I Don’t Play Dirty And I Don’t Sweat That Much

I was doing some spring cleaning when I found some relics from my past. Stuffed into the corner of the drawer were several pairs of wrist bands. Now I want to be clear, these are not fashion items or have any metrosexual implications, but are terrycloth sweatbands worn on the wrists to keep my hands free of sweat. 

In the ‘70s, these were a part of my standard basketball uniform, which included Converse high-tops, by the way. I would not go on the court without my sweatbands which I believed provided me with superhuman strength. When I wore my sweatbands, I felt just like Wonder Woman with her power bracelets - - without the heaving, prestigious breasts, of course. 

Way back, the guys in my church basketball league knew when they saw me wearing my wristbands and my headband, that I had indeed come to play. But I do want to say at this time: I was not a dirty player. I mean, this was church basketball, and thus, it is supposed to be played with a certain decorum, where you treat your opponents in a highly Christian manner. And to my best recollection, I upheld these sacred standards without fail.

However, my wife, even though she never saw me play basketball, would disagree. You see, she started attending this church later, and we would encounter someone new to her, and she would ask:

“How do you him? or “Do you know him?”

And my reply would be:

“We used to play basketball in the league. We don’t really get along.”

After about the fourth time this happened, my observant wife asked, “Why doesn’t anyone you played basketball with like you?

“I have no idea,” I proclaimed. “But I’m not a dirty player”.

Now back in the day, I may have thrown an elbow or two, but that was “old school” basketball. Nowadays, when a player gets a rebound, all those guys start slapping at the ball, sticking their fool heads right in there to pry it loose. I didn’t take kindly to dudes trying that with me. My elbows were merely a tool to help me retain possession of my rebound and they were used continuously throughout the game for that purpose. But I repeat: I was not a dirty player.

Likewise, when those little guys would try to run around me to steal a rebound, I would spot them in the periphery, and just when they thought they were by me, a subtle hip check would send them crashing into the wall behind the basket in the small gymnasium. But the wall was padded. They may have ended up stunned for a few seconds, but they didn’t break any bones. So, it was just basketball – that’s all it was – and I repeat, I was not a dirty player.

I find these new restrictive rules of the modern game, so distasteful and insulting. Everyone totally freaks out when a player throws an elbow – even if it doesn’t hit anybody!!!! Where is the fun and sport in that?

Oh! And these ridiculous flagrant fouls?  I don’t even understand what a flagrant foul is. Back in my day, if the guy didn’t have to go to the hospital, it was in no way a flagrant foul. What if the infraction drew blood? Well, that’s what towels are for.

Fortunately, I played ball in a different era. But I am proud to say that I never once fouled out of a church league basketball game. Of course, that’s because I was a master at using those elbows when the ref wasn’t looking.

Today, if I played like that, I would get thrown out of the game in the first three minutes. But that’s because they changed the rules, not because I was a dirty player. I would have also hated that dreaded video review.

So, what to do with these old wristbands? I can’t call up the old gang for a pick-up game. Once they see me with those sweatbands on, they will leave before they get elbowed.

But nobody wears these anymore; they are part of a bygone era. You never see any current players donning them – do they not sweat? I thought that perhaps I could start a retro-trend by wearing them in daily life.

I was excited to wear them on my daily walk, thinking that maybe the wristbands would impress some of the hot, young chicks in the neighborhood.

Hot, young chick: What did you do to your wrists?

Me: Nothing. These are my sweatbands. They keep my hands dry by not letting the sweat roll down my arms.

Hot, young chick: You sweat that much? Ewwwwww!

It also didn’t go as planned on the Zoom call at work. 

Boss: Ake, did you hurt your wrists?

Me: No boss, these are my sweatbands. I’m planning on working so hard this afternoon that I don’t want to get my keyboard all sweaty.

Boss: You sweat that much?

Everyone on the Zoom call: Ewwwwww!

I guess that wristbands aren’t going to make a comeback, although they are still used for tennis, and I think I last wore mine in a tennis league in the ’90s.

