Ake's Pains debuted in the University of Akron Buchtelite in September of 1977. The school's reputation as an institute of higher learning has still not recovered. Ake's Pains returns after a brief 32 year hiatus. It's back, baby!

Monday, May 30, 2016

My Spam Folder Is More Interesting Than Real Life

Dos Equis beer recently ended one the most entertaining advertising campaigns ever, when they “retired” The Most Interesting Man in the World by sending him to Mars.  The commercials would start off my showing the guy in various pursuits with statements such as “Exotic birds form clubs to watch him,  - he is the most interesting man in the world.”

However, the most interesting part of the commercials for guys were the endings.  The Man would say “I don’t drink beer often, but when I do, I drink Dos Equis.”  Of course this was a total lie, since every time we see guy, he is in fact drinking beer.  He is a pathetic alcoholic for all we know and may belong in a 12-step program.  But what is really interesting is that he is always sandwiched (or should I say sammiched) between two gorgeous ladies, both   leaning towards him, hanging on his every word. They are so enthralled by his interestingness, they seem eager to jump right on his lap, or perhaps something else.

These women are in their 30’s or younger 40’s, as to not make it too creepy (The Man was in his 60’s when the campaign started and is 70-something now).  And the women aren’t hookers or floozies, they are high-class, exotic, ladies.  You get the idea they came to the bar with dates, but quickly abandoned them to get close to The Man. 

When I saw the first commercial with those gorgeous women hanging all over him, I thought, “Wow, he’s going to have a difficult choice tonight”.  After viewing several of the commercials, all with the different lovely ladies at the end, I realized he is not going to have to choose between the two women. He is The Most Interesting Man in the World, so he never has to. Therefore, he is also “The Most Three-somed Man in the World”.  At his age, he would be a better spokesperson for Viagra than some beer.
Very, very, interesting!

The last line in every spot is: “Stay thirsty my friend”.  This on the surface doesn’t make sense, because if you drink the beer, you shouldn’t be thirsty anymore, correct?  Except he’s not saying exactly what to stay thirsty for, is he?  I can assure you that stuff doesn’t come in a bottle.  So the message to guys is: drink this beer, look interesting to women, and then hubba, hubba, sis boom bah.

The Most Interesting Spammed Man in the World

Now I was thinking how uninteresting I am compared to The Most Interesting Man in the World, until you look at my e-mail spam folder.  Then I become interesting, very interesting. In fact, I become, The Most Interesting Spammed Man in the World!  Just look:

Prancing With The Czars

A beautiful, young, woman, Natalya, is a former Olympic gymnast and descendant from the Czars. She wants to immigrate and marry me so the Russian government will not seize the $3.6 million secret trust fund she will inherit when she turns 25 soon.  She promises to be a very flexible companion.  I will have to check with my wife first, but this does sound interesting ….  

Make Love To All The Girls Near You!

This subject line could get you imprisoned for life, but it is hawking a special cologne which makes you irresistible to any and all women.  They lose all control and literally attack you.  It could be interesting, sure there is my neighbor Hot Carla, but I would be afraid to leave my house with the widow Cooper right next door and Large Linda just down the street.

Mass Quantities of Boner Pills

Word must has gotten out that I was considering making love to all the women near to me, because the Toronto Pharmacy sent me a great offer for boner pills.  They think I would be interested in their 120-pill package, to improve my package.

Many Russian Women Want Me

Other Russian women must have found out about Natalya, because dozens are now vying for my affection.  One young women Inga, promises to CENSORED me repeatedly until I CENSORED. Wow, that would be interesting.

Booty Call!

Eva says she feels horny today and needs someone like me!  This could get interesting!

Five More Boner Pill Offers!

Obviously in response to all this women action, five more offers for boner pills, promising fast shipping!

I’m Due A Refund!

Regrettably, my recent order totaling $571,590 has been cancelled and they need my bank account number to transfer all my refund money.  I must have forgotten about placing that order, but interestingly, I’ll take that cash!

Lonely Asian Girls Are Looking For Boyfriends

I have international appeal now since dozens of Asian women want to be my companion.  It’s like a digital version of The Bachelor – except I am married and these women are much younger than me. These women claim to be wonderful girlfriends and assure me each date will have a happy ending. That would be interesting.

7 More Boner Pill Deals!

Must have heard about all those Asian women ….

