This Year’s Weirdest Christmas Gift Ever!

Several years ago, at Christmastime, I began donating a goat for poor people through ChildFund International. While I admit it’s kind of a gimmick to get you to donate, it is a legitimate thing. I wrote about this a few years ago, and the essay appears in my book Turkey Terror At My Door! (If you want to send a goat to Africa, click here)

I wanted to use ChildFund’s photo of the African kid holding a goat in my book, so I sent a copy of the essay to the head of the organization with my request. The woman didn’t find my writing all that humorous, but let me use the picture. In response, I did tone down some of my wisecracks.

The purpose of the goats is to provide milk to their hungry owners. I enjoyed giving a goat so much that  I started giving two goats. I was ready to do the same this year when I noticed another option. Instead of giving two female goats, I could donate a pair of breeding goats. So, when the female goat wasn’t supplying milk, the couple could get busy and end up creating a Ponderosa full of goats.

I was intrigued by this idea, so I decided to go with the breeders because my gift could potentially populate the continent with goats and solve world hunger. Because that’s just the type of guy I am. 

Here Is Your Mission – If You Decide To Accept It

But then, of course, I began to worry about what could go wrong with my master plan. Did my male goat truly understand his mission? Does he know he is supposed to impregnate his traveling companion as soon as possible after arriving in Africa? Wonder if my goats are not compatible lovers? What if she is a stuck-up bitch goat, and this turns him off?

Now my fears were spinning out of control. Could he be a gay goat? There is such a thing; it’s called a gayoate’ (please don’t look this up). I’m really hoping they check this out before they ship him out. Maybe show him photos of some hot goat babes and see how he reacts, because I ain’t paying for a gay goat. And this has nothing to do with discrimination or bias. Bucky, the goat, has only one job, and he can’t do it if he is climbing up the wrong hill.

I want my goat to be the horniest goat that ever lived — the H-GOAT as it were. I want him to knock up the goat he was paired with, then roam around the village, getting as much goat-pie as he can. Of course, now I have a vested interest in goat sex, so it’s on to the Internet for information on this fascinating topic.

On average, every 21 days, the female goat enters this thing called estrus – not to be confused with the character on Gunsmoke, or people in the Bible. She stands in the ready position for up to 36 hours, waiting for the male to mount her from behind. And then, in the time it takes to say “Wham, bam, thank you maaaam”, it’s all over. Yes, he finishes the deed in just a few seconds. She doesn’t even know who did it, and you can bet he’s not going to text her in the morning. This explains why there is no porn for goats; if they blink at the wrong time, they miss the whole thing.

But guys, this does give you an out the next time you are premat … uh, you can’t hold ah, there’s a fast finish. Just tell her, “Hey, I lasted longer than a goat!”. Please let me know if that one works.

Therefore, this year I am experiencing the joy of Christmas by sharing the joy of goat sex. I hope my stud goat soon arrives in Africa and gives her what she needs, if only for a few seconds. Because Christmas is all about giving – and this year, also about fantastic goat sex.  

 

Lots of Sex, Lies, and Monopoly Money

Welcome to another edition of Don Explains It All

Today’s Topic: Cryptocurrency

Yes, today we are going to plunge into the exciting and complex world of what is called cryptocurrency! Well, they say it’s complex, but it’s really quite simple.

All this cryptocurrency is digital Monopoly money. It’s fake money, people! It ain’t real money. But somebody figured out a way to get people to accept this Monopoly money as if it was real money. And then a bunch techies and millennials actually started to buy stuff and invest using this digital Monopoly money.

Only, this stuff is even faker than Monopoly money. At least you can hold those gold $500 bills in your hands. But these crypto coins are allegedly mined out of the air and only exist in digital hyperspace. And what’s worse, once the first dude started digitally “mining” his Monopoly money, other people decided to create their own version of Monopoly money. So, now you have different versions of the fake cash.

Now, of course, those crypto maniacs will dismiss my assessment as coming from a “boomer” who just doesn’t understand the new cool, whiz-bang method of commerce. Well, at least I know better than try to use Monopoly money to buy goods at the 5-and-10, uh, I mean Costco.

Now I admit cryptocurrency could work. But there is one huge problem: You gotta use real money to buy the fake money. Now let me get this straight. You guys are using real money to buy fake money so you can have fun spending and trading the phony money. But what happens when people realize that the emperor has no cash? I think it’s call crypto because it buries your common sense in a crypt. A better name is gypto, because, eventually, you’ll get gypped. 

Gypped By A Modern Day Gypsy

Which brings us to the modern gypsy, Sam Bankman-Friend, founder of FTX. The FTX’s $32 billion in Monopoly money just went poof! And then the real money at the firm disappeared – well, not literally – someone ran off with it.

What happened? Well, Sammy blames his girlfriend. Now it's been reported that it was his “on and off” girlfriend. Now that’s true – he was on her – then he was off her. But then he was on another woman. Reportedly the FTX office was a polyamorous playground where people were all playing a variety of holes – kinda like a sexual golf course. So this particular woman was his “girlfriend” on Tuesday/Thursday, but the rest of the week he was out swinging his club at other holes.

Sammie recently said that the company failed because he got cocky. So FTX resembled a hippie commune with everybody at the office boinking each other when they weren’t trading Monopoly money. Now realize a lot of the boinking was taking place in the actual office. So, you would suppose some of the conference rooms had beds instead of tables. This would also impact productivity. I can’t meet at ten, I’m boinking Carol. Let’s make it three, I’m free after boinking Monica. 