However, regarding basketball, the one thing you need to remember is: I was not a dirty player. I realize some people reading this may bring up the incident during church basketball where Steve, a very nice, peaceful, Christian young man with a choir-boy face, threatened to “punch my lights out” in the middle of a game. But may I point out, Steve remains my friend today.

Also, my former coworkers may refer to an incident during a Canton Corporate Cup co-ed basketball game where I sent a woman sprawling hard to the floor when she tried to drive around me for a layup. I do regret not helping her back to her feet. That counts for something, right?

Raising A Stink In North Korea

 Recently, North Korea issued its first official statement to the Biden administration and warned the United States to refrain from “causing a stink” on the Korean peninsula. (true).

What do bad smells have to do with international relations? This statement does not make sense and is silly even for the North Koreans. So, I have come up with three possible explanations for this bizarre wording. Two of these are relatively innocent, but the third – Errrrr, Errrrr (the Lurch moan) – is insulting and defaming to every proud citizen of these United States.

Explanation 1- Bad Translation

Maybe the North Koreans really meant to say something different but used a cheap translation software such as Google Translate to convert their message. I once used Google Translate to wish my Filipino Facebook friend a Happy Birthday and wound up engaged to her for a month. Such a big misunderstanding. I had to buy her family a goat to officially break the engagement, according to her village law. So “refrain from causing a stink” may just be a bad translation.

Explanation 2 – Intentional Use of an Old-Fashioned Expression  

Perhaps the North Koreans thought it wise to deliver their message in a language the 78-year-old Biden could understand. They undoubtedly heard about his “No Malarky” bus tour during the campaign and wanted to show how serious this threat was by using an old folk saying to communicate to an old folk. But if this were true, it would have been more appropriate to warn us about “raising a ruckus” or threatening to “give us a shellacking”.

Explanation 3 – A Really Nasty Insult

I seriously, fervently hope this is not the real reason. Because if it is, it is an agism slur of the worse kind. But I fear the “refrain from causing a stink” is about something called “Old-Man Stink”. I know the politically correct term would be mature male smell. But let’s just stick with my term and call it OMS for short. 

This is a distinct possibility.

Let’s face it; our president is up in years. Many people his age are in a rest home eating pudding, but he is now the leader of the free world and making many important decisions, including ones impacting North Korea. Decisions much more impactful than choosing between tapioca and butterscotch.

And most guys that old suffer from OMS to one degree or another. The condition begins with “Middle-age Man Smell” (something I may or may not have personal knowledge of). At some point, certain bodily functions that you have been able to fully control your entire adult life, begin to suddenly mis-fire at random. However, in middle-age, you are still aware that a malfunction has occurred, can deal with the consequences, and eliminate the resulting odor. This is why many middle-aged guys wear too much cologne. It is a pre-emptive measure to cover up the production of some unanticipated odor. And most importantly, middle-aged men still care about the social implications of their actions and what people think of them.

However, once a man reaches old age, he is unaware that a breach has happened, he can’t smell the result, his overall personal hygiene has eroded, and let’s face it, he just doesn’t give a darn what he smells like. The result is OMS. And by the time is ready for the rest home …. P-U-WILLY!

We know our president is at the age where he is producing OMS. But fortunately, according to my confidential sources in Washington, the Secret Service is taking drastic steps to control the damage.

Reports are that “Maggie” an odor sniffing canine, has joined the president’s security detail. Maggie’s previous job was to identify the source of pungent smells at the most prestigious elder care facility in the country, Manhattan’s Geezzera Villa. She is trained to quickly point out the compromised orifice before the stink is even perceptible to humans. So, if you ever see Maggie in an awkward position with the president, she’s not goosing him, but identifying a possible incident in Sector #2.

Likewise, Pete Sokeupski, the agent responsible for stopping sensitive news from reaching the press in the prior administration, is still responsible for dealing with leaks in the new one. Only now, it not information he is trying to contain, but literal leaks. The press has reported that Sokeupski is the agent responsible for transporting the “nuclear football” case. However, this is fake news. Pete’s case contains Lysol, disinfectant wipes, and Depends. There is also a canister of “Ancient Spice” (A special, highly-concentrated version of Old Spice) readily available to douse the president, in case of a Code Green. Sokeupski job is not to respond to nuclear war, just cleaning up nuclear-like spills.

