July 9th, 2008

search words, subway, flack, vacation notes
Jason posted on June 30, 2005

Yes, it’s that time once again!  I have run out of things to write about, so below are some terms entered into Yahoo, Google and other search engines that brought people to this site. 

 

This time around, I’ve broken then down into categories for easier viewing.  Also, I’ve recently super-sized the site counter that tracks these things, so I have a lot more of them.   

 

Celebrity:

  • celebrity circumcision (9 people)
  • celebrity armpits (6 people)
  • celebrity dicks (4 people)
  • celebrity handjobs (2 people)

Perhaps I should make the byline of this blog: “www.jasonmulgrew.com – If you have a creepy sexual fantasy about a celebrity, you’ve come to the right place!  And yes, we do have a list of celebrities who are circumcised, you sick fuck!”

 

Hints and help:

  • tips and ways on how to draw porn and nudity
  • how to stop pit stains
  • my erection wouldn’t go down after 7 hours why?
  • He’s dumped me and i want to die
  • is vodka good for the colon
  • do asian nerds masturbate?
  • lose weight while pooping
  • homemade painkillers

Lots of good ones here.  I don’t know who I feel worse for: the girl who’s been dumped and wants to die or the guy with the seven hour erection.  Probably the latter.

 

And trust me, though I have no scientific evidence to back it up, I am certain that you can not loose weight by pooping.  If that was the case, I’d be 115 pounds. 

 

Involving me:

  • suck my ass jason mulgrew
  • laundry mulgrew
  • jason mulgrew sex partner
  • jason mulgrew fat chick
  • jason mulgrew stay at home dad
  • jason mulgrew book deal

Nothing warms you quite like looking over the search terms and learning that someone found your site by googling your name and “suck my ass”.  Sweet.  And I don’t know if that “book deal“ person knows something that I don’t, but they should contact me asap if that is the case.

 

What the fuck?

  • free indian gay guy’s email address
  • lick the doritos after gas bypass surgery
  • love it when you gently tug on my nipples. it sends chills up my spine.
  • gotta piss pee so bad badly grab crotch dick desperation cant wait any longer more
  • celebrity residents upper east side 2004
  • every time a waitress breaks a glass she has to give the guy a blowjob porn
  • shark genitals
  • virginity to a dog

I don’t really have a joke for any of these.  I’ll tell you what though, I wouldn’t mind getting the email address of an Indian gay guy - for free, no less.

 

Shit ain’t right:

  • cut her gigantic fake boobs
  • dad son fuck
  • my student gave me a blowjob
  • jerking off my buddy
  • kids eating pussy movie
  • oral sex by hooker sore on mouth herpes
  • grandmom getting fucked

A movie about kids eating pussy?  Really?  Is that a Disney feature?  And those kids are pretty advanced.  When I was kid, all I wanted to eat was macaroni and cheese and hot dogs.  But that was in the age of innocence known as the ‘80’s, and times have changed since then.

 

*********************************************

 

I saw two disturbing images from the subway this morning.

 

The first was a very large women reading a book titled, “Fit For Life, Not Fat For Life.”

 

I should clear something up before I proceed further: I hate fat people.  Not all fat people, just the really, really fat ones.

 

Don’t get me wrong, I am a very husky man myself who loves nothing more than to overeat.  For example, on Saturday my diet consisted of:

 

  • Breakfast (noon): two bowls of Honey Bunches of Oats, half pint Oatmeal Cookie Chunk Ice Cream
  • Lunch (4pm): a mozzarepa at a street fair in the West Village (two round slices of cornbread with mozzarella cheese in the middle – and yes, it’s as good as it sounds)
  • Dinner (8pm): Thai food (tip-tum fritters, pad thai), half pint Cookies ‘n’ Cream ice cream
  • Drunk dinner (4am): leftover Thai food, half of leftover sausage roll, pretzels dipped in nutella, toddler

So I love to eat.  A lot.  Right now, I’m eating a whole turkey as I type this.  It’s delicious.

