Man Club – February 2015 (Token Male)


A Token!!!

In my last post you learned I was working for a local CPA firm comprised of 99.9% women, or as I call it – “Occupy Insanity Street.”  They have dubbed me a token male.  To be precise, here’s the meaning:

“anything of only nominal value”

Well… this shall not stand!  We tokens, I mean men, have to stand up for our value in society with comments like these,

“You see those kids over there?!  You think you did that all on your own?!  Who’s your Token now, huh?”

“You mow that yard in the 110 degree Oklahoma heat. This Token dares you.”

“You want that sofa moved where?  Tokens don’t do that!”

“You need help moving that box of copy paper on the top shelf. Bow before the Token.”

A Token!  The only tokens I know are the ones you use in Vegas, like inserting a token in a machine to win, or lose 99.9% of the time.  Which makes you wonder who really is in charge of the gambling industry, and why women are so well dressed, but I’ll cover that subject in a later fashion review.

As long as women continue mutation, not to be confused with maturation, there will be the need to update man club law and regulation (a very tedious and draining task).  So in order to dispel this insane idea of tokenism, here are some valuable club rules:

Section 179-b.l.a.h.b.l.a.h.b.l.a.h.

“Pretend to listen”


Yes, it’s that easy.  When the woman is done talking or lock-jawed, whichever comes first, nod your head and reply, “I couldn’t agree more!”

Section Gr8.1

“Forced False Flattery”


When they are having a bad hair, face and body day; tell them how lovely they are.  No Token would ever go to that much trouble.

Section Gr8.1.2.

“Daily Affirmation”


Give them a nice little gift that will inspire their “Inner Goddess” or “Inner Rhino.”

You see, the Man Club code book is full of life-saving tips just like the three sampled above.  To show you are not a token male, renew today with your $1,000 membership fee, because the Man Club is all about being a masculine manly-man.


You say the fee is too high?!

Well you #$%^$^$ worthless @#%@Q%$ TOKEN MEN!!!

I’m sorry for my outburst, I still haven’t recovered from the Gr8I812 virus spreading around “Occupy Insanity Street.”  Until next month, enjoy your manhood, it is under attack every day.


Female Code – February 2015 (Nude Tax Preparation)

Football Season - Again???

My #$%^& DRESS!

I am currently working for a local CPA firm until our move to Kauai is complete.  Yes, I know, I know… I’ve been writing about this for over a year.  A house is in the escrow process, but until then, I wanted to stay busy and make a little money.  Little did I know I’d be in the presence of an almost ALL female firm.  And they love to talk and yes, gang up on me, their token male employee (that’s my nickname). I prefer certified professional man candy. They talk about men as though we were the problems for all of society and human history, and how they can’t wait for their husbands to go on business trips, or military assignments to Mars.  I do my best to not listen, to ignore them, but they are awful loud.

Today one female presented me with material.  The woman accidentally spilled grease on a dress that she was wearing for an after-work social gathering, most likely dominated by other alpha females, who pretend to listen to your conversation, ready to catapult themselves and their day into the conversation – which would obviously be about her dress.  Personally, I think she planned this.

This lady… I mean woman…. well, a female…. wondered if she should go home to get a different dress or immediately pass go, collect $200 and then return to Park Place for shopping.  To her aid came her female gang members (comrades) with solutions on how to rid the dress of the grease stain, that looked like a decorative St. Valentine’s day heart.  Ahhhh…

Get ready for this men… I kid you not….

