Gentlemen Prefer Brains?

A few years ago Zogby International did a survey of 2,900 adult males and asked them what body part was most important on “the perfect woman”.  The respondents selected “heart” as their favorite body part with “brain” coming in a very close second. That’s right; men look for kindness and intelligence in their perfect woman ahead of those other superficial characteristics!  Legs finished sixth, behind teeth.  Buttocks were tied with eyes for seventh and breasts were way back in tenth, just below hair. (I am not making this up!)

This survey may not be valid in determining what men really look for in a perfect woman, but it was very effective in demonstrating something women already know.  Men lie.  And on this survey, the men were lying big time.  Brains?  Men like big brains? ZZ Top never sang “She’s Got Brains” and Sir Mix-A-Lot never rapped “I like big brains and I can not lie”.

Saying men prefer brains is not only a lie, it is the very opposite of the truth. Brainy women are not desirable to many men.  I know this should not be the case, but that’s just how it is.  Now you may think men are intimidated by smart women or it is a male ego thing that a man doesn’t want his woman to be smarter than he is, but I think it is more practical than that.

It all goes back to the fact that men lie.  And if men lie, then don’t want a woman that is so smart that they will always catch them in the lies.  The smarter the wife, the better your lies have to be and the more likely you will get caught lying.  If men can’t effectively lie to their wives, they will always be getting yelled at and they won’t be able to have any fun.  And these things are not good for a long-term relationship.

But while men lie about what they want in a woman, I believe women really don’t know what they want in a man.  They know it when they find it, but I don’t think they can express it.  It is more of a reaction that may even be based on such factors as body odor as several scientific studies have indicated.  (And Old Spice wants you to totally mask it!)

Several surveys have shown that most women say they want a man with “a sense of humor”.  And as a guy with a “very large” sense of humor, a humor stud as it were, I can tell you that is pure bull.  This answer sounds better than “I don’t know” but it is also false. 

And just like the men’s “brain” answer, women really don’t want a man with an enhanced sense of humor. 

Why?

-          At a family gathering the guy might say something that he thinks is funny, but it is very insulting to the woman’s grandmother who then doesn’t smile again the rest of the day.  Women don’t want that.

-          After a hot sexual interlude, the guy cracks a joke about the experience that totally “ruins the mood”.  Women don’t want that.

-          The man makes what he thinks is a witty comment about his wife in public that other people think is hilariously funny.  After they get home, the man finds out that the comment was not very funny at all.  Women don’t want that.

-          The man jokes at dinner with the hot, young, waitress.  She finds him very funny so he keeps cracking jokes.  She laughs so hard that her, that her, that her “brains” start bouncing up and down.  Women really don’t want that.

(One can only wonder how a man can be so witty, yet be so insensitive.  What a cad this guy is!)

So men lie about what they want in a relationship and women don’t really know.  This may explain why lasting relationships are so difficult to find.  My advice would be this:  If you are man and find a woman who is crazy about you, you might want to disregard some of her physical “deficiencies” and perhaps shower less.

If you are a woman and you find a guy who appreciates your intelligence and is not intimidated by your brain, latch on to him and don’t let him go.  Also, let him get away with a lie once and a while.     

This Retirement Plan Really Does Blow Smoke

When I saw that no one was going to smoke dope at my high school reunion party (the subject of my last post), I realized something very profound.  My classmates are in the life stage between “smoking recreational marijuana and smoking medical marijuana”.

And there will be mass quantities of medical marijuana in our future.  Because “medical” marijuana exists, the baby boomer generation will want to smoke it.  And baby boomers are very accustomed to getting what we want because we are so big, you cannot stop us.  We are like the Godzilla of generations.  

Now everyone knows that “medical” marijuana is a joke.  It has no medicinal value at all.  But when people smoke it, they get so high that they forget that they are sick at all.  You really have to hand it to the hippies in California though.  They found a way to smoke dope legally and get the government to pay for it.  The government even rolls the joints for them.  This proves that dope-smoking hippies are smarter than our government, but you probably knew that already.

