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!

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

This Post Is A Pile Of Dog Crap

A strange set of circumstances led to an unfortunate incident at my house last week.  My wife was home sick with a nasty virus, I had an early breakfast meeting, and the temperature that morning was a brutal negative 12 degrees.

Usually my wife gets up before me and feeds, then walks, the dog.  I knew that would be my responsibility that morning and set the alarm accordingly.  Normally I would tend to the dog first thing in the morning because his breakfast time was already somewhat delayed.  But because of the breakfast meeting, I elected to shower first.  However, right after the shower, nature called. And of course I needed to answer the call right then because of the breakfast meeting.  While I was attending to my business, I received a visit from the dog.  He did appear very happy that his breakfast was now considerably late.

I finished up, got dressed and hurried down stairs to start the day.  It was then that I was greeted, not by the dog, but by a pile of dog crap on the floor right in front of me.  It was right in the walkway, presented where I could not miss it.
I was glad the dog crap was on the tile portion of the floor, where it could be
Thinks I did a shitty job that morning!
easily cleaned. That was until I saw a second “gift” about eight feet away on the carpet.

The dog obviously was not happy with my performance that morning.  He had sent me a message, actually two messages, to communicate his utter displeasure with my level of customer service.  However, as I stared at the crap before me, I realized there were some deeper messages, some life lessons if you will, expressed here:

Life Lesson #1 – Do not put your trivial needs ahead of the more important needs of others.

If you break this rule, there are consequences.  The offended party may decide to crap on the floor.  At work, they may figuratively crap on your head.  Of course it is wrong for them to do this, and they may get the blame, however you still look bad, and smell bad, with a pile of crap all over your head.  Once the crap is let loose, it is too late. Better to make sure other people’s needs are taken care of, than having to deal with the resulting crap.

Life Lesson #2 – Do not yell at others when you contributed to the mess.

I wanted to yell at my dog, but I didn’t.  Even though he did the crapping, I created the environment to make it possible.  I was largely responsible for the crap, I owed some of it (actually technically I owned all of it).  How often do we yell at others when we are the ones that help create the mess?  What do angry outbursts accomplish except to make others feel as terrible as we do at the moment?  My dog had already had a traumatic morning because his routine had been altered, why should I make it any worse?

Life Lesson #3 – When life gives you crap, instead of complaining, just figure out the best way to deal with it.

Under normal circumstances it would have been a hassle disposing of the crap, however there was 16 inches of snow on my backyard.  So I collected all the turds in paper towels and flung them like a monkey at the zoo, far out in the yard.  I now realize why the monkeys do this, because it is kind of fun.

Life Lesson #4 – Even when life gives you crap, find something positive in the pile.

As soon as I heaved the crap into the yard, I had an epiphany.  The worst part of my morning was going to be walking the dog in frigid, negative 12 degree weather.  Because he crapped in the house, I no longer had to do that. I let him out on the deck to whiz and the entire job was completed without me even having to put on a coat!  Waking up to dog crap was disturbing, but something positive resulted from it.

Life Lesson #5 – Give others credit for wise decisions, even when then cause you some discomfort.

I realized the dog had the choice to poop in negative 12 degree weather or inside where it was 82 degrees warmer.  Maybe the dog is shrewder than I thought.  Well played, I mean, well laid doggy, well laid.

And yes, I extracted all off this, from a pile of dog crap …….

Monday, February 23, 2015

Science Says: Make Me A Sammich

Every day, all across this great land, men make a familiar demand:

“Hey woman, make me a sammich!”

And most often their woman replies:

“Get off your a$$ and make your own damn sandwich!”

This dialogue keeps repeating itself in an endless, futile, loop in which neither the man or the woman achieves any degree of satisfaction, so there must be more going on here than appears.  If guys were more polite, they might actually get the sammich and even when they fail, they would irritate the woman less, which would increase their chances of getting some sex later that day.