Now Sam put, ah, let’s call her Miss Tuesday/Thursday (I heard Miss Wednesday was into goth and kinda spooky) in charge of an essential division of FTX. This was a smooth move because by the looks of her, she was the smartest woman in the harem. But I have to guess, the other  women getting boinked there may have been a tad better looking than Tuesday-Thursday. As appearances go, if you have seen pictures of Sammy, you know these women were only boinking him for the crypto. 

Sammy

And mixing all this sex, especially hippie sex will business, jealousy and $32 billion of crypto together was sure to cause big problems. It was very lame for Sammy to blame Tuesday/Thursday for the company's collapse. You set the thing up. You were in charge. You were the CBO – chief boinking officer.

Who’s to say that Sam decided to boink the big-breasted Jennifer in accounting on Tuesday, allured by her tight jeans and plunging neckline that day? In response, Miss Tuesday/Thursday may have said, “Bite me bitecoin boy! I’m crashing your company, and now poor Jennifer has nothing to count!”

In a recent interview, Sammy said, “I think I got a little cocky — I mean, more than a little bit.” Well duh! You got cocky all right! You were cocking every woman in the office, at the office. It was a literal cockfest. Instead of having your head in that $32 billion business, your head was buried deep in, ah, deep in …. Well let's say it wasn’t quite buried in the sand, but you were completely distracted, as it were.

You just can’t be boinking all the women in the company, especially if some of them are in critical positions, uh, I mean jobs. You don’t want any of them blowing job responsibilities, do you? Sammy, don’t you know anything about women? Of course, you don’t! You’re only thirty years old.

A Bad Combination

You mix billions of dollars, hippie commune sex, and Monopoly money together, and this all unraveled like a cheap sweater. And no one is boinking Sammy anymore since his crypto shrank. Even Cher could have seen this one coming, as you ended up with gypsies, tramps, and thieves. If you trusted this chubby 30-year-old to be your banker – even if his name is “Bankman”, you deserve to lose all your money.

Oh, and Don, you were a wise enough investor not to lose all your money in this scheme, right? Absolutely, I wanted to play investments with all the cool kids, so I only invested in what they said was the “safe way to invest in crypto.” So I didn’t lose it all. I’m only down 83% on my investment! I just need that banker guy from the Monopoly game to start printing some more money, and I will be well again.

 

 

 

 

 

Cat-Like Reflexes on the Internet

Isn’t it great to live in this high-tech era?!!! Modern technology is by far the most advanced in the history of the world. And that makes us the most sophisticated, refined, intellectual culture ever! Right? Oh, ahhhh, wait a minute on that one.

Well, the problem is that we remain homo sapiens, and despite all the new wired technology, and even wireless technology, we are all still wired as humans. Humans with natural reactions, obsessions, behaviors, and emotions. And sometimes bad things happen when the new world suddenly encounters the ancient world.

For example, we revert to being cavemen on Twitter (and sometimes Facebook), throwing all sorts of rocks at our perceived enemies when they disagree with us. Sometimes the conflicts escalate, and combatants start figurately clubbing each other as hard as they can.

On Instagram, women compete for “loves” (hearts) by posing in various sexual contortions and adornments. I’m not slut-shaming, but they resemble “bitches in heat” from the animal kingdom. Forgive my ignorance, but I learned everything about animal mating from a guy named Marlin Perkins.

Marlin: Oh, look! The female wildebeest has laid down in the middle of the field with her legs spread up in the air. The male wildebeest emerges from the brush and spots the female. What will happen next, children? But wait, it’s now time for a word from our sponsors, Mutual of Omaha.

On Facebook, we get a psychological boost when our posts get a lot of “Likes”. Some psychologists claim the feeling of collecting “likes” is similar to winning money. This, of course, feeds our primal need to be liked. This need exists either to cause us to treat our fellow man better, or to keep us from getting killed – probably a combination of both.

But one thing on the Internet has turned everyone into cats. Cats are easily distracted by funny objects. It’s something out of place, something hanging in the air, something foreign spotted in the vicinity shiny objects, laser pointers, and even balls of yarn. The cats feel the need to examine the item, bat it, bite it, hiss at it, and explore it. Yes, they are curious creatures, and sometimes curiosity indeed kills the cat.

We Are All Cats Now

You go on the Internet for a specific reason, but you may never get there – because of clickbait. The funny object – the headline - piques your curiosity – and you become as curious as that proverbial cat. You need to send that important email but ….. 

Dakota Johnson Just Wore a Sheer Gown Showing Off Her Sculpted Legs and Butt!

Well, maybe that email can wait because I’ve never seen a sculpted butt before. And just how sheer is that gown anyway?

Okay, where was I? Oh yes, the email … and boom!

Shakira Attacked by Wild Boars While Visting Park With 8-Year-Old Son

Crickey! I hope she’s okay. How did the boars get there, and what about the kid?

Woman With Humongous Breasts Has Trouble Sleeping and Getting Through Doorways!

Poor Woman! I wonder how big they are?

Kaley Cuoco Shows Off Her Super Toned Legs in a Gorgeous Mini Dress

I wonder how toned is super toned, and how can the dress be gorgeous if it contains so little fabric?