So, the not “causing a stink” could in fact, be a slanderous, agism slur, which should be highly offensive to all Americans regardless of political persuasions. Of course, maybe I’m overeating since the North Korean leaders are such refined, gentle people.

An Appropriate Response

We should respond to this threat by telling the North Koreans that if they misbehave, modifying the words of the prior president, “They will be met with old-man stink like the world has never seen.” Uh, I mean, never smelled.

And we can do it! We have millions of aging baby boomers producing a whole lot of stink that is going to waste. I’m sure all the retired veterans would be willing to don their old uniforms, unwashed, of course, and reenlist for this project.

We would line them up at the border with many new, smelly old recruits on a day when a brisk, hot wind is blowing south-to-north. Assuming of course that The Geneva Convention permits this.  You don’t want a stink commies? Well, smell this.

 

I Can Never Be Royals

Way back in 1776, we fought a war to break free from the British Monarchy. But we never really entirely escaped them, did we? Our citizens have always been obsessed with the queens and princes and dukees, haven’t we?

And now, these royals are even more intrusive since a pair of them have reinvaded the colonies. Oh sure, I know they have allegedly renounced their titles, but this is a massive charade. They still want to be treated special, like royals, as it were. They still believe they are better than us “commoners” and much more significant. Their self-importance is so overblown they did this fancy, “exclusive” interview with our Media Queen Oprah to tell us all about their precious lives.

But why, in 2021, does any royalty still exist? I mean the French quickly cut ties, among other things, with their kings and queens. The Russians buried the memory of their royals swiftly, in a way that left no czars. But somehow, the British deposed their Monarchy in a most refined manner. They castrated their power but left them living with their titles, castles, and a huge $h!tload of ca$h. Such a deal! And because the royals were able to pull off this scam, they continued to believe they were better than anyone else.

Let’s get real? Who is this Prince Harry guy anyway? Does he think he is better than me? But is he really better? Is he? I lace up my pantaloons just as he does. Okay, I’ve never actually owned any pantaloons, but after some YouTube videos and some practice, I’m sure I would lace them up the same way as that new

Fresh Prince of Santa Barbara.  

But now let’s really see who is the better man, me, or Harry? Let’s Duke it out, as it were. So, I’ll go mano y mano on a list of attributes, some of which are held in high importance by the female species.

 1.    Height

Harry hits the scale at a respectable 6 feet 1 inch. However, I would literally be looking down on him if we were standing face-to-face. 

Advantage: The AkeMan 

2.    Sense of Humor

I have written three, count ‘em, three humor books. Even Joe Pesci thinks I’m funny, so I take this one easily. 

Advantage: The AkeMan 

3.    Literary Skills

Did I mention I’ve written three books?  

Advantage: The AkeMan

 4.    Intelligence

I don’t know this for sure, but I’m reasonably confident I could best Harry on a standard I.Q. test.

Wow! I am kicking some British hiney so far. Unfortunately, the contest is far from over.

5.    Physical Appearance

Harry is dashingly handsome, with a rugged physique and strong white teeth. I have strong white teeth. 

But c’mon, Man! The royals have an unfair advantage because they had their pick of the most beautiful British women available for hundreds of years. They should be the most attractive people on the planet! Of course, we are talking British women, which might explain his father Prince Charles's anomaly. However, Princess Diana - homina, homina, wooo, wooo, triple-wooo – more than makes up for that. 

Advantage: Harry

 6.    Money

Harry is reportedly worth around $50 million. My worth is not nearly that much. However, my bank statement only has one fewer zero, but that kinda makes a big difference. 

But c’mon, Man! Up until he moved to the U.S., he was still receiving a yearly allowance of $6.9 million dollars from his father. That breaks down to $132,000 a week! The highest weekly allowance my father ever paid me, which stopped when I got a job in college, was $20.