But no, the men keep demanding and women keep refusing. I believe this has to do with men desperately trying to assert their authority in one of the last bastions available to them.  In days of yore, men held dominant authority over women.  Men were free to do whatever they wanted.  They were free to make stupid decisions without interference or guidance.  But now women have become educated, informed and empowered which has limited the amount of stupid mistakes, and of course fun, that men can have. (I wanted to use the word “uppity” instead of "empowered" but my friend Lori said I couldn’t)

At one time if a woman disobeyed her husband, he would put her across his knee and give her a good spanking.  Those days are long gone, unless of course she is a fan of Fifty Shades of Grey. But then you have to be prepared to aaaah haaaa, and oh boy, and then, oooh weee! But I digress.

Now you may think men are more engaged in this sammich-making issue than women, but you would be mistaken.  This subject is very important to women as these examples illustrate:

Many years ago I was eating my lunch in the company break room when a female acquaintance asked a seemingly harmless question: “Did your wife make that sandwich?” To which I answered: “Yes”

Then this chickee babe went on a feminista rant (in front of my friends) about what a pig I was, forcing my wife to make me sandwiches! I didn’t argue with her because she was so off base.  At that time my wife had left the workforce to raise our daughters.  She made the sandwiches as a way to support me as the sole moneymaker. I never asked her to make me sandwiches; she did it because she wanted to.

A few years later another female associate, in the same lunchroom, asked me the same exact question.  I was taken back again by the inquiry, but I was relieved to now be able to give the correct answer. “No”, I said confidently.

But then Holly Homemaker went off on my spouse, criticizing her for being a dreadful wife and not taking care of my needs. Of course Holly was just as off base as the feminista. 

Now my children were older and my wife had returned to full-time work.  She was extremely busy with everything, so making my sandwiches was my responsibility.  I felt absolutely no resentment about this.

I don’t understand why these women were so interested in my sandwiches. I felt their questions were intrusive because what happens between the sheets, in this case the sheets of bread, should be private and not the topic of a public, especially workplace, discussion.

So you see that this sandwich making stuff is way more important than you realized. This conflict could have raged on unabated, but last year something wonderful, almost miraculous, happened.  Scientists conducted a scientific study, using science principles to determine the impact of hunger on married couples.  The results of the three-year, extremely scientific project, was reported by the National Academy of, get this, Sciences.  The study was even conducted at the Ohio State University, where apparently when they aren’t preparing to win football games, actually do scientific stuff like this.

Now I consider most studies of this type stupid, wasteful, inane, worthless, and hogwash, especially those done at Ohio State, because it diverts resources from important projects, like winning more football games.  But the results of this study are so accurate, so important, and so impactful, that I must rate it as the greatest scientific study ever conducted.

The study found that when people are hungry, they are more likely to get angry with their spouses.  This combination of hungry and angry, which they labeled “hangry”, causes couples to argue and have intense confrontations.

Of course there is a very simple way to cure a man who is hangry and restore marital bliss: WOMEN, MAKE HIM A SAMMICH!  Yes, now there is scientific evidence that when men demand a sammich, it is best for everyone if women comply.  It has now been scientifically proven by science, so you can’t argue
The key to marital bliss?
against it.

Think of it this way ladies, when your man requests a sandwich, he is not really just asking for something to eat.  No, he realizes he is hangry and needs nourishment in order to create a loving, caring, wonderful, soul-mateful, relationship with you.  One in which, he loves and adores you, he asks about your needs and concerns, he truly listens to your every word and knows and respects your feelings.  That’s what he really wants.  And you can have all of that, just by making a simple sandwich.

And it stands to reason that after the man has eaten the sandwich, he will engage in deep, intimate, meaningful, interaction with the woman which will lead to something fantastic.  The man has intense feelings for the woman because she has relieved his hanger; the woman has strong vibes for the man because he is now showing her love.  Their eyes meet, their hearts melt, their souls merge, which leads to: hubba hubba, homina, homina, boing, boing, boing, sis boom bah, ahhhhhhhh!  

I would label this “hot sandwich sex” except the term “sandwich sex” is already in use for describing several different activities, which I will not define here.  Let just say the request, “Women make me a sandwich”, is totally different than what we are talking about.