A Very Interest Package

UPS has informed me that I have a package for pick up that was sent from Amsterdam.  I don’t remember ordering anything from Amsterdam. Perhaps it was sent by one of my new international friends.  I wonder what is in it!  Sounds like fun! If I just pay shipping charges, the mystery grab bag is all mine. Oh baby, is this interesting.

My Recent Hotel Receipt

An exclusive, $2000/night, resort hotel on an island off the east coast of Africa sent me a copy of my receipt from a recent stay.  I’m interested to see if the room was for two, since my wife was not with me and if I ordered room service for two. Maybe I was with an exotic, Dos Equis-type, babe. Exotically interesting!

A Dying Widow

A widow in Nigeria is dying of cancer and needs someone to inherit the $2.2 million her husband had deposited in a local bank.  She is pleading with me to stand-in as her next of kin.  I may be able to walk like an Egyptian, but it’s going to be difficult to look like a Nigerian, but for the big money, it will be interesting to try!

A Request

Lydia wants me to treat her to my ….. OH MY!  That is certainly an interesting request.

Congratulations!

Someone named Rockstar is congratulating me about something – Probably my new book!  Rockstar sounds so interesting!

Indian Woman Want Me As Well

These women want to be my wife, but they emphasize their intelligence over their beauty, since they claim they have expert knowledge of the Kama Sutra. That must be the local community college. They sound interesting.

9 More Boner Pill Offers

Rebuilding Libya

The Libyan Prime Minister has contacted me for help is reconstructing Libya and has requested I submit a quotation of my products and services to the Ministry of Finance. Could be interesting!

An Invitation

Lydia has invited me to a wild sex orgy and has requested that I “put on those lovely navy jeans for me”. I didn’t know you had to dress up for an orgy, but apparently you do for this one. Sounds like an interesting party.

12 More Boner Pill Emails

I need to review these in lieu of Lydia’s recent invitation.

A Tragedy

Someone with my same last name has perished in a plane crash in the Andes. He has no family and they have searched the world diligently for someone with my name to inherit his $4.3 million estate.  I do think Uncle Fred would want me to have this. So interesting.

100% Risky Free

Mrs. Koski in Australia wants to transfer $10.5 million to me to help build an orphanage.  She assures me “this business in 100% risky free”.  She strongly believes in “no trust, no friendship, in every business”. Sure, I’m interested in helping orphans!

Loan Offer

They are offering me $9,800, pre-approved, with 100% acceptance.  Normally this would not be very interesting, except I need to: Pay to bring Natalya here, buy some cologne, secure that package, apply for a refund, date some Asians, contact the African hotel, help that dying widow, learn some Kama Sutra, buy some sexy jeans, apply for my inheritance, care for the orphans, and most importantly, purchase 5,000 boner pills!

(Cue the music) …. I Am The Most Interesting Spammed Man in the World!

Keep reading, my friends.

Please buy my new humor book - Just Make Me A Sammich http://donake.net/just-make-me-a-sammich-book


Monday, May 23, 2016

Rosie Malezer - Review of "Just Make Me A Sammich" (Readers' Favorite) 5-Stars

Reviewed By Rosie Malezer for Readers’ Favorite

Just Make Me A Sammich: Absurd Observations From a Wild Mind is by Don Ake. Don has been writing humor columns and blogs since the age of 11. He does it to make other people smile or laugh in a time when the world is so serious and scary. With a large number of loyal followers, Don has compiled some of his most well received blogs and created this book. The title is a play on male-female relationships where men believe they are dominant and their female counterparts should be submissive, leading to the man’s demand of ‘Just make me a sammich!’ which, in turn, leads to the woman shouting her response of ‘Get off your butt and make your own sammich!’ What the woman fails to realize is that he only demands the sandwich in the first place because he loves and treasures her so much. Learn about the SHE rule, hanger pains, black market butts, the advantage of boxer briefs, and much, much more.

There really is no way to describe Don Ake’s literary masterpiece of laughs without my husband oddly watching me maw like a donkey followed by unladylike gasps for air and a few snorts in between. Just Make Me A Sammich is possibly the funniest book I have ever read. While it is true that some people will go out of their way to take offence at every politically incorrect word written in these pages, those who really do need a good laugh would benefit from reading the riotous wit which is cleverly presented so as (trying hard) not to offend. Men’s demands on women because they love us so much and women’s scathing responses because they want their men strong – I am still scratching my head as to why ‘sammiches’ determine one’s sexual attainment for the evening, and even considered hiding the bread from my husband while reading Don Ake’s words of wisdom. After reading Don Ake’s book, I can honestly say that dinner conversation at my house will never be the same again. I thoroughly enjoyed each chapter and recommend this book to mature readers who have pondered why women think you should be able to read their minds, while men insist that they are not male chauvinist pigs.

