who is wendys donuts?

who is wendys donuts - panned.png

What the hell is a Wendys Donuts?

Short answer? It’s me.


I am Wendys Donuts: Professional class clown and lover of spicy fried chicken. And steak. And shrimp.

So the natural second question then, what kind of hallucinogenics did my parents take in order to develop a name such as Wendys Donuts? Well … you’ll be shocked to learn that:

Wendys Donuts is not my real name.

After an illustrious career wheeling and dealing in the corporate sector I’ve adopted the alias to keep my whereabouts a secret from my previous employers.

So how did I get here?

I started life as an Indian boy growing up in sunny Location Classified. In those years I faced a heavy disconnect between my love for hip-hop and my parents love for my excellence at math and physics. But I was promised a large pot of goodies if I did well at school so I strived to persevere.

Leading up to the final exams in my adolescence it was probably a mistake to amp myself up using Eminem and Red Bull because I’m sure those invigilators weren’t expecting such an aggressive exam taker. But then again they were forty-year-old “legends” invigilating a high school exam. Who gives a crap about what they think?

No one. That’s who.

For my academic diligence I was rewarded with an invitation from Carnegie Mellon University to travel across the world and enjoy the “full experience” at their elite campus. They’d promised me a life full of parties, babes and computers. A tagline that’d gotten me giddy with anticipation. Of course I know now that they were only 33.33% truthful.

Seeing as how the entertainment market for Indian rappers with a penchant for physics wasn’t booming, it was actually non-existent, I decided to graciously accept CMU’s invitation and went off to learn about the fabulous world of Mechanical Engineering.

In no time at all I was allowed to fiddle about with some cool metal cutting machines. Which was dope.

Striving to be a titan of industry I took up my first internship with a paint manufacturer. During my time there I learnt and did a great many great things. In addition to figuring out how to take comfortable two-hour lunches I was proudly able to develop a new color of paint called Idle Scrumping. I also learnt that only the creepiest of gentlemen work in the operations department and down right goblins work in the packaging department.

Word to the wise: Never trust paint people.

Upon my return to university I struggled to acquire the remaining 66.67% of the university’s promises. If you’re curious, the 33.33% of the promise comprised of computers was very easy to come by. In my search I’d even filed a complaint with the Student Relations Committee but they hadn’t seemed too interested in helping me find a resolution. But then I’m not sure if the good people of the committee had fully understood my qualms to begin with. I mean it’d taken an entire twenty minutes just to explain to the sixty year old woman at the counter what a biddee was.

Spoiler alert: She was not happy with the explanation.

However, between frequent bouts of soul searching and biddee chasing I found the time to put down my joint, graduate and find a job. I could go into the details of my time at college but as it turns out most of my time there was a blur of debauchery and exams. And tie-dye t-shirts, can’t forget about the tie-dye.

All in all college had been a successful escapade and if I was going to do it all over again the only thing I would change is getting into sushi sooner rather than later. Sushi is dope. Long live the spicy salmon skin roll, with a special mention for unagi. I do regret not taking more advantage of our student discount at the Sushi Palace.

In any case, life as a suit had just begun.

My suit of choice had been a grey Brooks Brothers worn with a pink shirt, a purple tie and paired with reddish-brown oxfords. Pure class.

I was promptly told that when working with a capital equipment manufacturer you need to wear slacks, a polo and comfy shoes. But I’d be damned if I was going to walk around the world in a pair of sketchers. I humored the slacks and polo but only oxfords and loafers have ever sheathed my precious toes.

After a short time overachieving I was promoted to the role of Business Manager with the same capital equipment manufacturer. As part of the promotion I was given the opportunity to relocate to chilly Location Classified. I subsequently realized that it is quite arousing to take sixteen hundred layers of clothing off of a woman in the heat of winter, not to mention it doubles as a great workout.

The job itself was something I took very seriously and I treated our corporate expense account with the greatest care. I can say with all honesty that I never opted to use it on a date that wasn’t a sure thing. After a few months of idling around, a close competitor got in touch with me and graciously treated me to some delicious triple chocolate espresso cake and a new dessert known as ‘ladies of the night’. It was quite a good treat and to show my appreciation I proudly managed my employer’s business to a speedy close.

