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 ……

 

  

The Worst Christmas Party Ever

I lead a local card-playing group but we couldn’t play for over a year due to the virus. When we reassembled, we lost some people, including the group founder, so I stepped in.

It’s not a difficult job. I post the game nights on Facebook and am responsible for bringing the cards and accessories to the restaurant where we play. I also make sure we treat the staff with respect and that no one grabs the waitress’s @$$.

But Don, isn’t that like assigning the fox to guard the hen house? Well, maybe. But the one time it may have happened, I’m still claiming she backed up into my hand – and there was no squeeze. There is no video of this alleged infraction, so everybody just chill.

However, pre-pandemic, one of the things the group immensely enjoyed was a Christmas party. As leader, I was expected to plan this gala event. But I am not a party planner - not one of my skills. First of all, I don’t have the legs for it. Most party planners are vivacious, energetic females. They run around tirelessly, making sure everything is perfect, which typically gives them great legs. On the other hand, I prefer to sit a lot and enjoy the party, while someone else does all the flittering. This not only doesn’t provide me with shapely legs, it enlarges my @$$.

I’m not a party planner, so I came up with a simple but brilliant plan. We would meet an hour early at the restaurant, eat dinner together and then play cards. This plan was judged to be totally unacceptable by almost all group members. The last Christmas party was an elaborate event at the former leader’s house and was greatly enjoyed by all.

“Why can’t we have the party at your house, Don?” they asked with faces resembling expectant children on Christmas Eve.

This was a non-starter. My wife would never agree to this because she knows she would be doing all the work while I sat on my @$$. I wasn’t even going to ask her because it’s one of those questions that after you receive the obvious “NO” – you pay for it dearly, as your wife is upset with you for at least a  week. (“Gee, all I did was ask a simple question” – husbands, do you hear me?)

The group members then attempted to plan a better party, at a better venue. Since I’m not a party planner and could continue to sit on my @ss, this was fine by me.

But they couldn’t come up with a better plan than mine. Time was running out, so I announced my initial plan would prevail. I felt rather smug that we were going with the plan I had developed. Maybe I am a good party planner! Perhaps just sitting on your @$$ has some benefits. Perhaps I should shave my legs -- well, no. Yes, I was a man with a plan, and I could not be stopped!

We had a plan, but now people wanted to know if we would be having our traditional “White Elephant” gift exchange. I protested, arguing that this is 2021 and appropriating another race onto an elephant of color is racist. But they persisted, so I agreed. 

Life of the Party?

“Well, what are the rules? What are the rules? !!!!!!!!!!” they demanded. They actually expected me to quote the rules on the spot.

I’m sure party planners know all the white elephant rules. But I’m not a party planner. And my butt cheeks held their position firmly, as I suggested someone consult the Internet  

The day of the big, festive party finally arrived. When I got to the restaurant, I was in the holiday spirit, but that didn’t last long. About ten minutes before, the cook had left. Just up and left for no reason. No warning, just gone. My excellent master plan was suddenly in shambles.

Now I have 14 hungry people staring at me, the party planner, looking for some crisis leadership. I imagine them saying:

“We are so hungry, Master Don. Perhaps they have some gruel back in the kitchen that we might eat so we don’t starve at your awful Christmas Party.”

I have a problem handling crises. My blood pressure spikes, and it shuts down my brain. Fortunately, some group members jumped right in. We ordered food from a local pizza joint. One woman was a former waitress and took all the orders, and we sent Carlos to pick up the food. Oh, I know what you’re thinking --- No, we did not send a Mexican immigrant to pick up our food. That would be wrong. Carlos happens to be a Brazilian businessman.

The food was good. The white elephant gift game went well, and we also enjoyed homemade desserts. However, it was still the worst Christmas party ever. I, of course, blame it on poor planning. Did I mention that I’m not a party planner?

And the cook magically returned after his “two-hour break” still with no explanation, after we no longer needed him. He’s fortunate that it is the holiday season, because, in the spirit of Christmas, I did not go into the kitchen and kick him square in the oompa loompas, even though I wanted to. I so wanted to. And even though I’m not a party planner, I still have the legs for that.

 

A Presidential Fart Worth Talking About

Last week's news included a Presidential fart at the climate conference in Europe. And I am not using presidential as an adjective. Apparently, President Joe broke wind during a break in the talks. (This really happened)

And there was no leak … Okay, there was a leak, but not a news leak. He unloaded while he was talking to Camilla Parker Bowles, otherwise known as the Duchess of Cornwall. And we have it straight from the horse’s mouth, which in Camilla’s case is more literal than it should be, that old Joe released a fart described as “It was long and loud and impossible to ignore.” Reportedly, the fart was so prestigious that Camilla hasn’t stopped talking about it.

She talked about it so much, it is now known as “the fart heard round the world”. It is a major social faux pas to fart in the presence of royals. The Brits consider her a Duchess and a lady, and in the words of Helen Reddy, “That ain’t no way to treat a lady, no way …”. So far, the royal family has not raised a stink about it because although the fart was long and loud, it was not pungent.

In President Joe’s defense, he may just have been reminding the Duchess that we won the Revolutionary War and was displaying our country’s continuing dominance. Or maybe he was just showing respect by offering the royal a blast of his trumpet. And there is a chance that the whole incident was overblown because Camilla, a royal, has not been exposed to any farts because reportedly, the royal family is so pristine that they never fart. 