 

But the reason why I hate really fat people is because though I am husky and I make a pig of myself, I don’t know how one takes what I do to the next level, going from “fat but it’s ok” to “holy shit that person is breathing marinara sauce.”  I eat a lot and I can’t imagine eating much more.  The only reason I stop eating is because I think I’m going to have a heart attack or my right side starts going numb.  So I guess what I’m saying is that I’m a fat fuck and if you are much fatter than me, you are really a fat fuck.  If you’re so fat that you having trouble walking or getting out of bed, I don’t have any sympathy for you but I do have some advice: don’t eat three Whoppers in one sitting.  Just get one.  You’ll be fine.

 

But I saw this woman on the subway and it got me pretty sad.  I often read on the subway, mostly because I want to seem smart in front of any fellow riders who are a) ladies and b) hot.  And I go to get lengths to show that I’m reading “Ecco Homo” or “The Unbearable Lightness of Being”, coughing, moving, and otherwise bringing attention to myself so said hot chick can see the title of the book.  Surprisingly, this has never gotten me laid.


The ”Fit for Life, Not Fat for Life” title was prominently displayed and seeing this woman reading it made me all…icky inside.  I have no idea where I’m going with this and I think I’d need a psychologist to help figure it out.  Perhaps it triggered some self-loathing or self-pitying feeling deep inside my black, cold, dead, black, cold heart?  I don’t know.  Moving on…

 

Second image: yesterday I wrote about getting a blowjob for a junkie and sho’ ’nuff this morning I saw a real-live junkie on the subway wearing a shirt that said “Can I interest you in a 3some?”  Um, no sister.  Not unless I’m a SUPER drunk.  Actually, I totally would, but I’m running late for work.  And the third person: does he have long hair or otherwise look like Bo Bice?  Because that would be great.

 

*********************************************

 

I’ve taken some flack via email for yesterday’s post about “random hurtful emails”, as a number of you wrote saying they were too “mean”.  Assholes, of course they are mean - they are called “random hurtful emails”, not “daily pick me-ups” or “friendship notes”.  I assure you my friends and I can take this level of ball busting and we enjoy it.  Just because your dad cheated on your mom and it ruined you doesn’t mean you should take it out on me.  It’s not my fault you are weak. 

 

Thank you for understanding.

 

*********************************************

 

This evening I am leaving NYC and heading to Philly to start my vacation, which will take me from Philly to the lovely shores of North Wildwood, NJ, back to Philly, and then back to NYC.  Some notes:

 

1) I will post at least once, possibly more, while on vacation.  I am bringing my laptop with me and I have a tendency to get very bored very easily when I have no structure in my life.  Boredom = posts.  Of course, I will spend most of my time working on my book, tentatively titled The New York Times Bestseller, but I should find time for a post or two.  Getting internet might be a problem, but if I have to dictate a post to Site Guy Brendan I will do so.  In the meantime, please be sure to visit our “Friends”.  They thank you for your patronage.

 

2) Regarding your emails: if you’ve sent me an email over the past few days and haven’t yet received a response, you’re probably not going to get one.  I’m not saying this to brag (“It’s ok that my penis is small because I get a lot of email“) nor I am saying this to be a dick (“Even with my kitten-penis I’m still too good to respond to your emails“).  On the contrary, I am saying thank you for taking the time to email me.  But due to the influx of emails over the past week or so I simply can’t answer them all or most or even many of them.  I do read everything though.  And yes, I’m a terrible person, but you knew that already.

 

3) The “Drink Until You Shit“ tour will be going on Saturday night, July 9th.  For those people in the South Philly/Two Street area, if you want to go, please contact David Flood.  If you don’t know who David Flood is or how to contact him, you shouldn’t be going anyway.  If you’re really pathetic, you can just troll around North Wildwood looking for thirty guys in black shirts screaming “Shit! Shit! Shit!” at the top of their lungs.  Whatever. 