But when enough aging baby boomers retire and start getting more ailments, they are going to demand medical marijuana.  And I say we give it to them.  Medical marijuana is already legal in 15 states and the baby boomers will demand it made legal in all 50.

I don’t think that medical marijuana for old people is a new concept.  How many times have you seen photos of men in the Arab world smoking hashish from a hookah?  These guys are always old (they have gained respect and access to the hookah), have very long beards (if you take time to shave in the morning, someone might beat you to the hookah) and are sitting on the floor (you don’t want to fall out of a chair when you pass out from the hashish).

So I think a whole new medical plan should be developed for old people who want to smoke medical marijuana.  I would call it Medicare Part Do-B.  This sure beats the hell out of Obamacare. Actually it is the opposite of that plan since it was the developers of Obamacare who were the ones smoking dope.

Of course enrollment in the new Part Do-B would be entirely voluntary.  But I think it would be very popular.  If your doctor says he could prescribe the newest prescription drug which might help your condition but it has side effects of explosive diarrhea, enflamed hemorrhoids, swollen testicles, and an insatiable desire to listen to Neil Diamond songs or you could just smoke weed, many people are going to choose the weed.

I know that I am advocating legalized pot for old people, but the arguments against total legalization don’t apply here.  Senior citizens are not going to move on to harder drugs.  They are not going to become criminals to support their habit.  They are not going to ruin their lives, nor will they become dealers.  All participants in Medicare Part Do-B will have to surrender their driver’s licenses to get their dope.

And old people take plenty of expensive drugs now.  In the last years of her life, my mother took a long list of prescription drugs for a variety of conditions.  Her doctors and nurses actually expected me know every medicine she was taking and what is was for.  The list was so long that when I was asked if my mother was taking a specific drug, I would answer “probably” which always really ticked them off.

So you could replace all these drugs with weed.  Sure some people would die sooner, but they would sure as hell die happy.  And if you have spent any time visiting someone in a nursing home, you know that dying happy is probably underrated.  You would have to invent a hookah device with extensive safety features or nursing homes across the country would go up in flames. 

On the positive side, the cost savings could save Medicare.  Medical marijuana would become a big cash crop that would create thousands of jobs which would help the unemployment problem.  Finally, you could heavily tax it and plow the money into the social security fund and help resolve that problem as well.

The biggest issue left is the stigma associated with the term “medical marijuana”.  So we need a new, medically oriented, name.  I would use Weedburnzadox.  You know a prescription medicine is good if it has a “Z” or an “X “in the name and this one has both. 

Of course there will be commercials extolling the great benefits of this “new” drug that features a unique incendiary delivery system that enables it to enter your blood stream quickly through the lungs to provide fast relief.  Common side effects include anxiety attacks, cotton mouth and the munchies.

Ask your doctor (or your friend Cheech) if Weedburnzadox is right for you.

No, No, No, No, We Don’t Smoke It No More

Recently I organized a 35-year reunion party for my high school class.  We were meeting at the outdoor pavilion of a local restaurant and I was very nervous before the event.  Not because it was a class reunion and we had not gotten together in 15 years.  No, I was nervous because our class had a bunch of wild party animals that were known for their outrageous behavior.  Our unofficial class slogan was “Party Hard! – Then Party Some More”.  The teachers and principals all had big smiles as they waved goodbye to us at graduation.  They were not happy for us for attaining a diploma.  They were smiling because the school was still standing and that they all still had jobs.  They were thinking: Get the hell out of here!

I was very concerned that during the festivities a group of guys would gather at the edge of the grounds and light up some joints.  I thought about how I would handle that situation and what I might tell the officer who came to arrest us all.  I imagined what my mug shot would look like in the morning paper with the caption: “Organizer of the biggest pot party in Akron in years”.