Dupa Lipa Wore a See-Through Fishnet Dress with a Pink Thong and Patrick Star Pasties

Fishnets, thongs, and pasties! It’s a trifecta!!!!!!!

Ya Gotta Show Some Restraint

Unless you show some restraint, you can log on in the morning, and before you know it - you

CLICK, CLICK, CLICK your way into the afternoon.

I will admit it was a distraction when I worked at home. Let’s say I was writing a report and had to look up the current GDP figures. I log on, and right on the landing page is:

Iggy Azalea Flaunts Her Show-Stopping Derriere on Stage in San Diego 

If that derriere can stop a whole show, how can it not stop my work?

GDP or derriere?

GDP or derriere?

GDP or derriere?

Am I a respected industry analyst or a cat? I should not have to make this choice!

To click, or not to click? – that is the 21^st-century question.

Resisting the Cat-like Reflexes

The cat can’t resist the weird objects – it’s a biological response. But we, being much more intelligent than a cat, can surely realize that those clickbait headlines are always way overexaggerated and stop clicking on them so much, right? Meooooooow!

I must have been able to resist most of those feline temptations since I always got my work in before the deadline. Although they know how to get you to take the bait ….

Study Shows Gorgeous Women Think Bald Guys Are The Sexiest!

Okay, I’m reasonably sure that I clicked on that one.

But I have much more to write about on this subject, for example .. Whoa, whoa, whoaaaaa!!!!!

Research Indicates Eating Large Amounts of Tuna Cures Cancer!

 

 

 

Tom Brady’s Ego Isn’t the Only Thing That’s Deflated

Everyone is heartbroken over the recent divorce of Gisele Bundchen and Tom Brady. This was the grown-up equivalent of the high school quarterback paired with the homecoming queen, except unlike then, where that coupling was doomed to fail, they actually made it work for 13 years, producing two offspring.

Don – The Relationship Expert – Explains It All

There has been much speculation about why the marriage ended. Of course, being an expert in male-female relationships, I know the real reason for the break-up.

It was all a result of Tom losing at the game of: How Mad Will She Get? All husbands play this game, some more than others. Frequently a husband will want to do something, buy something, go somewhere, etc., that his wife disapproves of. Then the husband has to decide if he is going to do the action anyway, based on how fizzed his wife will get.

Now at this point, you women out there will think this is the dumbest thing ever – “Why would anyone ever play a game that leads to your wife getting upset? That is so stupid!” Well, remember, ladies, we are men – with man-brains – and we actually enjoy doing foolish stuff. And besides that, if we didn’t do anything our wives disapproved of, we would have no fun at all.

So, when we are told we can’t do something, we calculate how much heat we will get if we disregard our wives' wishes and do it anyway. In the advanced version of the game, the husband tries to figure out what action he might take to mollify his wife’s resultant anger. Maybe a nice dinner, some flowers, or some extended time “between the sheets”- which is usually just wishful thinking. Yes, the game, and the big question is: How Mad Will She Get?

Here is an example: A husband is excited because a college friend is visiting from out of town, and two other local college chums want him to play golf on Sunday afternoon. But then his wife reminds him there is a get-together with her side of the family that same day. The guy would so much like to play golf with his buddies rather than waste a perfect golfing afternoon spending time with his wife’s crazy aunt Zelda cackling on about her inflamed bunions. Of course, his wife fully expects him to attend the party because it is the polite, respectable, and civilized thing to do.

But now the husband must predict his wife’s anger level if he golfs with the guys. Of course, being the conniving male he is, he will ALWAYS underestimate her level of anger and overestimate his ability to balance it out. He may even think she will “forget it even happened” at some point. – Bawaaah, bawaaaaaaaaaaaah, ba-double-waaaaaaaaaa!

So, the guy will make the mental calculation and go golfing. What he doesn’t, and never understands, is this is much more than just a family event to his wife. There are all sorts of emotions, feelings, bonding, and female stuff that go into this that will be greatly diminished if he’s not there. Also, everyone at the party will end up hating him. The women there will resent the implication that he would rather golf than be with them – which is actually true. And the men will hate him more because he is out having fun while they are stuck at the boring get-together listening to stories about bunions and other family dribble. The women are also upset because they empathize with the wife’s feeling of abandonment. Ahh, so sad.

Now, if the husband didn’t golf, he would be forced to tell his friends that his wife wouldn’t let him go. Of course, he has a good reason. But he would still wonder if they would laugh at him, or even call him a pu$$y on the golf course. Decline enough of these invitations, and you could lose your “man-card” and maybe even stop getting invited to these “guy” events. So no, ladies, declining the invitation is not an “easy choice”. 

Brady Loses At This Game

Apparently, Gisele had been hounding Brady for years to retire and spend more time with the family. She was delighted when Brady retired at the end of last season, but was enraged when he unretired just a few weeks later.

It appears Brady severely underestimated Gisele’s level of anger, and lost at the game of: How Mad Will She Get? I mean, yes, your wife will get mad, but you never want to make her mad enough to leave you.

Don, are you telling me that a guy with seven Super Bowl rings, the greatest quarterback ever, someone that can figure out how to defeat the Tampa 2 defensive scheme with an extra safety in the slot, just lost the How Mad Will She Get? game because he can’t figure out his wife? Yeah, because it doesn’t matter how experienced, intelligent and observant you are, you still can’t figure out your wife.