No, let’s just call it Post-Hangry Unification Coupling. Yes, that’s a great name for it.

So women remember this:  Next time your husband requests a sandwich, even if he does it in an impolite manner (he’s hangry for Pete’s sake), science says you should make him the sandwich.

That’s right, just make him the damn sammich woman, make him the damn sammich!

To read the article on the study : Click here


Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Wiping Away This Super Bowl Memory

Well, the big game is over and it produced the crappiest play in Super Bowl history. And I’m not talking about passing the ball from the 1-yard line either. No, the play in question is Seahawk receiver Doug Baldwin pretending to take a dump in the end zone after catching a touchdown pass in the third quarter.  This is so wrong on several accounts.

Baldwin had just reached the pinnacle moment of his career.  He is standing in the end zone and has just achieved football glory.  He does not get 15 minutes of fame, only 30 seconds.  But it is highly concentrated fame, with 160 million viewers worldwide watching his every move.  And it is at this moment that Baldwin decides he will celebrate his stellar accomplishment, by placing the football on the ground, pretending to pull down his pants, and then squatting over the ball and mimic pooping on it. So his highly anticipated next move was pretending to move his bowels. 
Baldwin showing off his "moves"

Poop!, yes, his statement was poop.  His message was poop.  Now you didn’t see this monstrosity, because NBC quickly cut to another camera when he did the pants thing.  Wouldn’t you love to hear the production audio on that one? -

Cut! He’s pooping! He’s pooping! Go to Camera 4 now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It’s hard to understand the mentally of why you would want to take a fake crap while the world is watching.  His explanation was the equivalent of what a 4-year old might say after taking a real dump on the floor. Fake pooping is not acceptable anywhere out of the grade school playground and even then you make sure no girls are present.

The NFL was not pleased.  It is rumored that NFL Commissioner took a real sh!+ in his pants after Baldwin’s antics.  Baldwin was subsequently fined $11,025 for the incident.  Reportedly, the extra $25 was for industrial butt wipes to clean the spot he left on the end zone.  Perhaps Baldwin got confused by the term “end zone”.

As disgusting as this was, there is a much bigger issue at play.  The Super Bowl is not anything about poop.  No, it is totally non-poop.  It is the anti-poop. I am guessing there is less poop produced while the Super Bowl is played than at any daytime period during the year.

Nobody wants to poop during the Super Bowl.  You could miss the big play and there is no way to inconspicuously slip away and do your business during this game.  And for sure you don’t want to poop when you are attending a Super Bowl party, for fear of stinking up the host’s bathroom:

I forget who won the 2011 contest, but wasn’t that the year we had to watch the rest of the game in the garage and burn candles because Joe took that nasty dump at halftime?

Not having to poop during the game is part of a fan’s pregame preparation.  You make sure you get plenty of fiber and drink plenty of water, so your game-day poop takes place in the morning and you are thoroughly cleansed by kick-off.  Unfortunately, with 160 million people involved, there are probably millions of people who need to poop during the Super Bowl but hold it in until the game is over.

So the Super Bowl is the ultimate no-poop event. That is why there are no laxative commercials, no adult diaper commercials, no fiber commercials and no toilet paper commercials during the game.  And especially no commercials for prescription drugs like this one:

Side effects include: explosive diarrhea, green poopies, humongous stools and sh!++ing brick-like objects.

So the danger of doing a poop dance during the Super Bowl is immense.  It would be the visual equivalent of a brown note (a hypothetical infrasonic frequency that would cause humans to lose control of their bowels due to resonance. - Wikipedia).  If Baldwin’s poop dance would have been shown, millions of viewers who were trying to hold it in until the end of the game would have simultaneously filled their pants.  I’m sure some people, who did see the “poop dance” live at the stadium were injured racing to the rest room to secure a stall.