But my fears were totally unfounded.  The class had changed much in the last 15 years.  We were mellow.  Naturally mellow.  No need for any pot smoking to mellow out now.  I think if anyone would have lit a doobie, they would have been ready for a nap.

But nobody toked, few people even smoked.  No one even came close to even drinking too much.  In a strange way it was disappointing.  Time had done what the “authorities” had tried so hard to do, but failed.  It had turned us into, gulp, responsible citizens.

I did find out that my friend Mark was currently using some heavy drugs.  Yes, he had recently had a heart attack and he was taking daily hits of Lipitor and Plavix.   How ironic. Mark used to buy his stash behind the Walgreens, now he just casually strolls through the front door and places his order at the counter.

The discussions among classmates were different also.  Instead of comparing our sexual exploits, we compared our colonoscopy experiences (it was a probing conversation).  Instead of boasting about how many beers we could drink, bragging rights went to the people with the most grandkids.  My classmate Rob was bummed out about this one.  “Did you know that Karen has eight grandkids?  I don’t have any!”  He was really upset about this so I told him that for guys this was probably overrated.  Do you really want to be changing that many diapers again? I asked him.  No, so go have a beer.

I thought the evening might liven up when the deejay starting playing tunes and some hot chicks (from a 10-year reunion that was taking place inside the restaurant) that were dressed to kill, strutted to the outside dance floor.  You see the other activity that our class was known for was mooning.   If there had been moon rankings back then, our class would have been nationally ranked in 1976.  We had some of the best mooners in the land.  Remember, this was before camera phones and You Tube so you could shoot the moon without any evidence.   The hot, young, women presented a tempting target.

So I waited awhile but there was no moon.  I went over to Alex who was the top mooner in the class and pointed out the opportunity that presented itself.  “I don’t know Don”, he said.  “I’ve been having some serious gastric-intestinal issues lately.  I don’t really think that dropping my pants and squatting out here would be a wise thing to do.”  I told him that I agreed and quickly moved on to talk to somebody else.

But the music and young chicks did get things hopping.  When those ladies started gyrating I quickly sought out Mark and asked him for a hit of his Plavix because I felt a possible heart attack coming on.  Just then my friend Tony decided to try to dance up one of the 10-year reunion babes on the dance floor.  He tried to move like Travolta (I told him he should have moved like Jagger).  This scared the chick so bad that she bolted for the door.  I have never seen a non-hooker run that fast in 5-inch heels!

The highpoint of the evening came when we slipped the deejay a twenty to start playing 70’s tunes. (Stick it class of 2001, we got more money than you!  We got 401-Ks!  And they even had money in them until a few years ago).  So the class of ‘76 started discoing down with abandon.  I realized then that we should have had a chiropractor on site.  

Things were going well until he played “Shake Your Booty” by K.C. and the Sunshine Band.  The ladies started to shake their respective booties like it was 1976 again.  News Flash:  It isn’t 1976 no more and some booties should never be shaken.   While that scene would have given the guys a “rise in the Levi’s” during high school days, I swear it caused a slight rise in the seismograph reading that night.  I was glad we were outside so that there was no structural damage to the building.  And at this point all the younger chicks left the dance floor in a hurry, which was a good thing.  One inadvertent hip shot could have caused them serious injury.

So we did survive this reunion.  Final tally:  No hits, No moons, No earthquakes.  Not a bad night. 

A lady that I know just came from Columbia,
She smiled because I did not understand.
Then she held out some marijuana, ha ha!
She said it was the best in all the land.

And I said,
"No, no, no, no, I don't smoke it no more,
I'm tired of waking up on the floor.
No, thank you, please, it only makes me sneeze,
And then it makes it hard to find the door."

