You Do Not Want To Be Fired In This Manner (RUU)

News Item: North Korea fires its defense chief

On the surface this is not unusual since the chief, Hyon Yong Choi, had fell asleep during meetings and had disobeyed his boss Kim Jong Un.  When your boss is a sadistic, evil, madman (which interestingly describes a couple of my previous bosses) and you perform poorly, you have a problem.

But Choi wasn’t just fired. He was fired upon.  We can now clearly ascertain that he “Did not meet expectations” in many areas on his last performance appraisal.  However this firing was not executed by a firing squad, it was by a single gunman.  How could they be sure the lone soldier would not miss the target? Because the shooter was operating a ZPU-4 anti-aircraft gun. The “target” was placed 100 feet away and the range of this weapon is about five

Hyon Go "boom"!

miles.  This is literally overkill.  They should have stuck poor Hyon on a distant mountain to make it more challenging and to give the shooter some target practice.  Hyon was gone on the first try.  I believe this would be considered both “cruel and unusual” punishment in the U.S.

Now when I was relieved from my job several years ago, the two people carrying out the execution were both @$$ho!e$.  Now you might think I am still bitter, but I’m not. The objective truth is that these people were @$$ho!e$ before they fired me but I didn’t realize it previously because they worked in a department called “Human Resources”.

As an employee you need to believe that Human Resource workers care about you and your welfare.  In reality, most H.R. management at larger companies are in fact @$$ho!e$ of the worst kind. They no doubt have to pass some secret @$$ho!e test to get their position.  So they have to pretend they are nice, decent, people and therefore the best H.R. managers are very skilled in the art of deception.  They have to be, because if employees discover just how big of @$$ho!e$ they truly are, the workers tend to run off screaming into the forest, sometimes naked, never to be heard from again.

And the two @$$ho!e$ who proceeded over my firing were huge, nasty, @$$ho!e$. Yes, just, filthy, extraordinary @$$ho!e$. If you tried to send them to classes to try to learn how not be @$$ho!e$, they would fail the class and fail it miserably. Because they are big @$$ho!e$ and will always be @$$ho!e$ until the day they die.

However, as big of @$$ho!e$ as they are, they did not shoot me with an anti-aircraft gun at close range. So perhaps I should cut them some slack.

My Shorts Almost Killed Me (RUU)

Recently I purchased a pair of “basketball” shorts at my local drugstore. It may seem strange to buy clothing at the drugstore, but they offer “close-out” items at very good prices.  These shorts looked to be an excellent bargain at only $3.99!

However the shorts were powder blue and “silky”.  Now they weren’t “fancy pants”. Fancy pants should never ever be worn by guys unless you are working as a clown or golfing.  These were “snazzy pants”. Snazzy pants are acceptable apparel for younger guys trying to attract young chicks.  Now my days of trying to attract young

Very snazzy, silky, shorts

chicks are long gone.  Snazzy pants are not going to do the trick at my age and even if they brought success there are health risks involved.  I’m not referring to having a heart attack, rather getting killed by your wife.

I determined even if the shorts were a bit too fancy to wear in public, I could just wear them around the house and besides they were only $3.99.  When I tried them on at home, it was confirmed these were “young man pants” and not made for a middle-aged body.  The shorts were tight in the thighs which meant when I bent over, the shorts quickly slid down about six inches in back.  This means that when picking up branches in the yard, I would be flashing half-moons to the entire neighborhood.  This is something no one wants to see, especially the children.

So the only time I could possibly wear these shorts is to mow the grass.  So I put on my snazzy, silky, pants and fired up my riding mower.  Now mowing on a rider often requires you to shift your butt to the high side of the seat on inclines to balance out the weight distribution and prevent the mover from tipping over.  Of course the first time I did this, the silky shorts caused my large butt to suddenly and unexpected slide to the bottom side of the seat.  Fortunately this sudden shift in weight did not result in the mower to tipping over, but I’m not exactly sure how I managed to stay on the seat.