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

What’s Your Password, Baby?


It was the mid-90’s when I received a letter from my mutual fund company informing me that I could access information about my account “on-line” through something called a “website”.  I had no idea why I would ever want to look at account information on my computer, but this concept sounded intriguing.

So I dialed up on AOL (if you are under 30, ask someone what this means) and proceeded to set up an “account”.  Then at some point I was asked to create a “password”, a four-digit code, that would allow me, and only me, to access my information.  I came up with four numbers I could remember and typed it in. Then suddenly, almost magically, I felt very sophisticated, debonair, and mysterious. James Bond has a password, underworld spies have passwords, and now I have one too!

That afternoon I noticed an attractive blond at the drug store and thought (in a Austin Power-ish voice):

Hey baby, I have a password. I am now a very sly, international man of mystery.  If you try to seduce me, I’m sure you can force me to reveal it.  Then you will know how many shares I have in my International Bond Fund. Come on baby, try to get it, please, please try.


So I had one password and I could remember it --- and so it began ……  Soon I was paying bills on-line, each account requiring a password.  Then banking and other financial accounts, still more passwords.  The beginning of the new millennium brought on-line shopping, each vendor wanting me to set up a new account, with of course, my own personal password.

And then things got even worse. More time spent on-line accessing news sites, organization sites and social media sites, all requiring accounts --- and passwords. I now even need a password to order a pizza.  

I estimate I have over 200 online accounts that require a password.  But this is not a problem since I use the exact same password for all of them!  Ha, that’s a joke, but you already knew that, since keeping track of all your passwords is freaking impossible.
Because the invention of online accounts began the epic battle between the Bad Bastards and the Good Bastards.  The Bad Bastards are the computer hackers who want to find out your passwords and commit theft and fraud and the Good Bastards are the IT people who try to prevent this from happening.  Yes, they are “good” because they are trying to protect you, but they are still bastards because of how they go about doing it.

Initially passwords were 4 numbers, leading millions of idiots to create the password “1111”, which the hackers nicknamed “ba-ching”.  Then the Good Bastards countered by requiring alpha based passwords.  Then the millions of idiots started using “password” as their password. “Yuk, yuk, my password is “password”. Get it? Pretty funny, hee, haw”, to which the hackers said “bada bing ba-ching!”

And so the battle between the Bad Bastards and the Good Bastards raged on, with the Good Bastards making it more difficult for passwords to be hacked and the Bad Bastards developing more devious methods.  Which lead to the evolution of password “rules”:

(For example, let’s say you got a tattoo of a cobra in 1988)

Four-digit numeric password = 1988

Too vulnerable, so some sites went to …

Six-digit alpha password = cobras

Then …

Six-digit password requiring at least one letter or number = cobra1

And then …

Six-digit password requiring the previous, but one capital letter = Cobra1

Still not secure enough so ….

Seven-digit password requiring at least one letter or number = cobra88

Even more …..

Seven-digit password requiring a capital letter and symbol = Cobra$1

And so one …. until you get to the ultimate:

Eight-digit password requiring a capital letter, a symbol, no letters that form words and no repeated numbers = Oh, the hell with it, you lousy bastards, you!

(I do declare that if I ever meet the bastard who is responsible for this rule, I will kick him square in the nuts, and then laugh hysterically)

Throw in the recommendations that you should not use the same password for all your sensitive accounts and that you should change your passwords frequently (although I doubt if anyone really does it) and you end up with a whole slew of passwords, many that differ my only one letter, number, or symbol.

Then comes that special moment when you are asked for a password for a site you haven’t been on in months. You have no idea if this site requires six, seven or eight digits, caps, no caps, etc. You have no clue which of the 20 or so passwords you now have will work on this site.  I believe the Good Bastards get a chuckle out of this.

And then just to make the game more puzzling we add in the following challenges:

-         Enter the wrong password three times and we lock you out.  This is very easy to do based on my examples above and can be very frustrating when the information you need is critical. It can cause you to scream vile things at your computer you wouldn’t say to any person.

-         And just about the time you memorize your password, for “security reasons” they make you change it ---- but not to something just one number different – oh no, to something completely different! Bastards, bastards, bastards!