That’s why there is no place for any mention, any reference, and especially any displays of pooping at the Super Bowl.  It needs to remain a totally poop-free zone.  Unfortunately, thousands of Seattle Seahawk fans still ended up sh!++ing themselves at the end of the game, but that is the price of making a call that bad. Everyone was concerned about the Patriots deflating the footballs but no one expected the Seahawks fans to over- inflate their underpants at the end.





Monday, January 26, 2015

This Super Bowl Match Up Is Deflating

I have a big dilemma on what team to cheer for in this year’s Super Bowl.

I do not like the Seattle Seahawks….

They have a snooty, arrogant, coach and he has produced a snooty, arrogant, team.  Appropriately, their logo features a snooty, arrogant, bird.  In addition, Seattle had the audacity to steal the Professional Bowlers Association from my hometown of Akron.  I don’t bowl, so why would I care?  We don’t have that much in Northeast Ohio, so when another city steals what we do have, we get resentful. That’s why I believe Baltimore is the equivalent of Hell (yes, capital H).

But as much as I dislike the Seattle Seahawks, I dislike cheaters even more ….

It appears the New England Patriots tried to gain an advantage in their previous game by playing with deflated balls.  This is disgusting on multiple levels.  Football is a very manly game, played by manly men, seeking to place an inflated animal carcass on “special” areas of a field, and be awarded points. Men will literally crash their skulls together causing permanent injuries in order to move that carcass to its desired spot.  So to try to cheat by using a sissified ball is total unacceptable.  You are not the “Pats”, you are the Patsies.

You should not expect to penetrate the desired area with weak, squishy, balls.  No, to score (in all areas of life) you need firm, hard, balls that are shoved with brute force through the “plane of the goal line”.

When the game has reached its climax, deflated balls may be an indication of a job well done. However, you should never try to actually play the game with weak, flaccid, balls, because you are just not going to score.  You are going to stall within the red zone, your scoring drive is going to peter out, and you won’t even get a field goal.

Both the Patriots coach and quarterback deny knowledge of the condition of their balls.  This is pure bull$#!+.  I know this is a delicate and sensitive area, but a man knows when his balls are overinflated, he knows when they are underinflated, and he knows when things feel just right.

You had better bring your best equipment to this game!
And of all people, quarterback Tom Brady should know the importance of properly inflated balls since he is married to super-model Gisele B√ľndchen.  He should know that he needs to bring strong, hard, balls to the game if he is going to score.  I know from my extensive game experience with super-models that they do not enjoy it if you bring soft, squishy, balls onto their field.  They will penalize you for personal foul and the game will be over.  No, you need solid, plump, balls when dealing with a naked, eager, Gisele B√ľndchen.  I am starting to get inflated just thinking about it.

The NFL is trying to develop a procedure to make sure game balls are properly inflated.  It is easy to determine when balls are overly inflated because those balls will appear bluish, however determining under inflation is a problem.  My solution is to have NFL cheerleaders feel the balls before the game. 

These ladies, as judged by their appearance, probably have much experience evaluating ball strength and getting them ready for play.  In addition, any ball that is underinflated would no doubt gain some hardness after being rubbed down by a cheerleader.

This controversy has even caused concern for this year’s Lingerie Bowl.  That league is also worried about proper inflation and not just for the footballs.  I have offered to go to the game and personally make sure everything there is pumped up properly to the leagues standards.  After completing this job I would be willing to stay and serve as a locker room attendant, because that is the multi-tasking, helpful, caring, type of person I am.

Because of this cheating and lack of machismo by the New England Patsies, I am going to be forced to watch this game with the level of interest of a librarian watching her only football game of the season at a Super Bowl party.  Oh, maybe there will be some commercials with cute cats in them. Perhaps I will try the spinach dip on some organic, whole-grain, wafers.


I can feel my balls deflating already …… 

Monday, January 19, 2015

Eating Miraculous Rice Cakes

On January 8 I ate my first rice cake since the annual holiday eating binge began in mid-December.  Before my first bite, I stared at it in wonder realizing what I needed it to do.  I was expecting this simple rice cake to somehow attack and remove the fat that had magically attached itself to my body.