  1. Female # 1 – put salt on it.  So she did, wait no, it was pepper.  So the heart turned to a speckled blob, quite unattractive.
  2. Female #2 – put baking powder on it.  She asked if female #2 if she had any on her.  Well no, but there was some in the car.  So she went to the car.  Who keeps baking powder in their car?  I was afraid to ask any further.  This didn’t work either, the stain was  now the shape and size of Texas and she was scratching her leg from the unexpected discovery she was violently allergic to the mixture of baking powder and pepper.  I was laughing… very, very, silently under my breath.  Even token men can be mauled.  Never, ever, laugh at a women about her dress, and never, ever, answer the question of do they look fat.
  3. Female #3 – Battery Acid.  Well yes, you will find that in a car, but really…  She nixed this one, which is good, because the chemical reaction between battery acid and baking powder is an explosion.  I was silently cheering this option on.  What does a man do for entertainment these days?
  4. Female #4 – Splatter Paint Colors.  Go all avant-garde with a Pablo Picantesauce impressionistic work of art.
  5. Female #5 – More grease.  Yes, splash her with grease so that the dress just matches all around.  They might all get up at once and starting lobbing their French fries all over her.

This final solution was the one she thought of choosing, but to do so she would have to strip, close the door and prepare taxes in the nude.

This is when the enterprising man in me – came into the picture and the rescue.  I mentioned I would trip the fire alarm and send her rushing into the streets, where I’d have a little desk, ten-key calculator, and laptop ready to continue preparing tax returns.  By the end of the day, we’d have 1,000 new clients and she would be heftily tipped.

She didn’t think I was a bit funny or clever, and suggested I run out of the building naked.  And this clearly why women are from Venus – a planet uninhabitable, humorless, cloudy, gassy, overly heated, and unable to penetrate with logic or reason.  I could have saved this gang of women their entire lunch hour by telling her to go home and get a different dress, but heck, then they wouldn’t have anything to do in the lunch room, except batter the token men in their lives.

Further proof that the DNA Code of women is nothing more than a mutated microbe that arrived from Venus, came out of the sludge, completely nude.. ready to file your 1040EZ.

And we men, in our infinite wisdom and simplicity, are spell bound by them, well… their nude bodies.

Silly and absurd?  You betcha!

2014 – A Review



Honestly, I don’t remember much about this past year.  It was a blur.  I think we had a polar corset, pineapple espressos, or something like that. I increased my fiber intake. My college football team (OU) initially ranked #4 and ended #400 (out of a possible 130 teams) – who knew the odds of that?!  I gained weight making the dough boy proud and very rich.  I converted from beer to wine because I was convinced the redness had health benefits, even though  my teeth are so stained, I am now confused with Nosferatu.  I wrote very little and generally was not in a laughing mood (I blame the fiber).


I watched “Moving to Hawaii” and tried to move to Kauai, Hawaii. This is of course if I can find a home or cardboard box that I can afford and isn’t snatched up before I can get there, or  leased by wild free roaming roosters.  If any of my loyal readers are from Hawaii, has a place to lease, and is willing to take my gas passing Golden Retriever (yes, I lay blame on the poor dog and the fiber), please respond by commenting here.

I grew older – dagnabit!  Even AARP stopped sending new member applications.  Instead, I received the OFP (Old Fart People) membership application, which was really less confusing with only three simple questions:

  1. Are you over 55?
  2. Do you require massive doses of fiber?
  3. Can you pay us $5?

It was so simple, I completed the application in 15 seconds and saved 15000% over AARP.  I have been approached to be the official OFP spokesperson.  I’m thinking it over.  I am highly qualified and they have offered me a free set of Yoga pants, because I began practicing in 2014 so I could be bend forward to cut my toe nails.

That’s it.  Exciting huh?  With this in mind, I’ve made my 2015 resolutions:

  1. Cut down on the fiber, at my wife’s pleading and my Golden’s howling.
  2. Cut down on wine and women.  Oh wait… that was a dream… never mind.
  3. Write more excellent humor like that displayed here.
  4. Perfect my sneers and do it more often, then blame it on the fiber and the Golden.
  5. Get to Kauai even if I have to dress like a wild free roaming rooster and blend in with the indigenous population.
  6. Bundle up for more polar corsets and pineapple espressos.
  7. Lose 35 pounds in 100 months or less.
  8. Fit into my Yoga pants (visualize that NOW!)
  9. Stay awake past 9:00 pm.
  10. Learn new words to include in the 4 books I WILL COMPLETE THIS YEAR!!!!
  11. Take writing anxiety drugs, supplemented by the other 30 counter effect drugs.
  12. File suit against the pharmaceutical companies for my 31 new 2015 drug addictions.
  13. Bend far enough forward to see past my belly and notice the official OFP brand logo on the Yoga pants.
  14. Stay positive – despite all the 15,000 people who will want to be president in 2016.