 

4) For those of you in the greater Philadelphia area, I will be doing a small spot on the show 10!, airing at 10am tomorrow on (you guessed it) channel 10.  If you’re looking to be disappointed and want to like me less, I highly recommend tuning in.  The interview is live and the questions will not be given to me beforehand, so you can watch as I sweat and stumble nervously over answers (apparently, standard procedure is a “pre-interview”, but 10! likes to keep things “friendly” and ”nonchalant”, which doesn’t really mesh with my style, as I like to keep things “angry” and “filled with curse words”).  Also, though the Lord has cursed me with a number of physical minuses (bad hair, back hair, man boobs, poor posture), I only get about two pimples a year.  Naturally, I have one now, on the eve of my non-”Court TV” television debut.  Sweet.  And if all else fails I will be dressed badly.  So it should be a good time for everyone.  Except me of course.  So tune in!  

 

Otherwise, have an enjoyable and wonderful 4th of July weekend.  Godspeed.

 

(And no, I don’t know why the font suddenly got large and no, I can’t fix it.  Oh well.)

a taste of my own medicine
Jason posted on June 29, 2005

—– Original Message —–
From: [name withheld]
To: jason@jasonmulgrew.com
Sent: Wed, 29 Jun 2005 17:54
Subject: random hurtful email

Hey Jason,

Remember when the Eagles didn’t win the Superbowl? They were so close. Man, its funny how bad they lost.

- [name withheld]

p.s. to be fair: I’ll give you some retaliation points:

-I once threw a record up in the air, didn’t move, and let it hit me at rockets speed right in my eye.

-I dated a guy who would sleep with me and make me leave at 4am cause he thought his ex-wife would walk in. mind you, she lived hours away, they’d been divorced for 7 years and I later found out that he actually wanted me to leave so he could sleep on the roof, where the scabbies wouldn’t get him.  He was a construction worker from Collingswood, NJ, you know how they are there. I still can’t hear the name Jim without my feelings getting hurt. He also had an obsession with wanting to smear peanut butter on my vagina and watch as his dogs licked it off. Trust me, I never did it.
Yeah, I got nothing.

random hurtful emails
Jason posted on June 29, 2005

If my friends and I have one thing in common, it’s that we love to hurt each other’s feelings.  I’ve thought long and hard about this, but the intentional ball busting is definitely the least common denominator among us.  Some of us like sports, but not all; some of us like music, but not all; one of us once got arrested at an amusement park for taking a shit in a brown paper bag on a dare (Joe Zadlo I’m looking in your direction), but not all.

But we all love to break each other’s stones.  The good news is that most of us are self-deprecating and can handle it well.  And for those who aren’t self-deprecating, well, we deprecate for those guys.

I think this is partially a product of where I’m from.  Where I grew up, breaking balls was a way of life, a true art form, a necessary survival skill.  We’re not talking “snaps” like “Your momma’s so fat she had to get baptized at Sea World” or “Your momma’s like a bowling ball: she gets picked up, fingered, thrown in the gutter, and comes back for more”.  It’s nothing that, um, organized, but generally if there’s anything I can do or say to you to make you look bad in front of people, then I’m going to do it.  And I expect you to do the same. 

But I believe I’ve taken this to a new level recently with the inception of something I like to call the Random Hurtful Email.  Perhaps the best way to explain this is to give an example.

When he was younger, my buddy Bob’s house burned down.  It was a very traumatic experience for him.  In the middle of the night, he was awoken from his sleep, had to escape the house, and then watched it burn.  He then lived in a trailer park for two months while the house was getting fixed.  He has confided in us, his close friends, that this was the worst time of his life.

On Monday morning, I sent an email to Bob and five of our friends.  The subject of the email was “Fire”.  The text of the email went:

Hey Bob,

Remember when your house burned down and you lost everything and had to live in a trailer park?  That fucking sucked.

Best,
Jason

Thus the Random Hurtful Email.  A lot of things make me happy: getting drunk and falling off a boat, killing an animal with my bare hands (or a pipe or sharp rock), getting high and hanging around a cemetery, watching children in a swimming pool, getting a blowjob from that junkie who hangs out 7th & Ritner for only $3 and a pack of Juicy Fruit because she’s absolutely feening for a hit, etc.  But there’s nothing quite like the satisfaction of knowing you just forced a friend to relive the most painful experience of his life - and it came out of nowhere.  Jackpot! 