So a solution is to log all your passwords in a spreadsheet, which is very dangerous if it’s ever compromised. Of course you could protect the spreadsheet by using a pass…. oh $h!+, forget that.  You can also pay $30 a year to bastards to manage the password mess created by other bastards. No, thank you.

Now if you work in an office, there are even more computer passwords.  The IT bastards are even stricter there, because they can lose their jobs if the system gets hacked.  At one former job, I had to enter three different passwords every morning (and change them frequently) to access the system. I often wondered if security at the CIA was this tight.

If you want to fizz off the bastards in your IT department, and I know you do, write down your password (not your real password, but something close which helps you remember it) and post it prominently by your computer. Trust me, this really causes their heads to explode!

But here’s my idea to make passwords more tolerable. Use the name of your worst boss ever and create the password “Tedsucks99!”  It is a “strong” password, it is a true statement, and you will smile every time you type it!


Please buy my new humor book - Just Make Me A Sammich http://donake.net/just-make-me-a-sammich-book





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Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Bad Drivers Need More Than Whispers


First there was the Horse Whisperer who calmed wild horses, then there was the Dog Whisperer who trained and brought obedience in unruly mutts, and now AKE TV introduces the fabulous new reality show, The Car Whisperer, who turns dangerous drivers into model motorists!  Welcome to episode #1!

Announcer: Meet Melvin Snerdly. Mr. Snerdly is considered the top driving instructor in the U.S.  He has taught thousands of students how to drive over his 30 years in the business.  He has taken the written driving test in all 50 states without missing a single question.  He is easily recognized by his classic pocket protector and bow tie.

Today’s problem driver in Carl “Crash” Craminski. Carl currently holds the record for license violation points in three different states.  He is not very well liked by insurance companies.  Flo from Progressive once tried to kick him in the nads. The Geico gecko has flipped him off and Jake from State Farm refuses to take his calls.


As our subject drives around the city, Melvin, The Car Whisperer, sits in the back seat, leans forward, and gently whispers words of instruction and encouragement.  The goal is to turn, our reckless driver into a model citizen of the road.

Melvin (in very hushed tone): Yes Carl, check to make sure it’s clear, then slowly back out.

[sound of tires squealing]

YAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Okay you just missed that car coming behind you.  But that’s okay, now pull out onto the street, making sure you give enough space to the cars approachi….

GEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZ!  [tires screeching, horn blasting]

You also might want to turn down your stereo. Just because you enjoy crappy music, it doesn’t mean everyone does.  And unless you are deaf, you surely must be able to hear it at reasonable volumes.

Now you are going to be turning right up here, so you should be getting into the right lane and signaling the turn.  Get over, get over, get ….

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! [horn honking]

Okay, the turn signal was invented in the 1930’s and has been standard equipment on cars since the 1940’s.  And it’s very easy to operate, down for left, up for right.  See, you can do it.

Ah, now you can make a right turn on red.  It’s clear, you can go. Go ahead. Still clear, what are you waiting for? ….  Okay, now you can’t go because the left turn signal on the other side is on and if you turn now, cars will be coming right at you, so don’t go noooooooooooow……….

WUP WUP WUP WOOOOOOOO! [more horns]

Now you have the left turn arrow.  That arrow pointing to the left means you can go left!  So go, don’t just sit there and stare at it ,go, go, [Massive horn honkings] Now the arrows off, don’t turn now! Don’t turn noooooooooow

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWZA! [more horns] 

Oh here we are approaching an eight-lane, four-way, stop.  This is one of the most challenging driving situations around. Just slowly pull up to the intersection and stop and I will talk you through – uhhhhhh

RAAAAAAAZMAAAAAAAAAAAA! [multiple horns]

You see, a rolling stop is not actually a stop, because you never actually stop, get it?  The stop sign is there to tell you to stop and all those silly people honking their horns actually expected you to actually stop. 

Alright, you don’t to brake when approaching a green light, that’s just not needed. You will have plenty of time to stop in the light changes.  That’s what the yellow (caution) light is for.  It’s been around since 1920, so you should have had sufficient time to adapt to it.

Now please stop talking on the cell phone. You are weaving are over the road. Okay now you are going straight, straight down the middle, over the yellow line.  (massive honking). Um you really shouldn’t give the finger to other drivers when you are the problem, it makes you look like a jerky numskull.  