 Advantage: Harry

7.    Education

Harry was educated at the famed Mynor’s nursery school, the exclusive Wetherby prep school, the renowned Ludgrove School, and received certifications at the prestigious Eton College. 

I read some best-selling nursery school books and was educated at the well-respected Publicious Academies of Akronia. I hold two degrees from the well-attended Zipstonia University in Rubbercitia. One of these is a graduate degree – So there!

  Advantage Harry

8.    Athletics

Harry reportedly was a top-tier athlete in college, excelling at polo and rugby. I lettered in tennis in high school, but Harry probably took tennis lessons from Virginia Wade and could beat the snot out of me. I haven’t ridden a horse since I was ten years-old, but I do own several polo shirts. I could still beat him in hoops, though. 

Advantage: Harry

 9.    Military Service

Harry served in the army for ten years, achieving the rank of Captain, with two tours in Afghanistan. I too was a Captain - of the safety patrol boys at my school. Harry may be a blue blood but I got to wear a special blue badge! And I can fight - I once beat up this fat kid named Albert in the fourth grade.

 Advantage Harry

10.   Hair Style

Let’s just skip this one.

11.   Modesty

Harry is a selfish, self-centering, self-absorbed, narcissist with a tremendous ego and an overblown sense of importance. 

Advantage: Okay, so we’ll call it a tie. Let’s just move on. 

The Results

I must concede that Prince Harry is much more exceptional than commoner Don. I lament that I will never be royal. It just don’t run in my blood and I crave a different kind of buzz.* But wait! There is one more category!

12.    Choice of Women

That recent interview mentioned previously revealed some troubling, I say troubling, traits. Harry, it appears you married a whore – an attention whore, that is. Oprah was plunging that microphone into many sensitive, personal areas and your woman thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it.

Your honey also is a drama queen, and a rather whiney one at that. No matter how beautiful you are, it’s a bad look to complain about your cherished life when so many people are still suffering economically. Us commoners have a very common expression: Happy wife – Happy life. Let me ask you this one: If she is unhappy being married to a rich, handsome prince, then when is she ever going to be happy? Us regular chaps call that “high-maintenance” and you’ve got yourself a nuclear power plant on fire.

You could have had any woman in the world. Your pick-up line being, “Hi there, I’m a rich, handsome prince, really I am. Wanna see my castle?

Yet, you willingly choose this one? Oh boy, you have made a big mistake and I wouldn’t want to be in your Gucci moccasins, no matter how attractive and stylish your woman might be.

Cue the polka music:

Oh, I don't want her, you can have her,

She's too phat for me.

She's too phat for me,

She's too phat for me.

I don't want her, you can have her,

Please do that for me.

She's too phat, she's too phat,

She's too phat for me.

 

“*” adapted from lyrics from “Royals”

 

 

 

Make Mr. Potato Head the Man He Is Supposed To Be

Hasbro recently announced the addition of a gender-neutral “Potato Head” product to its iconic Mr. Potato Head line. This has caused a vicious debate among people. You do realize that we are obsessed with fighting about children’s toys and books, while over 1000 people a day are still dying of the plague, don’t you? There’s no masking this: The bat-flu has not only infected our bodies, but our brains as well.

Hasbro’s concept is to provide a base, gender-neutral potato to which you can add or replace whatever sex-identity parts you feel like at the moment. Strikingly similar to what surgeons can, and are, doing today. (I realize some readers will interpret the previous statement as a sarcastic barb, and others will see it as a positive declaration. Which one is it? Yes, it is). The other consideration is that potatoes are naturally gender-neutral. There are no male and female potatoes. So, if Hasbro is the one that created potato genders, do they not have the right to revoke them?

However, Hasbro is quick to point out they have not eliminated the Mr. Potato Head and Mrs. Potato Head products, but just added Potato Head to the selection. However, by raising this subject, they have exposed a scandal, a deep, dark humiliation, which has remained hidden since Mr. Potato Head was born in 1952.