The Most Interesting Blog Post in the World

He used to smoke joints, now his joints are smoked

He still listens to K.C. & The Sunshine Band – on a 8-track player

He has more hair growing on his back, than is growing on his head

He is - the most middle-aged man in the world

I don’t eat ice cream often, but when I do, I prefer dos de cucharas (two scoops)

I don’t dance often, but when I do, I prefer the dos paso (two step)

I don't drive sports cars often, but when I do, I prefer dos puertas (two doors)

He can explain the benefits of a Roth IRA

He smokes a pipe – filled will legal substances

He has man-boobs that make teen-age girls envious

He is - the most middle-aged man in the world

I don’t drink Pepsi often, but when I do, I prefer dos litros (two liters)

I don’t wear glasses often, but when I do, I prefer dos vidrios (two lenses)

I don’t have threesomes often, but when I do, I prefer dos gemelas (two twins)

He knows why his wife is upset with him – without even asking

He used to play lacrosse.  Now he just drives one.

He believes corn-holing should be done in private

He is - the most middle-aged man in the world

I don’t wear footwear often, but when I do, I prefer dos zapatos (two shoes)

I don’t fly small planes often, but when I do, I prefer dos motors (two engines)

I don’t get complete physical exams often, but when I do, I prefer dos enfermeras (two nurses)

He knows how to properly hit a lob wedge

He used to go back packing.  Now he packs his back in ice.

He knows how much fiber he can eat -- without blowing out his shorts

He is - the most middle-aged man in the world

I don’t eat hamburgers often, but when I do, I prefer dos pastelillos (two patties)

I don’t shoot shotguns often, but when I do, I prefer dos canons (two barrels)

I don’t marry trophy wives often, but when I do, I prefer veintidós años de edad (22-year olds)

He has experienced the benefits of compound interest

The kids in the neighborhood call him Buddha – but not for his wisdom

He used to spend money to be authentically hip.  He now spends it on artificial hips.

He is - the most middle-aged man in the world

I don’t tee off often, but when I do, I prefer dos maderas (two woods)

I don’t play poker often, but when I do, I prefer dos ases (two aces)

I don’t use small bills often, but when I do, I prefer dos dolares (two dollars)

He can calculate his own cholesterol level

He knows the best way to prepare for a colonoscopy

He just bought a new shaver – for his ear hair

He is - the most middle-aged man in the world

I don’t use sugar often, but when I do, I prefer dos cubos (two cubes)

I don’t throw fastballs often, but when I do, I prefer dos costuras (two seamers)

I don’t wear bras often, but when I do, I prefer dos copas (two cups)

Keep breathing my friends

So You Want To Be A Dairy Princess

Recently while vacationing in central Pennsylvania I read a local newspaper article that made reference to the county “Dairy Princess”.  Since this is big dairy country, I surmised that being Dairy Princess is a great honor.  Because my mind never goes on vacation, I wondered what the qualifications for becoming a Dairy Princess are.

The one requirement evident from the article is the Dairy Princess must own a cow.  This makes sense, if you’re going to represent dairy farmers and promote “Mother Nature’s most perfect food, milk” (Stick it you vegans!), then it helps to have some hide in the game.  This also eliminates them city slicker girls with them fake nails who might just want to be Dairy Princess to pad their resume.

I’m sure there is some academic requirement and prospects probably have to write a lame essay espousing the wonders of milk.  A committee evaluates all of this and then selects the winner.  I bet even in farm country politics and favoritism affects the selection.

However if the purpose of the Dairy Princess is to promote milk, I think you can simplify the selection by focusing in on just one factor.  I would choose the applicant with the biggest milk jugs.

I realize that this may seem sexist in the new millennium and this factor is already an unwritten rule by many male hiring managers in business, but it is a legitimate attribute for this job.  When people meet the Dairy Princess, you want them to have a positive opinion of milk and nothing does it better than huge milk jugs.

You want your Dairy Princess to enthusiastically promote milk.  You want her to radiate milk.  You want to exude milk.  You don’t want her to actually express milk, but it helps if she looks like she could if she had to.