Uh you are not providing an assured clear distance. Why are you so close to the next car? Why, why, he can’t go any faster than the cars in front of him, can he. You need to back off, in case he brakes without waaaaaaaaaaaaa

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! [severe screeching of tires]

Now it’s time to get on the expressway and master some highway driving.  Increase your speed on the on-ramp, signal, and look for a nice gap to merge safely into traffic.  Look, there’s a swell space open behind the Buick, no behind, not in front, behind, behiiiiiiiiiiind

GAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRR!

Now you are in the far left lane, the speed lane, or passing lane. When you are in this lane you need to maintain a faster pace so as not to impede other drivers who want to go faster. So you are now five miles per hour under the speed limit.  So speed up, speed up, push the accelerator. Push it, push it. [honking]

Look in the rear view mirror.  See the traffic backed up 10 deep behind you?  They want to go by you, but they can’t because you are hogging the lane.  Look, look. The rear view mirror was invented in 1906 and every car has one.  Either speed up or get out of the speed lane …

Just look for an open space to the right, use your turn signal to indicate you are changing lanes. Whatever you do just don’t jerk the wheel to the right and oooooooooooo (honking)

OHHHHHHHHHHHHH MYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

Ah now you do need to pick a lane and stay in it.  This one’s good, okay this one.  How bout this one. Really shouldn’t pass on the right.  Pick a lane….. please pick a lane, any lane just pick one.

Okay you in that car’s “blind spot”.  It’s called the blind spot because the driver is unable to see you in his mirrors.  You need to speed up or slow down before that other car decides to change lanes ……………

HIJIMAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

All right, you are back in the speed lane and this time you are keeping pace with the traffic.  Good boy, Carl.  Ah but see that sign?  Your exit is coming up and you need to start moving over to the right lane.  Now, start moving now.

 You see your taxes paid for that sign and workers put it up so you would know to get over,  so you would not need to quickly cut across traffic to exit.  And look!, they put up a second sign again letting you know the exit is coming up, just in case you missed the first one.  So get over, change lanes, change lanes now

Well it’s too late now, you can’t make it with that big semi in the right lane, you will just have to get off at the next ex……….

HOLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEE CRAAAAAAAAP!

Melvin (in normal voice): Let’s find a restroom, I need to change my shorts.  Turn left up ahead.

(Back in whisper-mode) Now made a square turn, don’t just sweep across the lane because a car can pull up and

YACKMANNNNNNNNNNA!

You see, it’s called a turn because you are actually supposed to turn the steering wheel, hand-over-hand, hand-over-hand.

Just pull into the space and park the car. Uh well you see someone has gone to the trouble of painting these lines on the parking lot.  You are supposed to park between the lines, between the lines, not just wherever you want.

[after a quick bathroom break]

All right, you are not going to be able to make a left turn out of the parking lot. You cannot go across six lanes of traffic in rush hour.  You can’t even do that on Frogger, ha ha. So just make a riiiiiight

WHOAAAAAAAAAAAAA NELLLLLLLLLLLY!

Melvin: (Screaming) GET OUT THE CAR! GET OUT OF THE #@%!ING CAR, NOW! GIVE ME YOUR #^& *%#@  LICENSE, SO I CAN BURN IT! YOU ARE NEVER, EVER, DRIVING AGAIN!

Announcer: That concludes the premier episode of the Car Whisperer. Unfortunately, there will not be an episode number 2.

Please buy my new humor book - Just Make Me A Sammich http://donake.net/just-make-me-a-sammich-book










Monday, April 18, 2016

This Business Dinner Was A Gas


The evening was going so wonderfully. We had a friendly group of several dozen people, gathered in a private room at one of the city’s finest restaurants. As we waited for dinner to be served, the gorgeous young woman on my right was very impressed with my wealth of knowledge. She was pumping me aggressively – for information, sucking hard – on my brain.

And then suddenly, quietly, without warning, everything changed.  There was a thick, pungent, odor engulfing my immediate area. The lively, pleasant, atmosphere was totally destroyed by someone’s inconvenient flatulence.

That’s correct, this blog post is about a fart. But not just any fart, an extraordinarily unique fart, as I will now explain.  

This fart was exceptional due to its extreme intensity. My middle-aged nose may have lost some of its olfactory capability, but this was the most powerful emission of human gasitude that I have ever encountered in my life. It was a nasty, nasty, fart.

