteen rounds and a possible firefight between them and freedom.

“Wilkes” Jim barked, “Stop whimpering.  Do you want to die here today, 4000 miles from home and crying like a dame on a bad date?”

“N-n-no s-s-s-sir” Wilkes sniffled.  “I sure don’t.  I wanna go home and have my mom wash my socks and eat pie and see my girl Daisy and I...”

“Shut the hell up, Private” Captain Jim growled.  “They’ll hear you.” He lowered his voice to an intense whisper, grabbed Wilkes by the shirt and pulled him in close.  “Now listen up.  This is the plan: we sneak a hundred yards down this ditch to that drain pipe.  We shimmy through to the other side and wait for that fat one to cross.  See, I’ve been watching.  Every time the other two pass him, they never look back.  He’s all alone.  The two snipers are pointed east, looking for Allied company movement.  If we’re fast, and damn lucky, we can grab that fat one, pull him into this ditch and silience him for good before anyone notices.  Then we pop up, I shoot the other two and you run like hell.  You run west, toward the river, and you don’t stop for anything.  You hear me, Wilkes?  You run like the devil himself is chasing you.  You run like your girl Daisy is waiting at that river bank with a slice of your mom’s best apple pie and a fresh pair of socks just off the line on a warm summer’s day.  You run, you hear me?  You run and you keep running and you don’t look back.”

Wilkes swallowed hard, and some color came back to his very young face. “But sir, what about you?  Why didn’t you say you;d be right behin...”

“No time for that, soldier!  You worry about getting yourself to that river.  I have another job to do.” Jim looked longingly off into the distance.  “Those god-damned weights aren’t going to lift themselves.  They never do.  War is hell, boy, I think General Patton said that.  What he didn’t say is that so is going to the gym, and that’s where I have to go.  The god-damned gym.  I know what will be waiting for me there.  German-made machines designed to torture and break down my body.  I have to go anyway, kid.  It’s my job.  It’s what I do.”

“B-b-but sir” Wilkes stammered.

“No buts, kid!  You get out of here because you want to live.  You get out because you want to see your mother and your best girl and Iowa again.  Most of all, kid, you get the hell out of here because I gave you an order, and you are damned well gonna follow it or I’ll shoot you myself.” Jim looked deep into the young privates eyes, eyes that were now alive with an energy the boy did not have just a moment ago.

“Wait, sir!” Wilkes said.  “Is there any way I can...I mean I know I’m lousy in a fight sir, but if I could help you, I really wanna try.  I feel like this war just got on top of me after what the Germans did to me in that jail, but being here, with you, listening to you talk about it, sir, I think I can do this.  I wanna help!”

Captain Jim looked at the boy, his uniform torn and bloody, his face covered in dirt and bruises from the beatings the Germans gave him, and Jim smiled.  He felt a little proud at that moment, like maybe some of his backbone had found its way into the boy.  “You just get the hell out of here, son.  You get out and you get back with Charlie Company and you tell them Captain Jim Kenefick sent you, and you tell them I said to give you a job.  You tell them I said you are going to be one hell of a soldier someday.  And see if you can’t get a message back home for me.  Would you do that?  Would you send a message back home to my best girl?

“Of course, sir.  Anything. You just name it.”

“You get word to my girl Donna.  Tell her I went to that damned gym, and that I left around 4:30.  You tell her I’m coming back, and that I love her.” Jim choked back the lump in his throat.  “You do that for me, kid, and we’ll call it even for getting you out of that stinking German jail.  Deal?” Captain Jim stuck out his hand toward the young private.

“Deal, sir.  I’ll be honored to pass along your message.  But sir?  Please, please be careful.  Don’t make a liar out of me.  make sure you do come back for her, and when we both get back home, we’ll get together and have some of my mom’s apple pie.  me, Daisy, you and Donna, we’ll have a swell time, sipping lemonade and watching the grass grow.”

“Nothing in the world I would like better, Wilkes.  Nothing I’d like better.  Now, on my mark, count of three, we go.  You ready?  OK.  1...2...3...GO!”