Not like they had much of a future anyways.

After making sure my quick work was rewarded with another round of my new favorite dessert I promptly left the city to take up a new job in windy Location Classified.

The new city immediately presented me with new opportunities for self-growth. For instance, I leapt at the chance to up my sport coat and windbreaker game. Of course I never paired the two. I’m not a monster.

During these jobs I discovered that I had a talent for stringing together nonsensical jokes into one longer nonsensical joke. It was this talent alone that kept me sane whilst shooting the breeze with the drones at the office. Without discovering and developing this skill the drones might have infected me with their inherent lameness.

Had I been infected with the ‘lameness’ there was a larger than certain probability that I would’ve have descended into the depths of a worthless human who finds it stimulating to discuss their optimum regiment of vitamin supplements.

The dumb deficient doo doo heads.

During all this self-growth and realization however, a grand scheme was taking shape. As an Account Manager selling banking software I’d been given unprecedented access to things I should not have been given access to. My employers and clients, clearly impressed by the now stellar suit game, were far too trusting and forthwith with sensitive company tid-bits.

Within just 8 short months me and a few fellow opportunists were able to pull off a splendiferous Ocean’s 11 style heist which doubled as a well deserved leaving bonus. Proud of my accomplishments with the firm I made a speedy retreat to the warm shores of Location Classified to plot my next move.

If you’re curious: I used some of the spoils to amass a treasure trove of rum, cheesecake and heaping helpings of my new favorite dessert.

Before looking for a new job however, I found myself battling the age-old question:

The hell should I do with my life?

Even though my expert skills as a top-notch schemer had afforded me a hefty nest egg, life a suit was just too boring. It looked classy as all hell but was boring. You can often have a much more exciting time boiling an egg than spending a day at the office with the drones. The boring bastards just don’t have any genuinely good jokes. Lets be honest, a joke about the choppy nature of the Oracle stock price isn’t really a joke. It’s just a waste of hot air.

I had to seek out some trusted friends to help me sift through the possibilities and add some steady direction to my life.

After a long and serious discussion with my fraternity brothers and some considerate bottles of scotch, my path was clear. With no hesitation, almost, I chose to leave the world of wine n’ cheese client entertainment lunches and devote my life to writing cheeky comedy.

T’was a sage decision and I was excited to leave the dull work of water cooler conversations and team building actives far behind in my rear view mirror. Although if I’m being completely honest I will miss the times I had emptying out corporate expense accounts on two continents whilst amassing a mountain of blueberry cheesecake and dark rum.

Life as a suit had just ended.

And I’m sure the drones miss me dearly.

By putting my mind to the task and consulting with some wise pints of beer I’ve been able to put together a treasure trove of timeless tales with which to entertain like-minded folks. From the initial reviews I’ve been told that the tales belong in that sacred space reserved for the zaniest of stories and my next scheme is to present them to the world at large. Ideally there’ll be plenty of opportunities to indulge in my new favorite dessert along the way.

The cheeky tales I write are based 40% on undoubtedly false events, 50% on objectionably true events and 10% on my many adventures with wild elves. Take a step forward, dip your toes in the pool of ridiculousness and:

Get Your Giggle On


- PS

Don’t forget to follow the one and only Wendys Donuts using the links at the top of the page. The next time I make an anatomical joke about myself I want you to be the first to know about it.

- xoxo

Feel free to use the comments sections on those pages to shout directly at me. If you would prefer a quieter more intimate word with me then feel free to shoot me an email at wendysdonuts@gmail.com.

Please note: I said “shoot me an email” and not just “shoot me”. Under no circumstances are you allowed to shoot me. That’s one of the written rules of the world. Rule 7 I believe it is, or is it 8? Either way, it’s on the list just after that most sacred of all rules: never trust a fart.


If you’re fan of free stuff, and if you’re alive and sane then you are, don’t forget to check out The Wendys Donuts Report and flip through some ticklish tales over in The Wendys Donuts Story Palace.

If you want the full beans of Wendys Donuts then check out The Sweetness Run. Grab the book now and witness your life take a smilier turn in the right direction.

- xoxo