Every time I came to any incline I was sliding down the seat.  I was sliding around as if the seat it was greased and it was real challenge to stay on the mower. It was similar to an amusement park ride where you are thrown violently side-to-side without warning.  It’s plain physics.  Newton’s First Law of Assnertia states: A body part in motion tends to remain in motion.  And there was no way to stop my large butt once it started to slide in those silky shorts.

If I had flipped the mower over and died, no one would have known that it was the stupid shorts that led to my demise. People would have thought that I was just careless.  It may have been worse if I had survived.  I can imagine young nurses snickering at me as the surgeon worked to reattach my genitals.

“He says he wrecked his mower because he was wearing silky shorts, tee hee, tee hee, tee hee.”

And the Internet headlines would have been just as bad: Man’s Snazzy Shorts Nearly Kill Him

In the words of Dirty Harry: A man's got to know his limitations.

This goes double for middle-aged men. And my limitations now include not wearing hip, flashy, clothing designed for younger guys. No matter the price, no matter the occasion.   

I Am Now Identifying As A Japanese-Mayan (RUU)

Michael Jackson used to sing “It don’t matter if you’re black or white”.  This has to be the most hypocritical song ever, since it had to mean a great deal to Jackson. He spent a ton of money and went through a lot of pain to make his transformation. Now everybody is worked up over a woman who tried to pull off a reverse-Jackson.  This is a case where it is literally “black and white” and thus complicated as all get out.

I don’t have a problem with her appearance but she was an official in the National Association for the Advancement of COLORED People.  Not the National Association for the Advancement  of White People Who Would Like to Be Colored People.  Hey you can be a leader in the NAAWPWWLBCP if you want; I just don’t see you getting much traction, or money, out of that gig.  And the name doesn’t even fit on a T-shirt.

This woman claims she identifies as a black person.  Now you may laugh at racial identity issues, but I have personally experienced issues with this.

Years ago, I received a credit card application encouraging me to “Celebrate (my) Japanese-American Heritage With The Prestige of Visa Platinum.  The letter began: “As one who takes great pride in your ancestry, you’ll be pleased to know that you can now show that pride with the  Japanese-American Heritage Platinum Visa card.”  A card that “celebrates the pride and traditions of your Japanese-American Heritage”.  And when I use the card, “I honor my cherished ancestry” (oh boy!).  The card features a map of Japan and an image of Mt. Fuji.

Of course the credit card company did a data sort of three-letter last names that begin and end with vowels, and bingo! I’m Japanese.  I showed the letter off at work and my friend Kurt referred to me as Aw-key-sun for the next two weeks and would bow when I passed.

The next incident, which I have written about before, was when a waiter in Cancun thought I was Mayan.  Again it was the weird last name that caused the confusion.

But now with all this racial identity stuff in the news I am now ready to embrace my Japanese -Mayan heritage. From now on I will identify as a Japanese Mayan. The Japanese are very smart and the Mayans were good writers, so you cannot dispute my identity. If you try, you are a bigot in the worst degree.

As a Japanese, I will expect to receive discounts and preferred seating at all hibachi restaurants. As a Mayan, I will expect great sympathy from everyone since my people have perished and have no home.  And if there are any hot Mayan chicks out there who are interested in trying to repopulate our race, that’s a cause I will enthusiastically support.   

Might As Well Face It, I’m Addicted To “Cap”

I got a work email just before midnight one Monday informing me that Tuesday’s morning  staff meeting had been changed to 9 a.m., 30 minutes earlier than normal.  While this was short notice, I work from home so calling in at that time normally causes no problems whatsoever.

However, I had a dentist appointment that morning and this did create a situation. You see down the street from the dentist office is a coffeehouse that brews a most exquisite cappuccino.  I reward myself afterward with a hot, steamy, treat.  I actually look forward to going to the dentist because of the cappuccino.  The problem is could I still make it back to work on time it I stopped to get the cappuccino.