I want a Dairy Princess who shops in the women’s section.  If she’s still in training, she’s not ready for prime time.   This is the mountain country of Pennsylvania so you want a mountain woman and a woman who has mountain flair. It would be udderly ridiculous to choose a Dairy Princess from the flatlands.  You need milk jugs, not milk cups.

I know this would be a radical change from the current selection process, but something tells me that problems recruiting dairy farmers for the selection committee would be a thing of the past.  No more reading boring essays.  I don’t care if the Dairy Princess is as dumb as dirt.  If you want to carry the message of milky goodness, then you need to be able to show some yourself.

Of course each contestant would need a certificate of authenticity.  Milk is a natural, wholesome, food and the Dairy Princess should have similar traits.

If your Dairy Princess carries some large milk jugs, attendance is sure to increase at all her appearances -- and that is whole point, isn’t it?  Of course all Dairy Princess outfits would need to be approved by someone.  You don’t want the dairy Princess to “bust a move” (or move a bust) at the monthly Osterburg dairy farmers meeting.  And you don’t ever want this headline: “Dairy Princess Jugs Spill Out at the County Fair – Calamity Ensues. – Local firemen able to control the overflow”.

When it comes to dairy farming it’s all about the teats and filling up your jugs.  You should expect nothing less from your Dairy Princess.

I've Still Got "It"!

But I would not be convicted
By a jury of my peers
Still crazy after all these years
--- Paul Simon

Years ago when I wrote Ake’s Pains for the Buchtelite, occasionally someone would read it, take it seriously and respond negatively.

In starting to write humor again after such a long time, of course I wondered if I still “had it”.  Fortunately, it didn’t take very long to find out.

After only my second post on what I thought was a harmless piece involving what problems could occur if we ever have a promiscuous First Lady, this appeared on the Linked In group page under the discussion where I had posted the blog link:

This is blog post is offensive, sexist, and very upsetting to me. The way this article is portrayed, the president (obviously male in a heterosexual relationship, leaving absolutely no room for a same-sex relationship), must have complete "control" over his wife (who apparently must not be attractive or have so much as an ounce of sexual drive) so that he doesn't have to "worry" about his marital relationship while managing the rest of the country.

As someone who practices in family law, with a focus on divorces and domestic violence, I believe that articles precisely like this perpetuate the objectification and dehumanization of women, which in turn enables the atmosphere that domestic violence continues to occur and flourish in.

Oh yes, I still got it.

So how did I respond?  I immediately deleted the link and discussion before someone defended me with the same intensity that I was criticized.  If the comment were sent on my actual blog page, I would have posted it. Because let’s face it, sometimes the reaction to the post are more entertaining than the post itself.

If you read the post “No First Cougars Need Apply” (June 2) you do not need to reread it, you didn’t miss anything the first time through.  If you are new to the blog, you probably do need to read the post so that you will know that I am not a domestic terrorist intent on destroying the nation from my computer.

And there will be no response to the comments now.  They say more than enough on their own.  I will say that if after reading the piece you were motivated to beat your spouse:  Bad reader.  Bad, bad, reader.  Stop it right now.

This incident reminded me of a column that I wrote for the Buchtelite back in 1977.  A student programming board accidentally ordered a porno film to show on “movie night” and a big controversy erupted.  Here is an Ake’s Pains “classic” and a letter to the editor that was written in response:

 Variety of students slighted ….RHPB vetoes porno flick

Last week in a landmark decision, the Residence Hall Programming Board (RHPB) cancelled the movie scheduled to run on campus last Thursday and Friday nights. The movie, entitled Every Inch a Lady, was cancelled by a unanimous 10-0 vote because, in the board’s opinion, the movie contained “extreme pornographic material.”