Private William S. Wilkes made it out that day, and he sent the message back home via a letter, but he never knew if Captain Jim’s girl got it, or if that amazing, brave soldier made it out of the gym that day.  Wilkes never forgot him, though, and he and Daisy named their first son “James.”

Yes, I came to realize there is no North Forks, Iowa.  Still, you know what I meant. ;)

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Captain Jim, Part 2: The French Resistance

Captain Jim took the bottle of brandy in his hand, drew it up to his lips and pulled deeply on the amber liquid.  “That’s just what I needed, thank you.” he said to the French farmer who owned the bottle.  “I’ve been hiding in barns for days and days, and a bit of that takes the chill right out of me.”

Jim had been shot down over France over a week ago and had spent that time eluding capture by patrolling German army units.  It was the kindness of strangers like Aubert that kept him from being shipped off to one of the fabled camps.

“Oui, monsieur, zomtimez all you need eez a beet of brandy, no?  Ees almost as good for you as zee wine my family hass bin making for two hundred years!  Theese God-forsakeen Jherr-mahnz, now they com and take my grapes and zay eet is for zee war?  What is Aubert to do?  Whon weel the Americains come and free zee Fronche peoples?”

“I don’t know, Aubert.  I heard June, maybe August.  This is near the end though, I can feel it.”

“I hope so, Jeem.  I truly hope you arre correct in theese pree-deeck-shon.”

Jim’s face lit up with realization. “Aubert!  I have it.  I have a short-term solution for you.  Listen, do you have access to any underground tunnels or caverns you cat store grapes in?”

Aubert frowned, then smiled widely. “But ov coursse, mon ami, ov course!  I zee your cunning plan.  But how will I obtain zee grapes in zee forst places?  Zee Jherr-manz, zey watch my vines and count zee grapes!”

Jim returned the smile.  “Don’t you worry about that, Aubert.  I’m going to make a run to Stop & Shop and buy you some grapes.  Those damned Nazis won’t know about them!  Then you can get back to making wine and your family will be able to pay off the local Gestapo to leave you alone.”

“But Jeem, ziss plan, eet weel put you in much dangers, no?”

“Danger is what I do, Aubert.  It’s what I do.  Listen, if Ralph shows up, tell him to meet me at Checkpoint Alpha Niner.  He’ll know what that means.  Tell him I left at 1600.  Tell him to meet me there.  And if I don’t come back, will you mail this letter for me?  It’s for my girl back home.”

“Cap-tayne Jeem, eet would be an ‘on-herr for me to do these theeng for you.  Eeet is the very ‘eart of zee Fronche peoples, theese kind of romance for thee woo-man.  I, Aubert Pierre Broussard de Vinicole, shall pass zee message along to your friend Ralph, and eef you do not come back to Aubert’s chateau, I shall zend your lettere to your meesus.  Theese I promise you as a Froncheman!  Now go!  Be sweeft, and we shall strike a blow for zee freedoms my bro-thair!”

Jim took one last look around the farmyard.  “I will be back, Aubert.  I want to taste your wine.  Plus, I’m very lonely and your wife is the only French woman I’ve met who bathes and shaves.  Anyway, adieu, mon ami.  I shall return with much fruit de la vigne for your family!”

Aubert never saw that American pilot again, but he never forgot how one American braved the elements, Nazis and Saturday supermarket shoppers just to bring him some grapes.

I looked up French family names that had to do with winemaking and so forth.  Also, if you say Aubert’s dialogue out loud, it’s to be done in a horrible French accent and the word “Fronche” is pronounced exactly as Mrs. Meyer did in Better Off Dead.

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Captain Jim, Part 1: The Flight

It was a dark and stormy night.  Captain Jim Kenefick drew the collar of his flight jacket close to his neck, hoping to keep the chill wind at bay.

“My God, it is fucking freezing in here!” he remarked to his co-pilot.  The wind howled through the hole in the fuselage, drowning out the co-pilot’s reply.

“What did you say?” Jim yelled.