If you unleashed this fart on the battlefield, you would be violating the Geneva Convention. It definitely would be considered a weapon of mass distraction. The restaurant was dark, but I’m sure this cloud of thick gastric fog would have been actually visible under better lighting.  It was so potent; I’m surprised the wallpaper didn’t fall off the wall.
Bad, nasty, toxic, gas!

This was far worse than any gas my dog generates. It wasn’t as much nauseating as it was toxic. If I had access to a gas mask, I would have been wearing it.  It is difficult to even describe just how ghastly this gas really was. At one point, I thought I was going to literally pass out.

The other remarkable thing about this disgusting gas attack, is where is occurred.  This was, for lack of a better term, a “business fart”.  It was encountered while I was at a large dinner table, surrounded by customers and potential customers.

The problem is you can never publicly acknowledge a business fart, even though everyone is aware of it.  You cannot ask “who cut the cheese?” because of the potential business consequences of embarrassing the cheezer.  You do not have any idea how powerful that person is.  Okay, so you do have a sense of his power, but what I mean is you don’t know where this person is on the organization chart.  Exposing the culprit could cost you your job and this could prove extremely embarrassing for you.

Interviewer: “Why were let go from your previous job, Bill?”

Bill: “Our CEO cut a horrendous fart and I called him on it”

So even as this fart choked us all, not a word was said. We all had to carry on with what we were doing, pretending everything was fine while being poisoned.  You could not even cover your nose with your hand, you just had to sit there, hoping you were not going to die.

Unfortunately, I was talking (I know that’s difficult to believe) at the time of the fart.  I was espousing my profound business knowledge to those around me, including the lovely lass mentioned previously.  However, when the smell hit my nostrils, my brain literally shut off.  I’m in mid-sentence and suddenly I can’t think because this horrendous odor is trying to kill me.  I mumble out some meaningless words to finish my thought and try to maintain my composure. All while trying to conceal the fact that an atrocious fart has been farted.

I assume the human body must have a defense mechanism that when you are exposed to poisonous gas, your brain shuts off because you are not supposed to think, you are not supposed to speak, you are just supposed to run like hell to save your life.

Only I couldn’t run. If I jumped up and ran for the door, it would be an acknowledgement that a business fart had been discharged.  Worse yet, the people around me might think I was running for the bathroom, therefore making me a prime suspect as the farter.  So I had to sit in the middle of this warm, thick, fart-fog, trying to maintain consciousness at all cost.

I did consider telling people I had to make a call and excuse myself to the hallway.  I also thought about calling 911.  However, I did not think the operator would take serious a report of someone at La Grenouille “cutting silent, but deadly, horrendous farts”.  I feared becoming an Internet sensation as the guy who called 911 because people around him were passing gas.  If I had called 911, I would have told them to bring the bomb sniffing dog so it could sniff out the butt of the perpetrator.   What an interesting scene and fine end to the evening that would have been. “Line up and bend over and ol’ Betsy here will identify the shooter.” 

But I never was able to determine who the nasty dealer was.  I know it wasn’t woman seated to next to me. She was way too hot and petite to accomplish this feat.  No, this was indeed manly fart, farted by a man.   

I do feel somewhat guilty about not reporting this to any health officials. If this guy is capable of generating gas this toxic, I fear that he has a serious health problem and may already be dead.  If that is the case, may he rest in peace and may his family be successful in fumigating their house.

Unfortunately, they never prepared me for an evening like this in business college, not even in the MBA program. Although I doubt “Managing Business Farts” would be a popular course at the Harvard Business School.  Perhaps I should write a whitepaper, er, make that a brownpaper on the subject.

Fortunately, I survived the nasty, nasty, fart, had a superb dinner, and was able to maintain excellent customer relationships despite the challenges.  Next time somebody tells me “business stinks”, I will tell them just how much it really does.

Please buy my new humor book - Just Make Me A Sammich http://donake.net/just-make-me-a-sammich-book



Saturday, April 2, 2016

The Wackiest Presidential Election Ever

Who knew democracy could be so darn entertaining?

A surprising, new political party has emerged as a powerful force in the 2016 U. S. presidential race.  It is the Pissed Off Party (POP) and boy are they ever pissed off!

People are really pissed at the Elite Establishment Party (EEP) who either ignore the problems, deny they even exist, or hope they will get better by sprinkling magically fufu dust on them.  The EEP’ers are too busy eating expensive shrimp, playing exclusive golf, sipping fine wine, and walking around looking important in fancy, exquisite, suits, to be bothered by actual governance.