Of course, my friends are ruthless and pounced on this, chiming in with, “Yeah, that did stink when you watched your home burn before your eyes” and “Living in a trailer park must have been embarrassing.”  Good stuff.

Another example.  When he was eleven or so, two men broke into my friend Mike’s house.  His dad wasn’t home at the time (he was away on business), so he and his two brothers hid in his mother’s bedroom with her, door barricaded, listening to these two guys go through their home, crying their eyes out, unsure if they were their only to rob or to rob and hurt them.  Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, they left.  To this day, Mike shakes when he tells the story.

Yesterday, I emailed Mike, cc’ing a few of our friends who know the story.  The subject was “fear”.

Mike,

Dude, do you remember when those guys broke into your home and you hid with your brothers and mom in her room, hoping they wouldn’t kill you?  I imagine being the victim of a home invasion is pretty bad.  Is it? 

Best,
Jason

Me: 1, Mike: 0.

This afternoon I’m sending one to my friend Jim.  I’ll call it “your parents’ broken marriage” and I think it’ll go something like:

Jim,

Do you remember when your mom had to divorce your dad because he couldn’t keep his dick out of women that weren’t her?

Best,
Jason

So anytime you need a self-esteem boost, I recommend you try the Random Hurtful Email.  If life has taught me anything, it’s that the only true way to feel better about yourself is by making those around you feel worse about themselves.  Or something like that.  I don’t even know anymore. 

press and crap
Jason posted on June 27, 2005

I wasn’t planning on writing today, because as you may have noticed, since I’ve stopped writing every day, Monday has become my day of rest.  But anytime I can talk about how great I am, well, you know I’m gonna do it.  Welcome to the “manic” portion of our manic depression. 

 

(That is a horrible first sentence.  The cadence is weird and there are too many commas.  Ugh.  This is why I don’t post on Monday.)

 

Anyway, I’ve gotten some press lately that I wanted to share with you all, mostly so I can get in your pants.

 

1) On Friday, our lil’ blog was featured in the official blog of The Philadelphia Inquirer, Blinq.  You can view the entry here.

 

2) I was also in a small feature in Sunday’s edition of The Philadelphia Inquirer that talked about the three Philly guys who made People’s “Top 50″ list.  You can view the write-up here (keep scrolling, all the way down - there you go).

 

What you can’t see on this page is this picture that was used, the same one from the Gelf interview.  This picture was printed in the article in hard-copy, but it’s not on the internet. 

 

What’s lost on my parents and family in this whole process is the joke inherent in the fact that I’ve been named as one of the “hottest” bachelors, because I AM NOT HOT.  In any way.  Like, not even close.  I’m not even the “hottest” person in my family (my brother is better-looking and now the good news: he’s bisexual).

 

So with all these interviews and media requests, I intentionally sent out this picture.  I wanted something that said less “I’m hot” and more “I’m a convicted sex offender who once beat a homeless man to death with a cue ball in a sock”.  So viola.

 

But my family doesn’t get this.  My dad called me on Sunday afternoon from Philly (being in NYC, I didn’t see the article):

 

Dad: “Jas, you’re in the paper, but this picture is horrible.”

Me: “Is it the one where I have a moustache?”
Dad: “Yeah.  You look scary.  And bald.  It’s really bad.”

Me: “Well Dad, it’s a joke.  I mean, I have a moustache in the picture!” [forgetting my dad has a moustache and thus thinks it's totally acceptable and probably doesn't see the humor in me having one]

Dad: “Well the joke’s on you, because you look terrible.”

 

About an hour later, my mom called:

 

Mom: “Jas, did you see this picture?”
Me: “Yeah, Mom.  And I used it on purpose as a joke.”

Mom: “A joke?  What do you mean?”
Me: “I mean I’m not ‘hot’, so I purposely sent a picture of me looking creepy to sort of make fun of it.”