On the other hand, there are rumors that Joe’s Secret Service code name is “Fart Face”. And it seems that the agents at his rear, stand a full three feet further back, four if downwind, than they did with previous presidents.

Regardless, this is not a good look for our leader. You are at a world climate conference, and you decide to emit a greenhouse gas into the environment, the local environment. The people there are all concerned about cow farts, and you fart like a cow.

Furthermore, President Joe has worked to restrict gas production in this country, yet he has no problem cutting the cheese himself. Joe has closed some pipelines, but his pipeline remains fully functional, and active.

Some people have criticized President Joe for being unable to control inflation, the border, COVID, etc. And now we learn he can’t control his sphincter either.

President Joe’s biggest mistake was letting loose in front of a woman, a woman who just can’t deal with farts. If he had emitted when he was talking with a guy, any guy from any country, the universal guy response would have been to crack a goofy grin, and laugh extensively like Beavis and Butthead. Yes ladies, that is what we males do in that situation. We don’t go on talking about it so that it makes the news.

We Americans may be embarrassed about it, but we have no recourse. We elected an old man as president, and now we must endure old man problems, as unpleasant as they may be. Camilla is the Duchess of Cornwall and now she has been exposed to our version of the Great Cornholio.

But Joe, c’mon man! Next time you are with Camilla Parker Bowles -- Joey Park-Yer Bowels!

Robbing For Dollars

Recently residents were all up in arms when a Dollar Store (I will use this term to describe all stores with “Dollar” in their name) wanted to open in their small, quaint, rural township. Their concerns included: a loss of green space, an increase in traffic, big trucks delivering fresh produce, and the potential for more crime.

Now I don’t know the situation, but these concerns sound a bit contrived. This community is basically all green space. There is green space everywhere. So, yes, you would have less green space, but you have plenty to spare. There would be marginally more traffic. Most likely, people would stop at the store on their way to somewhere else. It is unlikely that people would converge upon the store in droves since Dollar Stores don’t have sales; that’s the point of having low prices all the time. And oh, the horror of having fresh produce readily available in your town! Yeah, and refrigerated trucks come in all sizes now.

But the most ridiculous argument is “potential for increased crime”. Now, it is true that Dollar Stores are popular targets for robbers in urban areas. But I doubt that hooligans from the city will drive by the ten dollar stores closest to them to rob this store. And it is doubtful that having a dollar store in town will turn young Timmy into a criminal.

“I had heard about people robbing Dollar Stores. Then one opened up in our village across from my house. It was so tempting that I just had to rob it. I had to!”

Now it’s well known that Dollar Stores get robbed a lot, and we chuckle when we hear this news because we think it’s stupid to steal from a place that sells stuff for just a dollar, or in some cases, a few dollars. How much money could you steal? But upon further examination, it makes sense. Just as Willie Sutton robbed banks “Because that’s where the money is” --. thieves hit the dollar store because that’s where the dollars are.  In the days of debit cards and phone pay, Dollar Stores and convenience stores are the typical places where many people still pay in cash. I mean, the place is called the Dollar Store. If you’re looking for dollars, it’s the place to rob. 

Still, if would significantly improve things if schools taught a class in real-life skills. It could include a section on “Why Robbing the Dollar Store is a Dumb Idea”. Other subjects could consist of “Obeying the Police After Getting Arrested”, “Why Opiates are Bad For You” and “How Many Baby-Mommas/Baby-Daddies are Too Many?”.

But the robbers are not the only dimwits in this story. What about the corporations who own the stores? These places have been getting robbed forever, yet the suits have not instituted enough security measures to deter the thefts. It puts their employees at risk and corrupts innocent youths like young Timmy into a life of crime. Personally, I would have put massive casings over the security cameras to make them look like 1950s television cameras so that the densest robber would know he’s on camera. And there must be a way to manage the cash so only a small amount is available for pilferage. 

Your stores are just sitting there saying, “we gots lots of dollars, please rob us!” Maybe, they have made great strides in security. I don’t notice the security features when I’m shopping in a Dollar Store because I’m not planning on robbing the place. And friends, when you shop there, please use your debit card. You will be doing your part to reduce theft or at least reduce the robbers’ take.

The Dollar Store needs to increase security because they will soon be taking in way more dollars. Because of rising costs, one Dollar Store that sold only items costing $1 is raising prices on some things from $1.25 to $1.50. A $1.50! A $1.50!

Question: How do you know inflation is too high?

Answer: When things at the Dollar Store cost $1.50

I doubt if this particular Dollar Store will change the store sign to “Dollar-Fifty Cent Store” Maybe they could ease the pain by hiring the rapper “50 Cent” as a spokesperson. Hey, we’re adding 50 Cent to our Dollar Store”.

But alas, the village does not have to worry about the blight of having one of those awful Dollar Stores in their community since under pressure, the trustees rejected a zoning request needed for construction.

Hurray! Now you can enjoy all that extra green space, traffic keeps flowing smoothly, and you can continue to munch on moldy carrots and brown lettuce.

And the community can rest easy now because a new crime wave is not imminent. Of course, the last armed robbery in the village involved a Colt 45 and a horse.