It’s hard to believe that out of 10 students on the board, everyone voted against showing the film.  RHPB president Lois Di Vencenzo added, “Any girl who would have gone to the film would have been very offended.”  But, do girls who are offended go to X-rated movies?  I know a couple girls on campus that would not have been offended by any movie; however the statement can be defended.

Suppose you go to see an X-rated flick entitled The Adventures of Little Bo Peep.  You would expect Bo Peep to “get it on” with Little Boy Blue in the corn field, but as soon as something started happening with the sheep most people would be offended.

The decision to cancel the movie was not influenced by administration or University personnel although one campus organization, Students for Metric Conversion (SMC) was strongly against the film.  SMC protested because the word “inch” was used in the title.  They thought that the title should be Every Centimeter a Lady.

When RHPB ordered the film they did not know it was hardcore pornography.  The title Every Inch a Lady was no clue to the content of the film.  For example, when I heard the title I thought the movie was about a tall lady basketball player.

 I was so puzzled by the decision that I decided to talk to some students about the movie’s cancellation.

  “Do you think your first amendment rights have been violated?” I asked a political science major.

 “Yes, but it doesn’t violate the first amendment as much as it does the second,” he said.    

 “What does the second amendment have to do with the film?” I asked.

“It gives a person the right to bare arms, legs and whatever.” he said.
           
Next I talked to biology major, “I think the film should have been shown.” She said.  It would have been a great way to learn about anatomy.”

A business major thought the film should not have been cancelled, but for a different reason.  “Can you imagine how much money that RHPB could have made?”  After the word got around the film was hard-core, it would have sold out both nights.”

One nursing student thought the movie should have been cancelled.  She also thought Star Wars should have been rated R.

RHPB has received much criticism from students for cancelling the movie, but the board is not totally to blame.  They did not want to show that type of film to start with, and were not obligated to show it.  The company that sent the film to RHPB should get most of the blame.  Contrary to campus rumors RHPB did not watch the film four straight times before stating it was obscene.

According to Di Vencenzo, the movie was cancelled not only because it was hard-core, but also because it was not entertaining. But what is entertainment?  Maybe RHPB should show the movie That’s Entertainment and see how many people show up to watch it.

No rights violated

To the Editor:

I am writing in reference to Don Ake’s story on November 4 about the cancellation of the Residence Hall Program Board movie Every Inch a Lady.  The Program Board received some advance publicity on the movie, and decided to order the film on this publicity alone.  Unfortunately, the publicity said nothing about how sexually explicit the movie was.  Upon previewing only 10 minutes of the 70-minute film, the Board decided that we had seen enough of the film to determine that it was not the kind of film that we, The Program Board, would be proud to sponsor as one of our events.

We resent Ake’s statement that he found it “hard to believe that out of ten students on the board, everyone voted against showing the film,”   We are sorry, but we are not smut peddlers.  Ake wrote an article a week earlier condemning Start Wars, saying it was hard to find the plot.  Every Inch a Lady had no plot, and was not entertaining, yet Ake seemed to want us to show it.

In conclusion, we do not feel that we violated anyone’s rights to see a pornographic movie.  Anyone can go to several places in Akron to see this type of movie.  We chose not to lower ourselves to this level.  And yes, we would be proud to show That’s Entertainment, even if no one came.  That doesn’t reflect us, only those who would rather see Every Inch a Lady.

XXXXXX XXXXX
Media Chairman, for the 197X Residence Hall Program Board

What Not To Wear: Office Version

They come runnin' just as fast as they can
Coz' every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man.

 - ZZ Top

 

Ever since my post on the man rules for wearing pink, I have been inundated with guys asking me the question:  “How do I dress for success in the office?”  Well I have never been Mr. GQ, but I do have some examples on what not to wear in business situations.