You see, the so-called “Mr.” Potato Head is missing an essential body part – he doesn’t have a wiener. And I don’t mean “wiener” in the food-sense. I mean wiener in the wanker-sense.  He has no wiener. He has no wanker. He has no man-parts at all.

And the argument about cartoon characters and dolls not being anatomically correct doesn’t apply here because Mr. Potato Head is all about the parts and putting the parts on his potato-body. You got the eyes, you got the ears, you ever got the mustache – but no wanker – no man-parts - none.  Can anyone say Mr. Eunuch-man? Mr. Potato Head is missing a critical head. The spud is missing a stud.

This is an outrage! I am so upset with Hasbro over this. He’s made you so much money over all these years. You market him as Mr. Potato Head, but you never once gave him all the parts that truly define manhood. You never, ever, gave him a wanker! How could you? How could you be so heartless? Or, in this case, so wankerless.

Mr. Potato Head has had to endure this shame for almost 70 years. You have forced him to live a tortured, humiliating existence. You’ve made him complicit in selling a disgraceful lie. If that’s not cruel and unusual punishment, I don’t know what is.

And you have perpetuated the lie by including Mrs. Potato Head and the Potato Tots in the scam. Oh yeah, where do you think these Tots come from? Who is the birth father of the Tots? Do you think potatoes just grow in the ground?

We don’t know who the real father is do we? But we know it can’t be Mr. Potato Head because you never gave him a wanker! I’m tempted to call on Maury Povich to determine the father, and yes, potatoes do have DNA. I suspect the culprit could be that Idaho Potato Farmer guy because, let’s face it, he likes potatoes a little too much. Regardless, there’s some illicit germination going on here.

So Hasbro, since you raised the potato gender issue, I think it’s time to correct this awful injustice. I’m incredibly offended by the fact that you are presenting Mr. Potato Head as a mister but not providing him with any mister parts. When women refer to me as “mister”, perhaps they believe I am as ill-equipped as Mr. Potato Head. This makes me feel diminished and uncomfortable, so I demand you cater to my feelings! Because that’s how it works in 2021.

Therefore, you must provide Mr. Potato Head with the wanker he so richly deserves. I believe this will also appease all those people who are upset with you for introducing that gender-neutral Potato Head. Please throw those people a bone, or a boner, as it were.

I would suggest equipping him with a man-potato and two tater tots. It’s a children’s toy, so I wouldn’t go with a large russet potato; a standard redskin will do. Sorry if I offended anyone with the term “redskin”.

Hasbro, please do the right thing and turn Mr. Potato Head into the spud stud that he was meant to be. He will be happy, I will be happy, and most of all, Mrs. Potato Head will be overjoyed.

Man-Plan Logic In Action

With all the trivial news stories such as vaccines, variants, and Mars landings, you may have overlooked that pertinent (actual) article about the Florida man who stole an engagement ring from one girlfriend and used it to propose to his other girlfriend.

You might want to laugh this off as just some guy being stupid, but I believe this unfortunate episode explains a lot about how male brains operate and the problems which result. But I do want to emphasize upfront: I am not condoning this man’s actions. I am merely attempting to explain them for the edification of all.

You see, Lance had a problem. He was dating Linda, and the relationship had progressed to a point where he was ready to commit to marriage. However, his resources were insufficient to buy Linda an engagement ring. And without that big, sparkly ring, his chances of sealing the deal, and of course scoring big-time that evening, were slim.

But Lance came up with a Man-Plan, featuring basic man-logic. Understand that man-logic is characterized by its simplicity and practicality. It’s not like that woman-logic, which is so complex, convoluted, and complicated, taking into account feelings and relationships and all those pesky “what-if” scenarios. Woman-logic is more complex that calculus or quantum physics, because those disciplines can be computer programmed, whereas woman-logic cannot.

The Plan

As Lance was getting ready to propose to Linda, he happened to be also romantically intertwined with Marla. Now I do realize this interjects some moral issues into the narrative. But my purpose is not to judge poor Lance. I mean, maybe he is a Mormon. Or perhaps, he was just conducting his own version of The Bachelor, starring himself as the main stud-star. And in this episode, he’s ready to present Linda the final rose. Anyway, remember, I’m not here to defend his actions. I’m just trying to explain them.