You might think this is not a big deal, but you would be wrong.  I love cappuccino.  I love smelling cappuccino, I love tasting cappuccino, I love ordering cappuccino. I even love saying the word, even typing it: cappuccino, cappuccino, cappuccino.

At a former job, the company would provide free drinks out of the coffee machine on Monday if the  factory when accident free for 30 days.  Fortunately the machine made a decent cappuccino.  The free coffee really wasn’t supposed to be for the office workers and yet I would find a way to consume four free cappuccinos every Monday.  It was like free appetizers only in liquid form.  (For some reason I never slept well on Monday nights.

Of course it was always a tragedy when there was an accident in the factory and the free coffee was temporarily taken away. 

Everybody would be like: “Poor Hank, he got his arm ripped off by a machine”.

I’d be like: “Dang, no free cappuccino for at least a month. What an idiot!”

So I figured if the dentist appointment went quickly I could get the cappuccino and still make the meeting. Or if the appointment ran long, I would miss the meeting altogether and could still buy the cappuccino.  However if they ran on time, I would have a very difficult decision to make.

So of course they ran right on time.  I stared at my watch.

Meeting or Cappuccino?

Meeting or Cappuccino?

There was a time when this would have been a no-brainer.  I would have put the company’s needs before mine.  I would have towed the company line. I would have tried to please my boss so that I could curry favors and get raises and promotions and massive kudos and accolades! Yes thir, yes thir, yes thir!

But then years later you run into your former butt-head boss clerking  at the Home Depot and you realize he really was a worthless piece of crap when you worked for him and how utterly ridiculous you were in pandering to him.  So ironic, for years he put the screws to you, now he’s fetching screws for you.

But still……………………………….

MEETING or CAPPUCINO?

METTING or CAPPUCINOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?

I’m not saying I’m proud of my decision, but the photo here displays the choice.  I would have had to drive right by the coffeehouse and the cappuccino inside without stopping.  That was something I simply could not do.

I justify this irresponsible decision by claiming I could have made it to the meeting on time but I would have been in a horrible mood all day. I would have probably yelled at some customers and caused the company to lose boatloads of business and being a company man, I could not take that chance.  This was an investment in company success. Heck, I should have put it on my expense report.  Hey, cappuccino this exquisite isn’t cheap!

So I got a hot, steamy, creamy, cappuccino.  The good news is there was no line at the coffeehouse and I made it to the meeting only a few minutes late.  Of course I had to mute my phone to drown out the moans of passion as I dipped my tongue into that frothy sweetness.  I’m sure there was important business discussed in the meeting, but I have little recollection of it. I was way too enthralled enjoying my cappuccino.  Hopefully someone took good notes.

There are many important things and plenty of important decisions that we all have to make, but for certain there is something I have learned, an essential part of my philosophy on life:

Sometimes you just have to stop and drink the cappuccino………. 

Please order my new book! – Just Make Me ASammich

Just Say No To Going Commando (RUU)

Cottonelle has introduced a new bathroom tissue with unique ripples which promises a cleaner and more confident “wiping” experience.  So clean and confident, that an Internet commercial encourages users of this new wonderful paper to “Go Commando”.

Of course it is very dangerous and irresponsible for Cottonelle to promote this activity to everyone.  Obviously this promotion should have had an “age limit” such as: Not recommended for people 50 years of age or older.  Cottonelle has made a rash decision that has the potential to irritate many people.

Because baby boomers will tend to try anything younger people do, just to prove we still got it. (Like being a 71-year old Secretary of State and falling off your bike and breaking your leg).  But we don’t “got it”, we only got some of it left and we got less of it every day.

If you are a boomer and you are considering going commando after wiping with Cottenelle, let me explain it like this:

When a house is new, its plumbing is strong and secure.  The pipes are shiny and the fittings are tight.  However, as the house ages the pipes can weaken and corrode, the fittings get loose, and leaks will occur.