I wanted it to remove all traces of the Christmas candy, to annihilate the Honey Baked Ham, to neutralize the impact of the holiday cheeses, to unfig the figgy pudding and to de-pie the Christmas pies.  Ah the Christmas pie – Do I want more pie? DO I WANT MORE PIE? Why do you even ask?  Don’t be wasting time asking silly questions and bring me some more pie.  Instead of all this yakking, I could already be tasting that delicious Christmas pie right now.

So I am putting immense faith in this rice cake which has to be the most dishonest food ever invented.  Cake? Are you joking? This is a “cake” in geometric terms only.  You would never serve this so called cake for dessert.  You would not put candles on it and celebrate a birthday. You would never
What the hell even is this stuff?
order it in a restaurant to finish your meal.  No, it is a food to be eaten in shame. In the privacy of your home, with the lights off and the curtains closed.  It is a cake as much as soap is a cake.

And I’m sure it is even made of rice. Can you really tell?  My “cakes” are made by an oats company.  How do we know it does not sweep up all the rotten oats left on the floor, bleach it white, and press it into cakes?  And it doesn’t taste like rice; it tastes like Styrofoam, but not good Styrofoam. No, like stale, dried, Styrofoam that had been left in the sun to rot.

And this so called food is unsatisfying and not filling. You think you are going to lose weight by eating this, but you end eating 10 of them and you are still hungry!

So “rice cakes” are liars, masqueraders, if you will. Rice Cakes would be a better name for a Chinese stripper, although the term “cakes” might be an exaggeration.  I tried to find a photo of a Chinese stripper to post here, but I couldn’t find one.  It seems Rice Cakes the stripper is just as unsatisfying and unfulfilling as rice cakes the food.

And yet, I buy and eat this crap because I am fat. My body has a seemingly endless capacity to expand to accommodate all the fat that wants to take up residence after the holidays.  The annoying relatives at least go home at some point – but not the annoying fat.

It is extremely unfair that while my body readily expands to house the fat, but my clothes do not.  I am now wearing that Spanish line of clothing – Pantalones Splitones.   I look longingly at my skinny jeans hanging in the closet.  They see me staring and mock me.  “Someone had too much pie at Christmas, didn’t he?  Maybe you should eat some rice cakes.” I move towards them and they shriek, “Don’t even think about touching me”. This of course describes my high school dating experience in one sentence.

As I pondered this cylindrical piece of ah, whatever, I came to the realization that I was putting more faith in rice cakes than you would in a communion wafer.  I was hoping it would miraculously transform me back into a previous time, a time when I once again could fit back into my pants.  I wanted this cake to make me a muffin, a stud-muffin.

Yes, this was a type of sacrament for fat people.  In the church of the Hefty, this is the penance for the sin of eating too much pie.  I examined the rice cake carefully looking for an image of some saint or prophet on it, maybe even Jenny Craig, but there was none.

People believe in the power of the rice cake because we are wired to put too much hope in things; whether it is money, new relationships, new jobs, people, or politicians. This false hope always leads to disappointment, so I’m sure I will end up very disappointed in this rice cake.

And marketers understand we are hope-mongers.  They promise us that their products will change our lives for the better. They play us for poor, hopeful, saps. There is even a new yogurt on the market that implies it provides health benefits and makes you popular with the ladies.  Of course I am much too smart to fall for that nonsense.  But I think I may try some because it sounds pretty good.



Wednesday, January 7, 2015

A Holiday Shopping Wonderland

I made my annual trip to the mall this Christmas.  We think we are very sophisticated, complex, beings but play some Christmas carols (audio stimulus) and shine some Christmas lights (visual stimulus) and we are drawn to the mall like rats to the cheese.  Of course there is some good cheese at the mall, usually packaged with a tasty beef log.  Mmmm, beef log.