However, Marla possesses a critical attribute that Linda doesn’t have, and Lance desperately needs, a wedding band/engagement ring leftover from her previous marriage. So, Lance connives up a Man-Plan where he will stealthily remove the rings from Marla’s place and offer them to Linda in a marriage proposal. Now, I know this introduces another pesky moral issue, but I’m not here to condone his actions. I’m just trying to explain them.

The Male Brain

Again, you might want to dismiss this as a hare-brained scheme, but it is really a male-brained, Man-Plan. Men like to find new uses for old objects. Men like to fix things. Men do not want things just sitting around, serving no useful purpose. There is an entire power tool industry based on these concepts. And it is also the reason behind most duct-tape sales.

Lance saw this as an opportunity to put these rings to good use. I mean, they are just sitting there, right? They aren’t serving any useful purpose. Now I know that many of you will technically consider this theft, but in Lance’s male-brain, he is merely repurposing a dormant object that will bring joy to Linda, who he loves.

He also believes Marla will not be needing the rings soon. Cause, uh, her current boyfriend is going to abruptly dump her, and well, maybe she will never need the rings, being judged to be not “wedding-worthy” at this point. So, the man-logic here is: No one has to know, and no one will get hurt by this. And two people are going to benefit, including me.

(Right here is probably a good time to remind you: I’m not condoning his actions. I’m just explaining them.)

Emotional Objects

Now I know many of you of the female variety may be asking: How could that dork be so insensitive not to realize the emotional damage done to both women by this horrific action?

That’s an easy one. With one exception, men don’t attach any emotional value to objects. But women do. Women love knick-knacks and scatter them around the abode in excess. There are several industries based on the female attachment to stupid figurines. For men to emotionalize objects, there must be an accomplishment involved: the mounted fish, the Micky Mantle baseball, the bowling trophy.     

Tell me what that Precious Moments chick has ever accomplished? Nothing, I say, except for getting you to turn over valuable cash so that you can place her in every frickin’ room of the house. And I pity the fool who accidentally crashes her skull in when he leaps out of his chair with joy when the Packers score that last-second playoff win.

Deflect Defect

Lance’s plan to get hitched initially went off without a hitch. Linda enthusiastically accepted his proposal which included the offer of the $6,000 ring set. She was so enthralled, that she announced it on Facebook with a picture of that big ol’ ring. Marla was not so much enthralled, as enraged, when she visited Linda’s page after hearing Lance’s engagement, and recognized her jewelry.

One can only imagine her response in confronting poor Lance about the

situation. But I do know what Lance’s first statement was:

What were you doing on Marla’s Facebook page, to begin with?

This is because once a Man-Plan is developed, it is perfect in his mind. After all, the male-brain developed it using man-logic. Any failure of the plan is not because there were any faults in the logic; it is because someone, usually a female, interfered with its successful execution.

When a Man-Plan goes wrong, the male-brain will try to deflect all responsibility for the outcome:

We all know someone is responsible for this mess, and that person is not me, so it must be ___________(Fill in the blank).

Deflection is the natural male response to most all failures in life. Deflect, deflect, deflect. Men's ability to deflect things explains why there has never been a female goalie in the history of professional hockey.

The Conclusion

Both women severed their ties with Lance, and police issued an arrest warrant. But there is still one large unanswered question: How did poor Lance even know about the engagement ring and where it was kept? Maybe Marla had flashed the diamond at Lance, hoping she might entice him into a proposal. If that is in fact the case, Lance should hire Saul Goodman and claim entrapment.

And I hope Linda will reconsider. Look, Lance did choose you over Marla, didn’t he? You did win his heart. And Lance did come up with a Man-Plan to present you with the most beautiful ring he could find, even risking his freedom in the process. Are the means with which he obtained this rock all that important? But of course, I’m not defending his actions. I’m just explaining them.