So you say it’s impossible to meet all these?!  Maybe so, but as the official spokesperson of OFP, I won’t remember any of it tomorrow.  That’s my excuse and I am sticking to it!  With age comes wisdom – use it or lose it.  I’ve chosen to lose it.

May you each have a happy, healthy, prosperous and fiber free 2015.

Legal Disclaimer – you may not sue me for the mental damage suffered visualizing an OFP member, or its spokesperson in Yoga pants.

Female Code – Feburary 2014 (Reverse Wife Psychology)

Football Season - Again???

I can’t believe I fell for that line!!!

As I may have mentioned, some of my humor material comes from Facebook comments.  This month’s commentary has to do with outwitting our lovely wives, because it’s also the month of Valentines, where they expect perishable items such as roses, wine, and chocolate.  Or they may want dream items like a Porsche, diamonds or Maui Beachfront property.  To head off our wives and have them completely forget Valentines we men have to outwit them and confuse their already confused and mutated genetic code.

One of my friends stated her husband commented while she was cleaning the kitchen, “Gee, you look sexy doing that.” 

For which she shared,“there isn’t a woman in the world who would fall for that line.” But she stopped giggling as the thought crossed her mind, “Great! Now I’ll never want to hire a housekeeper!”

That my male friends is brilliant!!!  It is called Reverse Wife Psychology. Somewhere in that mish-mash of female genetic code is a line of instruction to never share their man with anyone who might steal their compliment.  Brilliant! BRilliant! BRILLIANT!

Now another female commented on how women want flowers.  Why?  Men don’t get to share in joy of the flowers.  They sit there and whither and then someone has to vacuum those affectionate (dozen times 100) dried petals before my Golden Retriever retrieves them to her gut and hurls regurgitated rose petals all around the room.  How romantic!  So when my wife decides to vacuum or scoop up a Golden’s hurling, I’m going to mention “You look so sexy doing that!”  I’ll see how well it works for me.

This year, instead of giving  my wife flowers, I gave her my buns!


My Buns

What woman doesn’t want her husbands buns?  Their always saying they want bun buns, or is that bon bons? I digress. I convinced my wife that getting a hold of my buns was the ultimate Valentine’s gift.  They are hot, plump, toasty and very scrumptious.  And if she plays her cards right, the frosting will be sweet and decadent. Grrrr…

Then it dawned on me, if she was willing to share my buns with the world, she could have that Porsche, diamonds and Maui Beachfront property if we just opened a series of franchise stores to compete with Cinnabon, called

Get Your Hands On My Buns!

That’s right! Franchises are starting now.  We package two buns per bun shaped box. Let me tell you about the special buns just waiting for you:

  1. Cardashashian Buns – Extra plump and popular – although we have no idea why.  Some kind of wind out of the North West I suppose.
  2. Paree Hilton Buns – just like the Cardashashian buns, except not as plump, yet no less popular.
  3. Pour Your Sugar on My Buns – comes with an 80’s rock star wig and red leather Deaf Leopard pants.
  4. Well Slap My Buns – complete with extra sweet southern fried glaze on the side.  Just slap on as much as you want.  Only 8,000 calories.
  5. I Can’t Believe These Buns – think big momma buns with nuts, fruit, BBQ ribs and a 10 gallon bucket of oozing glaze.