Mom: “Jas, you are very good-looking.  Don’t be silly.  I think you should try to be on ‘The Bachelor.’”

Me: “I have to go.” 

 

3) Lastly, I was in the Metro in Boston, New York, and Philadelphia this morning.  You can log-in to their site to check it or view it here.  

 

I think this is a pretty funny article, as Dorothy Robinson captures it pretty well.  Good for her.  I’ve already gotten in touch with her and she’s agreed to write my biography, Jason Mulgrew: He STINKS, after my premature death at age 29 (think: hot nacho cheese, roller skates, abandoned mine). 

 

Many, many thanks to publicist-extraordinaire Holly Russel for all this.  Holly’s been very helpful in this whole process and I am very much indebted to her.  And after a series of intense negotiations, she has agreed to be my full-time publicist, and will hence be known as Publicist Holly (although I’m pretty sure we’re at minute fourteen of my fifteen minutes, but I digress).  She drove a hard bargain, but she’s joining the team (along with Site Guy Brendan and myself) for six pints of Stella a month.  I don’t know how I’m going to afford her, but damn she’s good. 

 

(And don’t tell Site Guy Brendan this; he’s only getting four Heinekens and a bacon, egg and cheese a month.  He’d be pissed if he knew Holly was making more than him.  God, managing people is so hard.) 

 

And a personal thank you to you all, as we have reached a pretty major milestone: for the month of June, we have over one million hits.  Naysayers will say, nayingly, “Well, that’s probably because you were in People, asshole.”  This is true, but in the month of May, before I was named “Sexiest Man Alive or Dead With a Criminal Record”, we had 780,000 hits, so it’s not that much of a statistical aberration.  So without getting all soft on you, thank you for coming and continuing to come.  The bad news is that my egotism knows no satiety, so keep fucking passing it on. 

 

And I promise that pretty soon this People thing will blow over and I’ll go back to being a fuck up.  Not that I’m not a fuck up now, but you know what I mean.  If you’re sick of me talking about it, the end is near (not tomorrow though, I’ll talk about it then too).

 

So thank you, godspeed, and all the best. 

 

(Is anyone else amazed that I can have a million hits a month and still be a couple of hundred dollars in the hole for this website?  Or is it just me?  God, I need some sort of business manager or something.  The position is available for anyone willing to work on a monthly salary of a bottle of white wine, two spaghetti and meatball dinners, a three handjobs.  Please inquire within.)

a few quick things because I am lazy
Jason posted on June 24, 2005

Wednesday’s post about the drinking tour by my buddy David and I got some legs and many of you suggested that I do a national drinking tour, stopping off in cities and getting drunk with y’all.  Of course, this is probably the greatest idea I’ve ever heard in my life.  Two little problems:
 
1) Yes, I am an internet quasi-celebrity and all, but I don’t quite know if enough random people would come to meet me in a bar in say Denver or Portland.  The solution?  Start handing out leaflets for the site at your local city hall and email it to your local papers.  Trust me, this will work.
 
2) Then there’s the whole thing about me having a job.  I don’t know if I could say to my boss, “Yeah, listen, here’s the deal.  I need, like, a month off.  I’m going to fly from city to city to get drunk with a bunch of people I don’t know.  I was just gonna quit to do this, but I realized that at some point during this trip I am definitely going to end up in the hospital, so I need the job for the health insurance.  Cool?”
 
So we’ll have to put this on the back-burner until a) I can drop the “quasi” or b) I get fired.  I think “b” will come first, but let’s not think about that right now, as I’m going to spend $300 on booze this weekend. 

*************************************
 
Last night, I got a lil’ high and spent the evening dividing my time between write back to your emails and watching the Spurs-Pistons game.  Really boring game.  I think it’s time that I cut off my association with the NBA, but that’s not the point here.