Brady Loses A Second Time

The other miscalculation Brady made was not accepting the fact that his skills had diminished. No true guy will admit they that can’t perform like they used to. They will believe in their man-brains that they are still 25 years-old but fail miserably and embarrassingly. It’s never pretty, always disappointing, and keeps orthopedic clinics in business. Brady is 45 years old and well past his prime. Gisele was correct, he should have stayed retired.

If you doubt this, Brady is rated the 16th best quarterback in the league, which is pathetic compared to his glory years. Of course, there is another important factor besides just age affecting things here. You see, Brady was married to Gisele for 13 years, and was accustomed to getting some, uh smokin’ hot … ah, some wet, @$$ … uh … some wang, dang, sweet, uh. Let’s just say he was used to getting some “Gisele”. Talk about having deflated balls! They were deflated and blue at the same time! When are used to getting some “Gisele” and then suddenly you are not getting any “Gisele” you ain’t going to be able to throw straight. It’s a wonder he can even throw at all! Too old and not getting any “Gisele”; Brady was doomed before he started his comeback.

Don Simply Explains It All

So there you have it, people. The divorce resulted from losing the: How Mad Will She Get? Game, which all husbands play. And Brady’s disappointing performance on the field is being caused by his age and having to play with severely deflated balls.

 

 

 

 

Working Hard On Retirement

My friend Don, the same name and age as me, didn’t feel like going to work one Monday, so he called off sick. The next day, he still didn’t feel like going to work, so he called off “retired”. Yep, just up and left. Wham, bam, thank you mammoth corporation, I’m outta here. Good for him!

He was not being irresponsible. He had just suffered a traumatic life event, and the nature of his job and the company was such that he would be missed as a person, but his quick departure did not put his company in a bind. And I envy him. I envy him so very, very much. Because retirement shouldn’t be complicated. It should be so simple, and it is for most people. But if you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you know I ain’t most people.

February 2020

I have a video meeting with the company president and the HR manager (they're located in Indiana) and inform them of my plan to retire on April 30, 2021. I intend to retire two years early to write full-time and publish more books. This retirement date was previously negotiated with my wife, who was initially afraid that I wanted to lounge around watching Netflix and eating Cheetos all day while she continued to work. But the plan was workable and fit perfectly with our personal situation. It was a great plan. Such a great plan. 

The people on the call were disappointed to hear the news but understood why I wanted to write full-time. In effect, I was giving them 14 months’ notice. Because my job involves specialized skills, they would take time to recruit, followed by several months of training. I gave them extended time so they would not be pressured and the transition would be smooth. I repeated several times during the meeting that the timeline was “very flexible” and could be easily changed if needed. Yes, flexible. Highly flexible. As flexible as a Russian gymnast! This was such a great plan. One of the best plans I have ever created.

March 2020

On Friday the 13^th , that things came to a stop in Ohio, and soon the entire nation. We done got coron-ned. Everything got shut down, and we masked up, sheltered in place, and wondered if we were all gonna die. It was hectic and stressful at work, and as the economy shut down, we had to put out economic and sales forecasts with virtually no reliable data. We expected that the virus would dissipate quickly – 15 Days To Slow The Spread! – but it just kept going and going, and the personal and work stress kept intensifying.

October 2020

Now it was October, I’m supposed to retire in six months, and with everything happening, I’m stressing big time. My company had banned corporate travel, and everyone in the home office was working from home. This meant the company couldn't recruit for my position nationwide. I realized there was a problem, so I called the HR manager and said I would be willing to extend my retirement, eight months, to December 31, 2021. The company was relieved they had more time to replace me and quickly agreed to my proposal.

Some of my friends thought I was a fool to do this, arguing that it was the company’s issue to deal with. Others said I did the right thing. I have been friends with my boss for 21 years, which includes 12 years before I went to work with him. So, this wasn’t just a business decision, and what would I do with more free time during a pandemic anyway?

December 2020

I get COVID so there was a chance I could die before I had a chance to retire. But it is a mild case which means I can keep moving toward by goal.

I’m still feeling lousy, when I get a call from the chief douchebag officer (the only douchebag who worked for the company, by the way) to give me my year-end work review. During the call he says condescending douchebagian voice, “Now, I don’t mind if you work until the end of 2021.” This angered me and I almost replied, “Oh yeah, well I just moved up, to let’s say NOW!” A variation of my friend Don’s technique. I just held my tongue and thought, “what an utter douchbag he is!”. Fortunately, the company disposed of the douchebag several months later (flushed him right out of the company), and surprisingly, I didn’t have a problem with that!

June 2021

It looked like the pandemic was ending and I was so excited! The company president announced to everyone that I was planning to retire at the end of the year. He told them the recruiting process would commence soon. Yes! It was public, baby! I was getting to retirement! I could see the light. Freedom was right there for the taking. Whooo! Whooo! Post that job, interview those candidates, extend that offer and soon – I’m outta here!!!! Do I want to retire? Indeed I do!

September 2021

In August, before the recruiting process gained any traction, we got coron-ned once again. Our big freight conference, which I thought would be my last big presentation, got canceled for the second year in a row. The company travel ban, which had been rescinded in May, was reactivated.

What to do now? Not an easy call. After much thought, I called the HR Manager and told her that the December 31, 2021 date was now a soft deadline. Yes, they could meet it if they wanted, but I knew they couldn’t. Once again, I expected the virus to fade and to end up retiring around March 31, 2022. The various COVID variants just kept making people sick, which meant recruiting for my replacement didn’t begin until January 2022.