The POP’ers want candidates who are in a pissed off rage, in hopes that in being so pissed off, they will actually do something beneficial if elected. It is suspected that the EEP candidates wish to get elected so they can eat more expensive shrimp.

Fortunately, two extremely pissed off candidates have emerged to lead the POP.  These guys are really pissed off and they yell and scream at their rallies, which results in people getting even more pissed off at everybody. It has created a circle of piss, and you obviously don’t want to be standing in the middle of it, that’s for sure.

Ironically, even though the POP has two enormously pissed off candidates, one pisses to the left and the other pisses to the right.  The important thing is both these pissed-off guys are raising significant political issues that the EEP candidates do not want to discuss, which frankly pisses them off.  It has turned in to one huuuuuge pissing match.

The EEP candidates have tried to pander to the POP’ers by claiming they are pissed off about things too! Unfortunately, they may be highly agitated, greatly annoyed and egregiously irritated, but they are not sufficiently pissed off.  To appeal to the POP, you must be truly, undeniably, tremendously, pissed off, and these fakers are not. 
  
Another strategy from EEP’ers is to tell the POP’ers that they should not be pissed and they should just “calm down”.  Of course this just pisses them off even more. (As any married man could have predicted) This huuuuge level of pissofficy has created one of the most bizarre presidential campaigns in history.  No subject is off limits.

Candidates have argued about who has the largest wanker and the subject even came up … er no, it was raised, um no…..  let’s just say it was masterfully debated in Detroit. At one point during the debate I thought the guys were actually going to whip them out and compare, just like junior high school.  And though there is disagreement on which candidate has the biggest wanker, there is no question who has the biggest balls.

Next election, I think there should be a Wanker Party that runs candidate Iva Biggun for president.  You may laugh, but considering the choices this year, you would take a look at him, er I mean you would have to consider him.  And the Wankers would win every big caucus, wouldn’t they?  Their campaign slogan could be “Make America Straight Again”.

There is also a discussion regarding women voting with their vaginas.  In the old days this would have been impossible, but now we do have touch screens for voting in Ohio. Still, the screen is probably too high to reach with a hoo-haa, but maybe if a woman stood on a chair and straddled the thing, she might be able to do it.

I really hope women do not try this. If the woman next to me is voting with her vagina, it is going to be darn distracting.  I am going to have to stop and watch her vote, and if she is that limber and that skilled, I’ll probably applaud when she finishes, maybe even tip her. I know it’s not likely to happen, but I’m
You may want to clean the screen before voting!
bringing a “wet-nap” with me, just in case, to clean my touch screen before voting.

Some idiots have even tried to disrupt and stop POP rallies. This is stupid for two reasons. First, the people there are already pissed off. Piss them off even more and their commitment to being pissed off greatly increases.  Second, you risk pissing off the moderately agitated. If they do become pissed off, then they become new members of the POP.  Either way, by staging these protests, you strengthen the opposition.

And I must point out that people have the right to express their political opinions, even if these opinions are so disgusting and frightening to you that you $h!+ your pants.  I realize you Millennials out there will think that I am doing “kooky” talk and making this up, but if you Google “first amendment to the U.S. Constitution”, you will see that I am correct. I’m not sure what they are teaching in the schools these days, but it sure as hell ain’t American history and probably not much economics either.

So there is now one good candidate and four whackjobs. I can say that without offending anybody, because everyone now believes this to be true, we just vehemently disagree who the “good” candidate is!  The real problem is; we have way too many whackjobs still in this race.  

And there is a good chance when you go to vote, you will be challenged with choosing between two whackjobs and trying to determine which one is less wacked. It is unfortunate there are no longer actually “voting booths” or you could close the door and start to cry before casting your vote. Unfortunately, your high school civics class never prepared you for this moment.  I think I can hear Karl Marx laughing, or is that Bernie Sanders? I can’t really tell.

Please buy my new humor book - Just Make Me A Sammich http://donake.net/just-make-me-a-sammich-book



Monday, March 21, 2016

I Am Raising Cane Over This! (The Aging Chronicles – Part 4)

“Soon I'll be 60 years old
My daddy got 61”

“7 Years” is the worst song that has ever been written and Lukas Graham should shut his singing pie-hole (an explanation follows at the end of this post)

BUT FIRST – VERY ALARMING NEWS!

By now you have seen the media reports about a recent “scandalous-type” purchase I was purported to have made.  TMZ, Gawker, Entertainment Tonight, Perez Hilton and my nosy neighbor across the street, are all blasting the news across the entire Internet, including Facebook.

