I’m the real Hank Eng, and when I saw this website selling tires, I nearly croaked. I’m not a tire salesman, and I certainly don’t want to be represented by this (BTW, which was the original content on this site until I rescued it from the humiliation occurring daily:

“Hankeng Tires was founded on the basis that tires are key to a vehicles smooth ride, maneuverability, and safety. We make tires that exceed standard in all those areas. Founded in 2002 in China, Hankeng Tires uses the latest technology to produce a superior product. Our tires will provide you with a smooth ride and have an excellent traction while remaining quiet.”

It just so happens that the real Hankeng accidentally displayed their company name as ‘Hank Eng’ which is MY name. This is because the webmaster made a typo (or so he claims, but I feel he is simply ignorant), and nobody caught it until I Googled my name and found the site. So much for accountability and oversight. And thank you, Google!

Then, as appalled as I was to see myself selling tires, I contacted the owner and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. No I didn’t threaten him, just gave him so much more money than he could make selling tires that he could not resist. The tire business went flat, he went off to open a wig store (selling the very best human hair wig selection I might add), and I got to save my reputation. After all, what good is life if you can’t resurrect yourself now and again.

So if you’re reading this, and not looking to buy tires, I thank you, kind visitor for humoring a Hank, an Eng (a good Eng at that) and jolly good biscuit thrower. I will get into biscuit throwing later, but first a little on the joys of being Hank.

I hanker down with my handkerchief and waive my throttles to the passing endives. This is one of the joys of being Hank. And please, don’t hank me, hank my mother. She deserves all the credit for the hankiness around this place. And whether you’re the Hanker or the Hankee you’re going to be welcome in her abode. She is the heart of the Hank in me, bless her soul.

Speaking of navels (I know I wasn’t speaking of navels, but it sounded good), have you ever noticed how they are missing from mushrooms? I’ve thought long and hard on this and have decided that may be because they were not born, but rather raised without birth. It’s enough of a harsh life without going there, but being raised without birth can leave a stain on your soul, much like pumpernickel leaves a stain on the salad.

There is very little to add, so I will add it here: very little.

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