April 2022

They hire my replacement, and training begins. Because we are this far into 2022, it makes sense for the company and me to have me do the presentations at our big conference in September and retire at the end of that month.

My replacement is a millennial. Now I know you have read about the work habits of this group and probably believe the claims have been greatly exaggerated. All I will say is that when the millennials are old enough to start taking positions of authority in the business world – YOU ARE ALL SO SCREWED. I say you because I am now retired and fortunately, I probably won’t live long enough to watch them muck it all up. 

September 2022

I gave my final presentations at the conference and said my painful goodbyes. I wrapped up everything in the last two weeks of the month and actually edited a report on my final day. Yes, I was able to retire on September 30, 2022. Just 17 months late, after two delays. I’m not sure if I would have been ready to retire in April 2021, but I am really ready now!

Now

Yes, it feels good to be retired. Fortunately, my blood pressure dropped significantly soon after I stopped having to train the millennial. And I am so glad I was able to retire when the stock market is doing so well. I am not lounging around doing nothing as my wife once feared, however, I must say that those new Cheetos flavors are rather tasty, I do admire the wisdom of Judge Judy, and some of those Netflix documentaries are very educational.

 

 

 

Don't Get Caught Napping When Fate Intervenes

My alma mater, the University of Akron, made front-page news (yes, really) by purchasing four “nap-pods”. The nap-pods provide a calm, dark, relaxing environment so students can relieve stress by napping at three locations around campus. The nap-pods are a cross between a dental chair and a privacy dome, with soft music and soothing messages piped in to enhance the napping experience.

While millennials think this “so Gucci” and “lit”, my generation surprisingly has a different take. The comments on social media bemoaned that the soft kids of today even need a safe-space to take a nap. A few germaphobes also objected to the pods not being sanitary.

My complaint is the pods cost $13,000 each, which for you math-challenged millennials out there, is $52,000 total. When I posted this information on the discussion thread, several alums were concerned their donations to the university paid for the ridiculous contraptions. I quickly assured them this was not the case. “Excess Covid-relief funds paid for the pods. So, your donations were not wasted on this, just your tax dollars.”

Seems to me, you could have taken some excess classrooms, bought some cots, and provided scores of nap stations for much less than $52,000. Now, you may have to pay for “room monitors”. Setting up “sleep opportunities” on a campus filled with horny college students does have its drawbacks. Maybe buy some really flimsy cots and put some type of alarm devise underneath. So, if these cots collapsed for any unknown “sleeping-related” reason, the room monitor could be alerted that students were literally “sleeping together”. “All right! Break it up! And put that thing back in your pants!”

Of course, I will bet you a year’s salary that eventually, two students will attempt to “rock the pod” so to speak. So, that’s going to be a problem regardless.

Old-School Alternatives

The “old-timers” pointed out in the thread that “in their day”, students would nap in the library and a place called Summit Lounge. I remember during my days there, students would curl up in the corners of the library using their book bag as a pillow or sleep face down in the carrels. I guess that’s where the rest of the students will continue to nap when all four sleep pods are occupied. 

But alas, Summit Lounge is long gone. The large room was originally built in the 1950’s as part of a new addition to the existing student center. It was used as an auditorium and stage. When they built a new student center they connected it to the most recent addition and the room became  “Summit Lounge”. It contained one and two-person upholstered red chairs, as well as a few round tables for gathering or studying.

The lighting was dim, and students talked in hushed tones, so there were always students curling up in the more extended seats to take naps. Some couples even used the far corners of the room for “making out”, resulting in the place getting the nickname “Smut Lounge”. And I doubt if those chairs had been cleaned since the 1950’s, so I guess we didn’t care about the germs as much as people today. Well, we survived, so I guess the boomers are tougher in that regard, also.

So them sleep pods are one of those whiz-bang, doo-hickeys that the older generation just doesn’t understand. And paying $13,000 for a high-tech cot? It really doesn’t cost anything because it was government money that always appears magically out of the air.

But One More Thing About Summit Lounge

The offices for the Buchtelite (University of Akron student newspaper) were also in what was then the old part of the student center, connected to the east end of Summit Lounge. During the spring of 1977, I was News Editor and also wrote my Ake’s Pains humor column, so I spent most of my free time in the Buchtelite office. The nearest restroom and dining were in the new part of the student center, so I frequently had to cut through the center of Summit Lounge.  

One day in mid-April, I was dashing through Summit Lounge to the student center when a co-ed seated at a table on the aisle motioned me over. I had seen her several times before. She worked on the yearbook staff, and that office was directly across the hall from the newspaper. I would visit the yearbook office occasionally because several attractive young women were on that staff. I was interested in all of them, except for the one now calling me over. “Definitely, not my type – no interest in her at all.”

What followed was one of the strangest conversations of my life. She invited me to sit down and said she thought we should be a couple and waited for my response. I had never even spoken to her before, and the request was outrageous, like something happening on the third-grade playground.

I’m sitting down, so I can’t run away as I would have done on the schoolyard. But three things influenced my response:  

1.    I am not rude, and it would have been rude to reject the offer out of hand.

2.    I am ridiculous, and I like ridiculous. So, I was entertained and amused by the offer.

3.    Her timing was impeccable. I was so busy that quarter, my social life was nonexistent. I had no reason or excuse for declining the offer. Except for she is “not my type,” and I had no interest at all.