I find this accusation ridiculous and unwarranted, because the purchase in question is not for a hooker, opioids, videos or even HGH, but for a cane.  Of course this is ludicrous, because there is no possible way I am close to being old enough to need such an elderly-type device.

The "alleged device"
I would like to officially issue a denial to these salacious rumors, but that is difficult to do since TMZ has somehow obtained an invoice with my name on it from a company called “Fashionable Canes” in Largo, Florida.  This has to be a forgery. Though I am tempted to claim this cane was for my wife, the Peyton Manning defense, I won’t because if my wife found out,  I might have to call medical specialists to extract the cane from where it was forcibly lodged and I could end up needing a walker instead of just a cane.

Now you and the entire world may be laughing at me, but I assure you that the cane, if there really is one, is only needed because of a medical condition that flares up very infrequently. Let me be clear, even though this ailment is more prevalent in geezers, this does not mean I am old, getting old, or even feeling older.  No, this medical condition is just causing more pain to me now for some mysterious, unknown reason, totally unrelated to my age.

I repeat, it is not due to me being old.  The condition is hereditary.  This is all my ancestors fault.  They had the same disorder, but they were highly irresponsible and negligent in dealing with it. Those bastards then passed it on down to me and now I have to deal with it by allegedly buying a £#!êing cane! 
   
If I did have to purchase a cane, it would upset me greatly and be a major blow to my fragile, male, ego.  It is darn difficult to appear macho, vibrant and relevant, when you require a stick to remain standing upright.   Fortunately, this purported cane has not been used yet, because my ailment has not returned since the alleged purchase.  It may be here, just in case the illness ever returns, and of course that is highly unlikely since it is usually prevalent in old people and I am certainly not that old.

I am sure these scandalous reports come as a shock to my many young, hot, female fans, of which there are legions around the world.  I need to assure them that my medical condition only constrains me when I am in the vertical position and in no way limits my ability to perform horizontally.  Let me also say that my cane, if it exists, is long and stiff, just like my ….. well you get the idea.  Fortunately for me, the cane, unlike other things, does not need a 60-minute, blue-pill, notice to achieve functionality.

I may no longer be macho, but the rumored cane is distinguished and fashionable.  I mean it did allegedly come from a place called Fashionable Canes, didn’t it?  So if the women don’t find you functional, they should at least find you fashionable (tip of the hat to Red Green).

I would also like issue a warning to all you insensitive young whippersnappers out there.  I am extremely sensitive about having to use this alleged cane in public. If you see me using this device, I strongly suggest against making any mocking-type comments.   I swear, you may be able to outrun me, but I have a long reach and if you make the mistake of getting within literal striking distance, I will take this cane and smack your £#!êing ankle so hard that you won’t be able to walk, without, without …… uh …. without using a cane, yourself!  And if you need a recommendation, I may or may not know of a good cane company.  If you happen to use the word “cripple”, I will take out both your ankles Tony Soprano style.

Of course, if I have to defend my honor in this totally justified manner, I will no doubt fall over and unlike a Weeble, I will not be able to get back up.  This would be extremely embarrassing, so if you happen to see me lying on the ground next to younger guy who is clutching his ankle and crying out in pain, you will know what has taken place.  I would ask that you quickly help me up because I will need to leave the scene before the authorities arrive, which will be a challenge since I can’t run away, but will be forced to hobble away as fast as I can using a gosh darn cane.  And rest assured, I will shake my fist at you as I shuffle away, sonny boy.

You may think I’m getting cranky, but I’m not.  Only old people get cranky, so I am obviously not cranky, since I am not that old.  I am merely just very upset.  Upset, not cranky, got it?

This concludes my response to these nasty, offensive, salacious, false, unsubstantiated, malicious, untrue, fabricated, fictional, made-up, unproven, deceitful, rumors and lies.  Please carry on with your normal lives and try not to let these awful reports about me disturb you or ruin your day.

Song Explanation

“Soon I'll be 60 years old
My daddy got 61”

This song creeps me out every time I hear it because in a couple years I will be 60 years old and my father died at age 61.  No need to remind me of this every time I turn on the radio Lukas Graham, you stupid sonavabitch.

This concludes The Aging Chronicles. I had much more to write on this, but for some reason I can’t remember any more of it.  All this writing has made me very tired, I will be taking a nap now.  

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