Not on the Golf Course, Not Anywhere

Years ago Engineer Mike and I made an early morning sales call on a truck service dealer in Pennsylvania.  We were wrapping up a very successful meeting when disaster almost struck.  That’s when Engineer Mike asked “So you guys are going golfing?”  He said this because one of the men was wearing one of the most hideous pairs of pants I have ever seen.  They were plaid and the most dominant color, was yes, pink. But the guy looked at Mike and said very seriously, “No we’re not going golfing.”   He obviously was confused and offended by the question and wanted an explanation why it was asked.  The true answer was that those pants you are wearing should not ever have been made, should never have been sold, should never have been bought and obviously should never have been worn by you today.

I blurted out, “We’ll it’s such a beautiful morning, we just thought you might be golfing.”  Mike then quickly changed the subject and the sale was saved.   We laughed about it for about five minutes after leaving.

(And by the way, the man rules still apply even on the golf course.  You can dress, wild, you can dress crazy, but you can’t dress pretty.  Hey Alice! Unless you are planning to hit off the ladies tees, no pink below the belt).

Plaid Is Bad

Pink plaid is wrong anywhere, but plaid is just plain bad in the office.  A co-worker named Ezra had two pairs of plaid pants (one red, one green) that were part of his office wardrobe.  He looked absurd and took a great deal of ridicule from his co-workers.  It is never a good thing when ladies are looking at your crotch area and laughing, especially when your pants are still on. 

These plaid pants are only appropriate when you are smoking a pipe and drinking wine in your study at home.  However they are still not acceptable if they in any way decrease your chances of having sex later that day. 

A man who wears plaid pants in the office.  I know what you are thinking, but you are wrong.  Ezra is caucasian, very caucasian.  He would return from a Florida vacation whiter than before he left.  Also, he is very heterosexual.  I know this because he would frequent strip clubs and brag about it.  I never got to ask him if he ever wore his plaid pants to the club.  I can’t imagine that the strippers would enjoy performing a plaid lap dance.  Of course if the stripper was wearing a plaid skirt, it would give a whole new meaning to “scotch doubles”.

Solids Aren’t “Safe” Either

One day intern Steve decided to wear his orange pants to the office.  You are probably thinking they were a dark, burnt, orange, but you would be wrong.  He looked like a freakin’ walking traffic cone.  It is the only time I have laughed out loud at someone’s pants.  Again, it should be illegal to sell pants that outrageous, but Intern Steve made the decision to buy these things and to wear them to work.  Understandably, Intern Steve did not make the cut allowing him to take his talents and his orange pants to another company. (The geekyhood of the traveling orange pants)

No Yakking

Intern Earl decided to wear a very unique, brown, furry, jacket to the company Christmas party.  When asked about his jacket, Earl proudly proclaimed that his jacket was made of “pubic hair from yaks” (I am not making this up).  I didn’t really believe him.  I reasoned that you might be able to shave a yak there once and get away with it.  The next time you touch him in that area, I think he bites your hand off.  Still, I made sure that I went through the buffet line before Earl, just in case his jacket shedded in the beef stroganoff.   Not much later, Earl and his amazing, yakkyhairy, screamcoat were sent packing.

But She’s Not Chinese

I can’t finish this post about men’s clothes without mentioning Trisha the H.R. representative.   She was kind of a “plain Jane”, but she caused quite a stir in the office because she wore men’s shoes.  I swear you could find her footwear on page four of the Thom McCann catalogue or maybe page one of the Butch McCann version.  The women in the office hated her shoes.  It was very disconcerting for them to be in the restroom and look down and see a pair of man shoes in the next stall.  That’s just too creepy.  In a Hitchcock movie the man shoes would have grown eyes to stare at the squatting victim.  Trisha’s office nickname was “manshoes” and her tenure at the company was known as The Manshoe Dynasty.

Pink Shirt, Plaid Pants

But I can’t get no one to even dance

Yak Suit, Odd Shoes

I am dressed to really lose

They go runnin' just as fast as they can
Coz' no girl's crazy 'bout a dork dressed man