“Sure, I’ll be your boyfriend,” I replied. But with that, I jumped out of the chair and bolted for the door. On my return, I didn’t cut through Summit Lounge, taking the longer route by going outside and entering from the back door.

I had not been serious with my reply, but technically I had just agreed to enter a relationship with someone I had no interest in. And the most outrageous part is I didn’t even know her name. Now I will say, I was at least amused and flattered by her request. I was failing miserably at getting the attention of all of the co-eds that I was interested in, and here this one wants to date me, and she doesn’t even know me.

There was no contact between us for the next week. I skedaddled before phone numbers were exchanged. I wasn’t necessarily avoiding her, but I thought this was all a joke and would disappear quickly. But as I cut through Summit Lounge a week later, there she was, same table, same beckoning, same chair for me.

And she started talking as if we were an actual couple. I said very little in my highly anxious state. She suggested we exchange numbers, which I didn’t want to do since I couldn’t really call her if I wanted to because I still didn’t know her name. But when she reached into her bag to find her pen, I could lean over and read her name and address on the class scheduling form on the table. After we traded phone numbers, I dashed for the door again. Well, I now have a girlfriend, and I know her name! Sounds like a great title for a country music song.

I can’t remember much about what happened right after that, but soon she suggested we go on a date. This was a reasonable request since a couple dating, should indeed go on dates. But I’m not going to plan something because I’m still not committed to anything. So, of course, she tells me we are going to a high-school musical because her brother has a leading role in it.

Now, if you would have told me I would be attending a high-school musical with this young woman a few weeks prior, it would have been laughable. But there I was, out on a date, dining with her before going to her old high school. 

The musical is “Guys and Dolls” and I of course am bored out of my mind. The room is dark and I’m not paying much attention to what’s happening. But I’m thinking I’m getting through this evening unscathed. The musical is almost over when they hit the 27^th song out of 30. It is titled “Marry the Man Today”. During this song, she grabs and squeezes my arm. I look at her, and it is one of those desirous stares a woman gives when she really wants something. Suddenly, the fun and games were over. This just got real – much too real. Got too real – really fast.

Oh, no. Oh, HECK no. I didn’t sign up for any of this nonsense. Implying you want to marry me on the first date when we basically just met. Way, way, too much. This has got to end now. Right now.

So, how did this ridiculous, bizarre relationship end? Well, life and love are funny things, aren’t they? Sometimes both spin out of your control, and you just have to go where they lead, no matter if you have other plans. Oh yeah, the woman’s name happens to be Dawn, and that relationship is on year 44. I tried to break up with her once, but she wouldn’t let me. And I have very fond memories of Summit Lounge.

Hey, Don! – Did you just say you “dated” your wife-to-be for a whole week before you knew her name? huh ???????

“Yes, I guess I did – I’m such a putz ….”

 

Turn Your Head And Cough

I’m having more and more trouble deciphering current events because I’m “old school”. It sounds a lot better than saying “I’m just old” and when you throw in the school part, it makes your opinions sound much more educated. But I went to school when they stuck to educating you on real stuff, and when there were only two genders.

The latest source of confusion comes from the desire of some guys to play on female sports teams. Which except for the locker room showering privileges, makes no sense to me at all. But this topic is so relevant that the Ohio legislature had to propose a bill to prevent high school and college guys from competing in female sports.

Of course, to enforce this law, “questionable” athletes could be subject to inspection, which may or may not involve “probing”. Some people protested, claiming such practices would be “too intrusive”.

Too Intrusive? Really? Let me tell you something from my old school days about intrusion. To play sports in the ’70s, you had to pass a physical. This consisted of an alleged doctor who would look at you to make sure you were breathing, had no broken limbs, and appeared healthy enough to compete in that sport. However, the final step of the procedure involved dropping your pants, and the doctor pressed two fingers tight against your gonads, and you were then instructed to turn your head and cough.  

This supposedly was done to make sure you didn’t have a hernia. Now we had no idea what a hernia was, but we speculated that if you had one, you could die if you played sports, or it wouldn’t be necessary to have a total stranger pushing hard on your nuts. The procedure was embarrassing and unpleasant. And it was more challenging to accomplish than it seems. It is difficult to breathe, let alone cough, with that much pressure on your nutsack. Unfortunately, if your first cough wasn’t strong enough, you had to cough again, and this time the pressure against your balls was increased. Trust me; your second cough was robust

because you believed your manhood, and perhaps your life was in danger.

To my knowledge, no one ever failed this test. I don’t even know if it’s truly legitimate. I certainly hope the doctor administering this procedure didn’t volunteer for this assignment and wasn’t some wacko like the quacks at Ohio and Michigan State. No, you should not enjoy holding the schweddy balls of teen boys. And you certainly didn’t want this procedure done to you either. I think they had you turn your head because if you looked straight down and saw some guy pressing your nuts, you probably would turn and run, and never be heard from again.

If someone had failed the hernia test, they would have been viciously ridiculed by the other guys. It would have been perceived that their man parts were not substantial enough to play male sports. We would have laughed and told them to try out for the girl’s team! What an insult! Ironically, today, we are talking about this very subject because some biological guys actually want to play on the girl’s team. My, my, my – how far we have gone.