Your Check Is In Postal Purgatory

I was thrilled to get a holiday card in the mail on February 2. I thought maybe Groundhog Day cards were a new thing this year because of the plague, and was excited to receive one from a co-worker in Indiana. But when I ripped open the envelope, I saw this picture card featuring the woman’s family and cat. There was no picture of a groundhog anywhere. I was confused until I saw “Merry Christmas” at the top of the card.

The letter was postmarked December 18, which means it took only 46 days to get to me. I think postal service was probably speedier in 1863 when mass delivery began. At first, it was amusing when tardy Christmas cards began arriving in early January. Then they kept trickling in throughout the month. It did give me the chance to experience the spirit of Christmas joy for several additional weeks. 

“On the third week of Christmas, my plumber sent to me, a card with a festive green commode.” 

But now it has gone much too far. I stand here staring at this card. Am I expected to be able to relive last Christmas over and over again, seemingly forever? Ironically on Groundhog Day? I think not. 

These smiling faces and cute pets may have generated glad tidings at Christmas. But no more. 

NOW IT IS JUST A FLIPIN’ WASTE OF TIME. I’LL NEVER MEET THESE PEOPLE AND I DON”T CARE WHAT YOUR PET LOOKS LIKE! NOT IN THE LEAST! IT’S FEBRUARY – FLIPPIN’ FEBRUARY! PLEASE, PLEASE MAKE IT STOOOOOOOP!!!!!!!!! 

The only consolation is the cat on the card is as fat as a groundhog. So maybe it is wishing me a Happy Cathog Day. If the cat sees its shadow, there is six more weeks of tuna. 

Postmaster- We have a problem!  

Now the problem is, the postal service is running a bit behind. Trying to delivery a huge surge in Christmas packages resulted in a huge backlog of other mail. Their response to the problem was not hiring more people or working more hours but: “Hey, just those on the pile over there”. And we know it is a pile, because what gets delivered on any given day is somewhat random. 

It’s like when Newman in that Seinfeld episode refused to deliver the mail. So, in December, the entire postal service went “Newman”. Okay, all of them except my friend Gary and the hot blonde who delivers my mail. (I always order more packages in the summer so she has to run up to my house in those cute blue postal shorts, but I digress). Yes, my carrier does an outstanding job! And I say

this because I don’t want to see my daily mail scattered across the road if she happens to read this.

But the big pile o’mail is causing big problems. My friend Stefanie mailed her mortgage payment on December 23 and had to explain to the bank why it hadn’t arrived four weeks later. These days saying “the check is in the mail” is akin to “you’re check has gone to hell,” or at least it’s stuck in purgatory.  

I thought all these late Christmas cards and people dealing with tardy payments was amusing until …..

And Then It Got Real

I was making an on-line purchase when my credit card was rejected. I tried three times, but it came back with a message, “Your credit card has expired.” I was furious because my card's expiration date is more than two years away. I immediately call the credit card people.

It’s after hours, so I get the call center. Which all I will say, is not located in these United States. The woman informs me that a company where I had used my card had a data breach, so they canceled my card and issued a new one.

Me: Why didn’t you tell me you did this. (snarly!)

Card Rep: Oh, we mailed a notice right away, Mr. Ake. And then we mailed you a new card a couple days after that. You should have gotten your new card more than a week ago.

Me: My mail service is late, and I never received any notice. And now I don’t have a credit card!

Card Rep: Oh! We berri, berri sorry Mr. Ake. Perhaps the mule died.

Me: What mule are you talking about?

Card Rep: In my village, it takes about five days for the mule to bring the mail. But when the mule dies, the mail is late. Then they must use the goat instead, and the goat is very slow. The goat takes nine days. How late is your mail?

Me: Over 40 days.

Card Rep: Oooooh Nooooo! All your animals have died! The Covid has killed them all. Blessings on your village, Mr. Ake.

Me: So, my new card is stuck in a big pile of mail at a postal center, and you can’t reactivate my old card. So, I’m screwed, right?