“I said there’s a fucking war on, sir!  We’re lucky that German bastard didn’t shoot us out of the sky!  Sir!”

Sergeant Ralph Gotto had been Jim’s co-pilot since the early days of the Army Air Corps’ entry into World War II.  They’d flown countless missions together, dropping bombs over tiny Pacific islands, transporting cargo over frozen Chinese mountain ranges, bringing needed supplies to troops in France.  Now they were on their most important mission yet: going to Stop & Shop.

Raising his voice to be heard over the whistling wind, Ralph turned to Jim. “So Cap, did you talk to her?”

“Whattya mean?”

“I mean did you tell her we were being sent on another mission.”

“No.  I just didn’t have the heart to wake her.” Jim’s eyes reflected the sadness his raised voice could not.  “I mean, the poor thing.  Why should she sit awake all night, imagining me struggling to get the cart down the produce aisle?  Or be faced with the idea that I might have to reach my bare hands into the frozen foods freezers?  Women shouldn’t have to know about the horrors of this war, Ralph.  Come to think of it, neither should men.  But we gotta do what we gotta do, right?  Those groceries aren’t gonna get themselves, Nazis and Japs be damned.”

“So what’d ya do, Cap?”

“I left her a note, Ralph.  It just said ‘Going out for groceries.  Be back soonest, my love.’ I left it on the bedside table.”

Ralph beamed with pride at his pilot and commanding officer.  “That’s fucking beautiful, Sir.  It’s a god-damned honor to fly with you, sir.  When this war is over, I want to buy you a drink.”

“No, Ralph.  I’ll buy you a drink.  And then we can have that gay sex we’ve never talked about.  Now get on the horn and tell HQ we left the airfield at 1500 hours.”

“1500 what?”

“3 O’clock, Ralph.  How many years have you been flying in the Army?”

“Sorry sir.  Hey, while we’re at Stop & Shop, can we get some candy and stockings for my girl Mabel?”

Jim paused, reflecting on how difficult it was to get chocolate and nylons ever since the war started. “Of course you can, Ralph.  Of course you can.”

Captain Jim is my hero!  ;) Could this be more fantasy/ego-driven?  Yes, it could.  I’m not sure how, but there must be a way.  Captain Jim part 2 coming soon…

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Cute, right?  Good lord I’m so witty.  Somehow that led to this:

Amusing and all, but I’m hardly the first to do a 419 scam joke.  Low hanging fruit and all that.  So...the next one had to be...more ambitious.  And I was going to have to type it.

1/26/08

I didn’t intend to experience the Gym Witch for real.  This started out because Mike and I wanted to make a movie about the Gym Witch.  We got our friend Josh to drive us over there.  Weird shit has been happening.  Mike found his gym bag stuffed with old socks and underwear this morning.

1/27/08

OK this is too crazy.  Josh accused Mike of making a water bottle pyramid outside his tent last night.  Mike swears he didn’t do it.  This morning I found little figures made out of earbuds and small white towels all over the camp site.  I think some of the locals are trying to fuck with us.

1/28/08

Josh is gone.  Mike went to wake him up this morning and he’s just gone.  All of his stuff is here.  I’m scared.  I didn’t want to get anyone hurt.  I just wanted to make a movie about the Gym Witch!

1/31/08

I just wanted to say to Mike’s mom, and Josh’s mom, and my mom, that I’m sorry to everyone.  I was very naive.  I am so, so sorry for everything that has happened.  Because, despite of what Mike says now it is my fault.  It was my project and I insisted.  I insisted on everything.  I insisted that we weren’t dehydrated.  I insisted that we weren’t overdoing the treadmills.  I insisted that we keep doing Group Power.  Everything had to be my way and this is where we’ve ended up.  And it’s all because of me that we’re here now.  Hungry, cold and exhausted, and the hot tub is broken.  I love you Mom and Dad, and I am so sorry.

WHAT WAS THAT?

I’m scared to close my locker.  I’m scared to open it.  We’re going to die in here.