Surprisingly, the mall wasn’t that crowded.  I assume more people were shopping on-line this year, maybe because of all the credit card fraud at some major retailers.  When on-line shopping is the safest option, you know there is a problem.  I was going to buy a Sony television but I was afraid I would end up also buying Christmas gifts for thousands of North Koreans.  A “North Korean Christmas” (Oh, let’s see what Little Kim Jong-un got this year!) might make a heartwarming Hallmark movie, but it would be a horror movie when I opened my credit card statement.
Not going to be his "Secret Santa"!

Shopping In The Cloud

My first stop was Yupperman’s department store.  The perfume cloud at the front of the store was so thick this year that it coated my body.  Normally I would be concerned about arriving home reeking of perfume, but this is the expensive stuff worn by classy ladies.  My wife knows that women this refined would not be cavorting with the likes of me.

I think I figured out why these stores create the perfume cloud.  Once guys get coated with this stuff, they may feel more feminine and be tempted to become transvestites.  “Hey, I’m already wearing women’s perfume; maybe I should get some women clothes!”  You may scoff, but the women’s clothing section is located next to the fragrances. Coincidence? - I think not.   Don’t worry; it did not work on me.   Yupperman’s clothing is much too classy and expensive for a cheap tramp like me.

Please Just Shut Up

At my next stop, the perky sales clerk insisted on explaining the Super Duper Customer Loyalty Program in excruciating detail. The program is about as complicated as quantum physics and twice as boring.  As far as I can tell the program has something to do with earning “points”.  But as a guy, the only points I care about are how many Ohio State scored in the Sugar Bowl, which are 42 and how many points are prominent in the latest Jennifer Lopez video, which are always “2”.

Camping Out At The Mall

I had problems navigating around the calendar kiosk because some guy decided he would park his baby stroller in the main aisle.  Only this was not a traditional stroller, it was a baby Winnebago.  It had enough storage space for a camping trip to the Alaskan wilderness.  I can’t imagine a baby owning enough stuff to store in that contraption; perhaps these people shop at Yupperman’s.  I just hope they eventually donate that to a homeless person (and his family).

I was surprised the daily calendar “What Your Poo Is Telling You” is still very popular.  I was again tempted to buy it, but realized that it would be giving me shit every day this year, which very accurately describes my previous job.  No, I’ve already lived that year and never, ever, want to do it again.

Keep No Secrets

I did not shop at Victoria’s Secret because it’s not a good place for middle-aged guys.  If the size is too small, you get no sex.  If the size is too large, you definitely get no sex. If the size is correct, but the style is wrong, you still get no sex.  It’s just too risky.  I also try to avoid stores where the sales women wear push-up bras.  Would you like the matching feather scarf with that, it’s only $50 and it looks oh so sexy, purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr?”  Push-up bras = pushed up profits.  No, this is a store for the younger, clueless, guys who are actually going to get sex, regardless of what they buy.

I Lost My Head Over This One

I was very offended to see that the male mannequins in one department store were all headless.  This is highly insensitive considering recent world events.  If we make mannequins already without heads, then the terrorists have won!  Either that or the store is implying that men are brainless when it comes to fashion decisions, so women need to buy them some decent clothes.  And we all know that it so not true.

I Skipped The Free Food Sample

But the weirdest thing I saw at the mall was this Asian guy handing out food samples in front of the Japanese food stand “Wok This Way” in the food court.  I noticed that he had this strange, slightly angry, expression on his face and I wondered why. I think the guy was in fact half-Asian but was contorting his face to appear full-Asian.  He probably thought he could hand out more samples if he looked more authentic and I do admire his dedication to his job. 

Of course I cannot fully describe exactly what he was doing without being extremely offensive and horribly politically incorrect.  You will have to figure this one out on your own, since I would not want you to have a slanted opinion of me.      

Sunday, December 28, 2014

A Memorable New Year’s Resolution

I actually made a New Year’s resolution for 2014.  I think this concept is futile because you usually break your vow within a month and once broken this can actually give you license to totally ignore the bad behavior.  This means your bad habit can actually get worse that year because you were stupid enough to make the resolution.