So unfortunately, I have no sympathy for those females who must be verified. I don’t believe that any probing of organs is necessary. A visual inspection should be sufficient. Instead of junk in the trunk, you are looking for man-junk under the hood. It’s so easy; I could do it. I’ve had a penis all my life and am confident I could identify one, even if it were attached to a long-haired blonde named Sally.

Not that I am volunteering. There was a time when me and my adolescent friends, including you Freddy, would have tried to sneak into the girl’s locker room to catch a glimpse of some nakedness. But I am much more mature now. Infinitely more mature. Alright, I’d probably still take the job if they offered it to me. But they are not going to, so it’s a moot point.

So, I hope they just decide that a visual check is fine. But if they do catch someone with original guy parts trying to sneak onto the girl’s/woman’s team, I hope the doctor puts two fingers firmly on the nutsack and tells them to turn their head and cough. They might have a hernia, and you want to be sure to catch it now before they play sports and die.

A related story from high school….

Naddine was an exchange student from Germany. She was pleasant, but not much to look at, with her boyish figure. Some even said she had excessive body hair. But the girl was a natural athlete, and she sure could swim. She was the best swimmer the school ever had, and her times were the fastest in the entire state. Even though she was a foreigner, the community embraced her. Huge crowds attended the swim meets, and we all would yell: Go Nadds! Go Nadds! Go Nadds! Go!

Reece’s Pieces (Breaking Up Is Hard To Do)

 Think of all that we've been through

And breaking up is hard to do

They say that breaking up is hard to do*

Relationships are difficult to keep going. You’ve got the guy, and the gal,and all these differences and expectations. It’s no wonder that most couplings don’t last. In this world of online dating, the forming of relationships speeds up, and the breakups are usually quick and relatively painless. But the longer the relationship goes, the harder the breakup, and unfortunately, some of these are “bad breakups,” which can hurt deeply for an extended time.

Naturally, most of these bad breakups are the guy’s fault. I know this from extensive scientific research studies. When asked who’s responsible for bad breakups, 100% of female respondents said “the guy”. When guys are asked that question, most respond, “Uh, don’t know. Really don’t want to talk about it”. Which I will point out is NOT an admonish of guilt. But these answers explain a lot about why relationships don’t work.

So, based on that scientific research, I will concede that it’s the guy's fault in most cases. It might be because he is not attentive, too rude, unkind, watches too much sports, drinks too much beer, is not romantic enough, doesn’t listen often, etc. While women expect all these things, to be fair, it just seems like an awful lot of work, especially if the Lakers game is on. Guys also have certain urges and sometimes allow their wiener dog to run loose and not be confined to his own pen. This is a major cause of bad breakups.

But men should be more concerned about the consequences of bad breakups. Even though you may consider them the fairer, weaker sex. A woman scorned, by let’s say a “bad breakup”, is capable of some extraordinary bad behavior.

This brings us to a disturbingly true story of a young Wisconsin couple, we’ll call them Reece and Jackie, and probably the worst bad breakup of all time. We’ll just assume that Reece was at fault here. I’m not sure what he did, but trust me, it wasn’t good.

Because Jackie was broken to pieces emotionally, they found Reese in pieces literally. His upper torso was found in a storage tote. A box in Jackie’s van contained other body parts, including legs. And Reese’s head was found first, at the scene of the crime, in a bucket. That’s right, he not only kicked the bucket, but he also filled it up. Jackie started to get hacky, and the result was Reese’s pieces.

When the police asked Jackie what happened, she replied, “That is a good question.” A better question is how Jackie dismembered the body using just a bread knife with a serrated blade. But then again, women are supposed to be skilled in using kitchen utensils.  

Jackie could have gotten away with this hack job, but she forgot to take the head with her. “I can’t believe I left the head”, she lamented. Love is a matter of the head and the heart, so if you happen to cut up both, you should always keep them together. And one significant contributing factor, Jackie is a meth-head and had smoked some strong methamphetamine before breaking up with Reece and then breaking him up.

The Lesson

Guys, we can all learn something from Reece. That would be nice, because then he wouldn’t have died in vain and had all his pieces-parts and organs strewn around Wisconsin. The lesson here is to be much kinder, gentler, and more civil to your woman. Because if you really fizz her off and she is as skilled with a serrated bread knife as Jackie, you may truly find out that breaking up is hard to do. Also, if you happen to be an organ donor, it will take a search party, including some hounds, for your donation to be collected.

Also, based on this story, you might want to avoid women who are meth-heads for dating partners. It seems that meth-fueled rage is a little over the top, and you could find, we’ll they could find, your head in a bucket. Now I know you think you can spot a meth-head by her appearance, but you cannot. The mug shot of Jackie is quite attractive. Wayne and Garth might describe her as “babelicious”.

So guys, good luck with those relationships! Remember, kinder, gentler, more respectful, more attentive, etc. And maybe keep the bread knives, and buckets, for that matter, out of sight. 

Don't put your knife inside my jaw

Don't you leave my heart in Waukesha

If I’m dead then I'll be blue

'Cause breaking up is hard to do*

 

‘* Lyrics by Neil Sedaka

Do I Look Like A Felon?

It seems they are repairing all of Akron expressway system at the same time. So, I was disappointed but not surprised to find the entrance ramp near the basketball arena closed one night after the game. The next best ramp is almost three miles south through the city. It’s not the best part of town at night, but it’s not the worst. And there is usually a police presence. But that night, the police were a bit to presency.