No, you should never go “commando”. Yes, there was a time when your “soldiers” were in top fighting shape.  You were confident that they would only discharge their guns where and when needed.  But now the soldiers are getting older, they can fire their weapons unexpectedly and randomly.  They cannot be trusted, so you must keep them well contained at all times and even consider offering an extra defensive shield for these soldiers as they age.  Your soldier is capable of firing off a series of “wet ones” when you didn’t even know there was one in the chamber.  A whole case of Cottonelle can’t help you

Even Arnold is now too old for this high jinks!

then.

There was a day when you let your boys and girls run free, basking in the warm glow of wild abandonment.  I hope you enjoyed those days, because they are over.  It’s time for the boys and girls to come inside the secure protection of a loving home.

I know that some of you guys might see this is an opportunity to show off your equipment one last time.  Unfortunately that bulge is now the result of an enlarged prostate and that should not be flaunted, it needs to be treated by a doctor.

In addition, I would not recommend this commando challenge to any mothers who have sent multiple packages down the chute. Especially if any of these resembled a holiday ham.  I strongly advise against this.

In conclusion, unless you are in total control of your soldiers, do not take Cottonelle up on this challenge.  And I call on Cottonelle to end this campaign immediately lest people post photos of their failures on  Instagram and soil your reputation.

Boomers, do not join this movement!  Because for this movement to be successful, there has to be no movement and that is precisely why it will ultimately fail.

To see the campaign: https://www.cottonelle.com/go-commando

This Does Not Hold Me Spellbound (RUU)

News Item: The 2015 Scripps National Spelling Bee ends in a tie

Are we really supposed to pretend to be interested in this?  This is a competition for nerds with no athletic ability whatsoever.  Is it really a “competition” at all since there is no ball used whatsoever?

This year was particularly unspectacular as Vanya Shivashankar and Gokul Venkatachalam, spelled like maniacs until they had exhausted the championship word list.  That’s right; the dictionary ran out of words before they made an error.

And talk about boring. This is as boring as women’s basketball.  Nerd after nerd, spelling word after stupid word.  To spice things up they should let the other contestants pelt the speller with dodgeballs if he or she misspells the word.

This wrinkle would add more pressure to the contest and make it much more enjoyable to watch.  It would also prepare them for real life like when you have to make a PowerPoint presentation in front of a room of bastard executives just waiting for you to make a mistake before they pounce.

Another issue is fairness and you must admit Shivashankar and  Venkatachalam have an unfair advantage and we all know what it is:  Their names are too long.  And they have had to spell these humongous names correctly thousands of time over their lives. If you have had that much practice spelling hard words, it’s no surprise you can beat the dictionary.  I propose that no person be allowed to compete in next year’s bee if their name scores more than 50 points on a scrabble board.

And the words used in this bee are horrendous.  The last words spelled by the winners were:

Scherenschnitte - The art of cutting paper into decorative designs

Nunatak - A hill or mountain completely surrounded by glacial ice

These are completely bogus words.  You would never use scherenschnitte because you can’t pronounce it and nobody knows what it means if you did.  And everyone knows the real definition of nunatak is a riot at the convent.  The contestant from my region got eliminated by xenodochium — a medieval house for the care of the

Squirrel scherenschnitte

poor.  The word hasn’t been used for centuries and let’s face it; it’s never coming back in vogue.

To force these kids to memorize thousands of irrelevant, useless, words constitutes child abuse.  This is a huge waste of effort. The time would be much better spent doing something useful such as playing video games or talking on your cell phone.  Or

Where nuns attack!

you could use the time to practice in order to achieve something really significant – scoring a touchdown. And gud spellin is vastlie uvarated, dun't ya knu?

Well I’m out of time, I’m working on a scherenschnitte of a xenodochium which sits next to a nunatak. Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk, - nunatak!