But I made a resolution not to get “fizzed off” (to not explosively lose my temper) this year.   You might think this would be very easy, but remember I wrote a whole blog post about all about getting fizzed off repeatedly in the year 2012.  And “fizzed off” might be an understatement because it is more like a nuclear meltdown, or nuclear fission, so maybe “fissed off” is a better term.

I didn’t get fizzed off much in 2013 and my new job is much less stressful, so I thought this was a worthy goal.  And achieving this would be beneficial for my family and even for my health, since getting fizzed off causes my blood pressure to spike to impressively high readings.  It can take hours for it to return to normal after a good fizz off.

In early November I realized I had kept my resolution and it’s not like I did not have reasons to fizzed off.  My brand new neighbor flipped me the bird when he was moving in because I did something he didn’t like (of course I was totally innocent). Some doufus rear-ended me by driving like a yahoo on the Tampa expressway, nearly causing me to miss my flight back from vacation.  And various other morons did things that could have been “fizz worthy”.

But I did not fizz. My resolve held firm.  As a defense mechanism I even began literally laughing in people’s faces when they did or said something that could have fizzed me off.  Of course this probably fizzed them off, but then they started it, right?

So I was very proud of myself.  Of course I planned to write a blog post on how I was able to keep my resolution for 2014.  I would write about my personal strength, my great resolve, my superior self-control, my dignified composure. Perhaps the Pope would read about my righteousness and make me a saint. I mean I’m not Catholic, but how would he be able to ignore such greatness.

And then it started so innocently …

I called the Wall Street Journal to cancel my $300 digital subscription.  I had subscribed for my job, but had only used it a handful of times all year.  I had been watching for a renewal notice, but to my surprise I never got one.   However, I did notice the subscription had been conveniently automatically renewed on my credit card statement.  What great customer service! They did all the work to seamlessly continue my subscription without even sending me an email notification. No need to clutter up my in box with more emails!

I explained to customer service representative Gina what I wanted to do, but I could tell she was concerned and disappointed that it was over between us, that I would no longer have access to what she could give me.  I was now being exposed to their customer retention program and she was not going to let me go without a fight.

She started asking me questions about what information I used and what I used it for.  I started to become mildly irritated when the call started taking longer than I anticipated.  I became further irritated when she asked what sources I would now use for the information I needed.  When I told her Reuters (one of the largest news companies in the world) and Economy.com (a WSJ major competitor), Gina replied “Oh I’ve never heard of them”.  So she was either very stupid, or lying to me, either of which made me want to end the call soon.

She was wasting my time because there was absolutely no chance that I was going to renew.  If she drove to my city and made mad, passionate, love to me, I was still going to cancel.  I know some guys will say, “But what is she was smokin’ hot”? For the sake of argument, let’s just assume she was not.

She then pointed out the subscription had just been renewed, which of course promoted me to express my displeasure (still very composed) about their renewal process.  This promoted her to argue with me and defend that process.  And this led us to a point where I realized that Gina was not the pleasant, helpful, customer service representative that I was led to believe.  She was an evil, conniving, bitch.

The call ended with me literally screaming into the phone:

CANCEL IT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

CANCEL IT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

JUST CANCEL IT RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gina: okay it’s cancelled
Fizzed Off or Fissed Off?

(click)

They said at the beginning that the call may be recorded for quality purposes and I hope to hell it was.  They could use it in training classes as an example of what not to do, but I expect the students would all break out in laughter at the point where I got fizzed off.  If the recording ever leaks out, it will surely go viral.  I have already contacted Edward Snowden and North Korea to see if they can get me a copy of the recording.

Unfortunately, my body did not react well to the first fizzed off meltdown in a long time.  I tried to tell myself that it was fruitless to get so upset over an insignificant phone call.  But it was too late; I could not put the toothpaste back in the tube.  And in this this case, the toothpaste had been projected all over the wall and some even hung from the ceiling.  Four hours later my blood pressure still had not returned to normal.  Did I mention that Gina is a bitch?

I will not be making any New Year’s resolutions this year.  Go ahead and make some of your own if you wish.

Happy New Year to all my readers, and here’s to a laughter filled 2015.