Card Rep: Oh, Mr. Ake, You are screwed. You are so screwed. You are berri, berri screwed. Hopefully, you get a new mule soon.

The Twilight Zone

Imagine a world where your checks are stuck in Hades and your new credit card is buried at the bottom of a huge pile of junk mail. And Newman is your mail carrier. This problem will persist until the mail pile is gone. But then maybe it starts all over again next December– better mail those holiday cards and packages early. Perhaps by July 4!

Fortunately, my card arrived about a week after my phone call. But it should be duly noted that it still took 17 days to arrive, or eight days longer than the village goat. However, the notice telling me my card is canceled is still somewhere in that pile. And this whole incident has been a large pile of, well, you know ……

 

We Need Things To Slow Down Fast

 If we didn’t already have enough to worry about, with the plague killing us with disease and our politicians killing us with hate, along comes this disturbing (actual) headline:

“Scientists say Earth is spinning faster than it has in decades”

That’s right, while you thought 2020 was the longest year ever, it was, in fact, the shortest. By using atomic clocks, scientists say that July 19 was the shortest day ever recorded, and the Earth spun faster last year.

Not being influenced at all by the dangers of the plague or watching the nightly cable news, there is only one way to interpret this phenomenon: The world is literally spinning out of control.

Now I know they taught us in school that the Earth spins on its axis. But there is no real axis! Nothing is sticking through the Earth that it actually spins on. That’s why they teach us this in third-grade because we are still too young to question the stupid things we are being told.

When I was a boy, I had a metal globe with an actual plastic axis sticking through the center. Of course, when I spun it too fast, it would pop off its axis and go rolling across the floor. Let’s hope that’s not going to happen here.

But the Earth is just hanging out there in space, spinning away. And now spinning even faster, with nothing – I repeat nothing - keeping it from just flying off into the universe. You atheists better hope you are wrong. You better say a prayer that you are --- uh well, that won’t work, will it? Well, do something …..

The scientist’s solution to the problem is to “add a negative leap second” to the atomic clock. In essence, they want to “turn back time”.

If they decide to do this, I believe they should have Cher do the honors. I mean, she sang about wanting to, and now she can. She would also be a great choice because she has “turned back time”. Just look at her! Cher is 74 years old and still hot. She may have set the record for hotness longevity, since she has been hot since age 18. That’s 56 years of hotness. That’s impressive.

I realize she may have been hot before age 18, but it is not culturally acceptable to refer to females younger than that as hot. It can even be dangerous to think that way. Just ask Jeffery Epstein. Uh okay, maybe you can’t do that – but you get my idea.

I do understand that Cher has received some assistance in maintaining her hotness. But it’s time we recognize that her body sculpting has been superb. We marvel at the ancient sculptures of women by Alexandros and Bernini. Why not hold Beverly Hills plastic surgeon Murry Goldstein in the same high regard. I mean, Cher is a
master-piece, no?

On second thought, maybe Cher shouldn’t be there when they turn back time by adjusting the atomic clock a “negative leap second”. This sounds difficult, and you wouldn’t want that scientist distracted by Cher’s hotness, would you?

I certainly hope that adjusting the time on the atomic clock is much easier than changing the time on the clock in my car. That task, done twice a year due to the time change, is an arduous one. Never accomplished without multiple failures and the expression of profanations.

If resetting the atomic clock is as challenging, I fear:

Science Boss: Wilson, were you successful at resetting the atomic clock?

Wilson: I almost there, boss. The thing keeps pushing me back to the previous menu, but I’ve almost got it. There are only a few problems to work out. I should have everything corrected sometime tomorrow.

Science Boss: Problems? What Problems?

Wilson: Well, we are now at war with Germany. And oh yeah, you probably want to stock up on butter on the way home. We will be rationing it soon.

The Three Hopes For This Year

We need the world to resume its normal existence as soon as possible. So, as we enter 2021, we have three hopes. We hope that the vaccine ends the plague. We hope that the Earth slows down and resumes spinning at its normal speed. And we hope that Cher remains hot – or at least warm.