And this is only the beginning.  My wife will be so busy raking in the dough on my buns, she’ll never remember our anniversary, her birthday, or that pesky little arrow flinging kid with wings that likes to infect women’s desires on that day called Valentine’s.  BTW, if you read history, the day was created to martyr Saint Valentine who wrote a letter bidding farewell.  So if you don’t get a Valentine’s gift for your wife, I hope you are up on perfectly well-written farewell letters, or expect to be martyred, or find a diversion.

So hurry and pay me the franchise fee and I’ll throw in my best-selling self help book, Reverse Wife Psychology, a $19.99 value absolutely free, FRee, FREEEEE…….  What a bargain.

However we are still editing the Female Code book for men.  Be patient, like until the next millennium.


Female Code – September 2013 (Sneaky Memes)


You see these all the time, little meme’s that catch our attention.  They are meant to be funny and give us a chuckle, but this one… it’s real!  Notice it’s #2044?  Women have codified their offensive against us men. They are sneaky with these little innuendos.

If my wife did this to me, I’d immediately check the bank and credit card balances.  Then I could respond and respond resoundingly, “Oh you bet I noticed!”

If she had worn a negligee while saying this, I’d be drooling and too stupefied to know what to say.  Oh no, that’s just dreaming on my part. Instead she wraps up in an Alaskan survival gown, when she asks me these form of questions. There is not a bit of skin visible.  We’ve been married 33 years, she knows how to get and keep my attention.

If I sit down at the dinner table and she says this, I immediately smell the food and give my golden retriever (Ruby) the first bite. If the dog rolls over, howls, and gags then I will know what to say, “Oh you bet I noticed!”

If she brews a pot of coffee that doesn’t smell like Colombian Supremo and says this, and my Golden starts to run, my reply will be, “Well Ruby certainly noticed! Let me guess, foo-foo coffee, right?”

If she ever mowed the yard, just once in her lifetime, I’d say, “Uh oh, what have you done now?  Yes, I noticed!  Hell has frozen over. Who wouldn’t notice?!”

If she says this, I will immediately look to see if it is a new outfit and reply, “I need to mow the lawn.  Hell hasn’t frozen over yet!”  To which she will look at me, completely befuddled and reply, “Huh?”  Ah, you see, we men are sneaky too.

We’ve been working out now for about 5 months, trying to lose weight and to keep enough muscles in shape to pour and drink wine (a very arduous calorie burning task).  I tell her that I am starting to notice, but the scale isn’t dropping fast enough for her, that’s when she says, “Well I don’t notice ANYTHING different!!!!”  You see, I can’t win, these are impossible odds, because a woman is involved.

They can’t help themselves, it’s part of their genetic mutation; that female code with 16,700,000,000,000,000 mish-mashed strands, all wrangling for equal time.  #2045 I am sure is:

One of the most terrifying things a woman can bring home is, “50 Twilights of Gray Matter Yoga Starter Kit.”

If I don’t post next month, you will notice something different.  I will be rolling over, howling, gagging and begging for mercy.  But you have over 250 former humor post to read.  I think ahead in case you haven’t noticed.

Man Club – July 2013 Edition (Hard Rock and Golfing)


You are back from shopping! So soon?

Men, you’ve been through this before.  Your girlfriend, fiancee or wife has just returned from shopping and she wants to tell you about the bargains she found and how much money she saved.  Be prepared – it’s going to hurt.


Prada, Coach, and Calvin Klein
Oh How I want them to be mine, mine, mine!
(Sung to the tune of the William Tell Overture and Suicide Symphony)

In this month’s Female Code episode, I gave you an educational background of the real story of Adam and Eve – “The Married without Children Era.”  There in episode 666, Eve turns 54 and enters menopause in the heat of July, yet there are no men and there certainly is no pausing, so whose brilliant idea was it to call it menopause, maybe menomurder is more apropos.  So now it’s just you and your non-stop jibber-jabber soul mate from hell!  Somewhere in the female code there is no gene for logic or rational.  I shall prove my point.