2/1/08

We’ve found a building.  Mike and I are going in.  Tell my wife I went to the gym around 3:30.

Ok.  Game raised, level advanced, but still, a Blair Witch parody?  In 2008?  Surely I can do better.  This idea spawned the first two of the “Captain Jim Adventures.” I’ll save that for later, as they are best read in order.  Skipping ahead to a day when I didn’t have time for a Captain Jim, she received this:

Dear Guest of Room 2023,

It has come to our attention that you expect a note from your husband, a Mr. James A. Kenefick, age 37.  We regret to inform you that Mr. Kenefick will not be able to leave you the aforementioned note as he is currently exhausted, and says he’s too “fuzzy-brained to think straight and be funny, but tell her I left around quarter to four.”

We’re not sure what that means, but rest assured it is a direct quote.  The management of this hotel takes our responsibility to accurately portray the feelings and words of our guests very seriously. 

While we have your attention, we’d like to inform you that we’ll hire clown, cars or hookers for your party, business meeting or social gathering, so please think of us if you ever need a function room, a ride to the airport or wish to stage an orgy with paid sex workers.  Our concierge desk is at your disposal 24 hours a day, seven days a week.  We also do a nice bagel platter.

Thank you, and enjoy the remainder of your stay.

Yours,

The Management.

And later still, this, the style and inspiration for which regular readers will spot right off:

On last night’s episode of “Jim of Love” the star douchebag of the show just up and left early to, as he put it, “go to the gym.” The ladies went nuts!  They sat around in the kitchen drinking grain alcohol and plotting these whore-type acts of revenge.

- Summer(’s Eve) started tearing up the “secret enclave” bedroom.  Just ripped it to shreds, then peed on the big poster of Jim that he keeps on his wall.

- Tawnii (With two I’s, tee hee!  Seriously, who spells it like that?  Sex workers who never earn more than 22.65 an hour, that’s who) pulled some random camera guy in the bathroom - and all we heard were slurping sounds.

- The favorite to win, Bitch McCunterson (Amiee - with two E’s!) took a cab to the gym, walked in the front door totally nude, then proceeded to get herself off with a huge black vibrating dildo right there in the stretching studio.

Weirdest episode ever.

The messed up thing was, he left at 3:30-ish.  He was actually scheduled to go in around 4, so these “ladies” didn’t need to overreact!  What a stupid show.  Who watches this crap?

If you’re wondering why I’m leaving her notes at 3:30 in the afternoon, it’s because while I finally switched (mostly) from a nocturnal existence to a daystar-centric one, she has not.  So often I’m up and out before she even straggles down stairs.  By the way, the method I most often use to wake up early?  Not give a frig how late I actually went to sleep and just dealing with it.  It’s not like I get to sleep that much earlier these days.  Sleep is for dead people and cats.

Part 2 of this saga is coming soon.  A taste:

This brings us to the Captain Jim Adventures.  I don’t know where these came from, as I was not playing any WWII games, reading any WWII books or watching any WWII movies in the weeks before this started.  Also, they tend to pop into my head fully formed.  I can’t type fast enough to get them down.  All I know is they’re getting longer and I really, really need to learn to write short crap on envelopes again.  :)

Captain Jim, Part 1: The Flight

It was a dark and stormy night.  Captain Jim Kenefick drew the collar of his flight jacket close to his neck, hoping to keep the chill wind at bay.

“My God, it is fucking freezing in here!” he remarked to his co-pilot.  The wind howled through the hole in the fuselage, drowning out the co-pilot’s reply.

“What did you say?” Jim yelled.

“I said there’s a fucking war on, sir!  We’re lucky that German bastard didn’t shoot us out of the sky!  Sir!”

Sergeant Ralph Gotto had been Jim’s co-pilot since the early days of the Army Air Corps’ entry into World War II.  They’d flown countless missions together, dropping bombs over tiny Pacific islands, transporting cargo over frozen Chinese mountain ranges, bringing needed supplies to troops in France.  Now they were on their most important mission yet: going to Stop & Shop.

The rest to come later tonight!

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