I was about a half-mile into my detour when I noticed a police car sitting on the side street to my left. A car went past that intersection, coming towards me. Suddenly, the flashing lights appeared, and the police car moved ahead and began to turn right following that car. I slowed down when the lights flashed. As soon as the police car began to turn right, I returned to normal speed, in what is probably a 35-mph zone.

However, I was startled seconds later when the flashing lights blinded me in my rear-view mirror. I pull over and stop, bewildered by this turn of events. I’m thinking that maybe I have a burned-out headlight or something.  

I lower my window as Officer Dekveed, (I’m being as polite as possible) approached:

Me: Yes, officer?

Officer Dekveed: MY LIGHTS ARE FLASHING. YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO STOP. DID YOU SEE MY LIGHTS FLASHING?

(Whoa, this young mid-20s police-kid was out of control)

Me: Yes

Officer Dekveed: THEN WHY DID YOU NOT STOP?

Me: I saw the car go right past you before your lights came on, and I assumed you were stopping that car for some reason. (Keeping my voice calm, even, and respectful)

Officer Dekveed: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THAT IS WRONG!!!!!! WHEN MY LIGHTS ARE FLASHING, YOU STOP, AND YOU STOP NOW!

At this point, I realized this was a serious situation. I had done nothing wrong, yet this police officer was furious with me. I then had to remove all emotion from my face and speech. Do you know how difficult being non-emotive is for me? I’ve written a post on how I naturally smirk when I think something is bull$h!+. And this was a major pile of bull$h!+. I am also very expressive in my speech; it’s woven tightly in my DNA. But from this point forward, every word was delivered robotically with a straight face. I am naturally so expressive that it physically hurts me to show no emotion. And it hurt, it hurt so much!

Officer Dekveed: DO YOU HAVE A VALID DRIVER’S LICENSE?

I gave him my license. He examined it, AND THEN he took it back to the patrol car to investigate me. Yes, he was actually running my license through the system. I did smirk when I imagined him staring at the blank screen, perhaps refreshing it when he saw no points, no priors, no violations, nothing.

But as I waited for him to return, I noted that he was highly sarcastic when asking if I had a “valid” license. It might be the tone you would use when asking that question to a 10-year old. Or perhaps to someone that had caused a 9-car pileup after doing 110 mph. It was strange that he would be so cynical in his attitude.

And then my light came on. He was baiting me. From the moment he approached my car and began berating me, he was trying to elicit a negative response. He wanted me to yell back. He wanted me to argue about stopping when the lights are flashing. He wanted me to lose my cool and say or do something stupid. Then, I guess, he would order me out of the car, and I would be charged with whatever.

But I instinctively did not take the bait. You see, this guy was a good baiter. He kept trying to bait me and he failed. Why? Well, he was trying to bait a baiter. Throughout my business career, I would bait the jack@$$es I worked with into overreacting in a inappropriate, yet humorous way. It’s how I got my kicks. My favorite technique was to ask a question that I (and other people present) already knew the answer to and then try to keep a straight face when the person lied or bull$h!tted when answering.

You see, Officer Dekveed may be a skilled baiter, but I am a master baiter. I am the best master baiter there is! You can’t find a better master baiter than me. And best yet, I can turn into a huge master baiter on a moment's notice. Yep, Officer Dekveed had tried to beat (off) a master baiter at his own game and came up flaccid.

Finally, yes FINALLY, Officer Dekveed returned with my license. It took him long enough. After coming up blank, perhaps he Googled me.

I would have expected Officer Dekveed to have calmed down at some point, but he was abrasive and belligerent the entire time. He treated me like I’m a felon. Do I look like a felon, dressed for a basketball game, out with my wife, and driving an SUV?

And so, the baiting continued …

Officer Dekveed: YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO STOP WHEN YOU SEE THE FLASHING LIGHTS, CORRECT?

Me: Yes

Officer Dekveed: I WANT YOU TO SAY IT NOW! WHAT ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO DO?

Me: (In the most robotic voice possible) When I see the flashing lights, I am supposed to stop.

At that, he quickly left and returned to his cruiser.

I noted that he never asked me about anything else. This means there was no reason for him to activate his flashers as I approached. I was driving the speed limit and certainly didn’t look suspicious – I drive a Subaru, for Pete’s sake! Okay, maybe a Subaru in that neighborhood at night is suspect. I so wanted to ask him why he had put on his flashers in the first place, but of course, that’s what he wanted me to do, and I was too much of a master baiter to fall for that trap. If I wanted more evidence that this detainment was totally bogus, he sped away fast – too fast for me to get the cruiser number, unfortunately.

And Now For The Serious Part

I was stopped at night, for no reason, miles from my home. The policeman had a belligerent attitude. Was I scared? Of course, I was. And scared people say stupid stuff and do stupid stuff. And this is what the police officer wanted to happen for some unknown reason, but it didn’t because I was able to keep my composure. Now imagine if I were black. My level of fear would have been off the charts. We suburbanites tend to dismiss those problems because they seldom happen near our homes.

I’m all about “Backing the Blue” but we need to recognize that some police officers do sometimes behave badly, and everyone would benefit, no matter our color, if this behavior can be improved. This is the real reform that is needed to improve our society and should not be political in any way.

I do not want the overzealous young gun who stopped me to be fired. However, I would welcome the opportunity to explain to him why his behavior was improper and the possible adverse outcomes which could occur.

And that’s all I got to say about that ……