“Honey, Honey… I just saved you big bucks on this new Coach bag,” says your loving succubo.

Succubo – not to be confused with a succubus, which is cool and sexy, but a succubo – an evil female demon vampire that bleeds your wallet, a turnip and the federal reserve dry.

“Great, enough for me to go golfing tomorrow?”

“Huh?” asks your sweet little succubo with a look like you are a total idiot.

“Savings – like the one at the bank where we place money into!”

“That’s not savings – that’s hoarding!!!  Savings is where you spend far less than retail!”

And so goes the debate with that sweet little snookums of a succubo you married, as she shows you the contents of her sixteen shopping bags from Prada, Coach, Calvin Recliner, Che Tre Le Vue, Coldwater Creek and Paddle, Diane Von Iceberg, Tahari Mahari Mai Tai, and Victoria’s Sucrets.  Which begs to ask the question, how is it women can find energy to carry all of this, but not one little bag of groceries.  My wife, when she arrives home from grocery shopping, honks her horn for me to serve her.  Carrying the bags – now don’t get carried away!

Logic and reason, this is where you just lost the argument and it can never be won.  Savings and shopping are not synonyms.  It is the one section of the Man Club Manly Manual I hate to refer you to:

Section 666 – Utter Defeat

In those rare instances where you attempt to apply logic, stop, for god’s sake STOP.  You will not win, you will lose, and you will have a splitting headache to boot.  To survive the seven deadly sins you must have the virtue of patience, be deaf from cranking up old 70’s and 80’s rock songs, and play golf – whether you suck at the game or not.  You must also learn nod in agreement.

There you have it men, wisdom in as few as words as possible.  That’s because we men are brief, to the point and can find a solution to everything, except personal finance, which is the “Bane of our Lives” – a new daytime soap and antacid opera. You got to know when to hold them, know when to fold them, know when to walk away and know when to nod.

Disclaimer – men this is not humor, sadly this is reality. Fooooooooore!  Elin – put that club and my golf balls away!

The Age of the Wuss

This sounds like a chapter from a fantasy adventure story, but it is actually a chapter out of modern history. Last night I died laughing, but was resurrected, by my male genetic code to survive this modern age, from watching comedian Don Friesen.  He’s now my favorite comedian because he has observed the modern wussy world and is making a living from it.  Here’s a sample.

All aboard the wuss train – wuss, wuss!  I refuse to ride that train with shaved chest, legs, arms and groin, carrying my little man purse and looking modern in my man Capri.  My daughter says that men like this are now called a hipster.


A hipster you say? If you go back to the 1970’s, my generation, they would have been called a wuss.  Sorry, I know it is not politically correct, but I’m not a politician.  It’s funny too, because when women post photos on Facebook or blogs you see something like the following photo below under a category called “Man Candy.”  Now he might be wearing a leather kilt, but also notice the salivating women bidding on this “man.”  How many of you ladies would bid on an Erkel or a Bieber?  That’s what I thought.


I graduated high school in 1977.  I was 6’1″ and 135 pounds.  I was not a man, I was a twig.  If I turned sideways you couldn’t see me.  I was the incredible disappearing twig wussy. See, I don’t even spare myself.  So I took off on a quest to leave wussyville behind me – forever. One year later I put on 50 pounds of muscle and BAM –  Quakers Instant Man!  My love life went from zero and dead on arrival, to hero and gone in sixty seconds.  I was going on a hunch that strong men survive the gene pool. The age of the wuss had ended.

So ladies help me out here, tell me what you are really thinking?  Here’s your choices – the sensitive, fashionable, video game addicted, completely shaven, hipster twig wuss of a man like slave substance, or


A real man with hair and muscle, ready to lay down his life and rescue you from evil.  With this hero, you’ll have to carry your own shopping bags.


I think I know the answer.

Men in kilts

Yup, I was right the first time. The wuss train is leaving, the man candy wagon is boarding. ALL ABOARD!

Man up men!