The point is that while watching the Spurs and their fans celebrate, I almost cried.  Sure, I was on drugs, and sure, I wasn’t wearing pants, but more importantly, I NEED to see a Philly team win a championship - soon.  I know I beat this to death last January and February when the Eagles were in the playoffs, but I can say that if the Eagles were to win the Super Bowl, it would be the greatest thing to ever happen to me.  If the Phillies, Sixers, or Flyers won, it might be the third best thing to ever happen to me (and no, I don’t know what the first two are, so leave me alone).  That’s all.  Just worth mentioning. Nothing funny about it.  I’m just really sad.   

*************************************
 
All my bitching and moaning Tuesday about not being interviewed is starting to pay off.  Check out this interview I did with Gelf and marvel at my awesome fucking moustache.  Sure, I look bald, but at least I don’t look fat.  And depending upon your computer’s resolution you may be able to see the dark circles under my eyes, so let it be a lesson: stay away from drugs.
 
(I sent the interview link to some friends last night and my buddy Jeremy wrote back: “Oh geez.  Is there any way you can get that picture changed?  You look like a beastiality-lovin’ meth fueled child molestor trucker from the 70s.”  It’s the nicest thing he’s ever said to me.)
 
(And really, all the guys out there should work on bringing the moustache back, just so these three men can be vindicated.)
 
*************************************
 
This is a music video of David Hasselhoff doing a cover of “Hooked On A Feeling”.  It might take a little while to get up and running, but I promise you it’s worth it.
 
I don’t have a joke for this.  I can’t understand what grown, rational man would watch the final cut of this in the editing room and say, “You know?  This looks great.  Let’s go with it.”
 
Favorite moments:
1) Flying with the birds
2) Putting the salmon in his mouth
3) Jumping with the natives
 
I mean, wow.
 
(thanks to my buddy Kyle for the link)
 
(and have a good weekend everyone)

revving, moving, the messy ponytail, vacation & help, emails, music
Jason posted on June 23, 2005

Please help me out here, because this is something I know nothing about.  Is there any real mechanical need to rev the engine of a motorcycle for a solid ten minutes, shaking every windowpane within three miles and killing nearby small animals with the intense noise and reverberations?

Last night, there was some sort of motorcycle gang eating in the Little Italy restaurant I live above.  Actually, it was more like some sort of motorcycle festival, because they weren’t just in that restaurant, but all over the place.  I’m not sure what type of motorcycle gang/club/group says, “Hey, why don’t we all go out for a nice alfresco dinner in Little Italy tonight?”, but I digress.

And so what I and the other residents of Little Italy were treated to were five solid hours of apartment-shaking/night-ruining engine revving, courtesy of these bikers.  I can’t articulate how infuriating this was.  All night long I sat in the apartment, hearing (and feeling) the vroom-vroom-vrooooom of the engines, filling with an unimaginable rage.  It was so loud that I was legitimately worried that my air conditioner was going to fall out of my window, shook from the window pane and dropped on the unsuspecting asshole diners below.

This is how fucking murder happens, my friends.  Jim Norton has a great bit in his stand-up routine in which he says something to the effect of “There is no anger like the anger of a person kept awake by another person’s snoring.”  I have often dreamed of stealing this bit and building a list of Excusable Reasons for Murder.  For example, if you were trapped in a hotel room on vacation with a buddy who snored so loudly that he kept you up all night and was ruining your trip, a jury might not convict you for murder if you took his life on night three at about 4am.

And if snoring is on that list, motorcycle engine-revving is up there.  I swear to you that if I had had a firearm in my apartment last night, at the very least I would have gone down there and shot it into the air.  I was angrier than I’ve been in months and possibly ever.

And so I ask…is there any other point to revving your engine other than annoying the shit out of everyone in your half of Manhattan?  Are you just trying to say, “Hey everyone, wake up!  Stop watching tv!  And come look and see how loud my motorcycle is!  I fucking rule!  I am in a motorcycle club!  We are bad ass!  And you are gay!  Yes!  My penis is huge!  Check out at my bike!  It’s so loud!  Again, you are homosexual!” or does it actually help the bike in some way?

Don’t get me wrong, I love motorcycles and bikers (and yes, I’m just saying this so I don’t get my ass kicked).  My dad had a motorcycle when I was growing up and when I was 16 he actually bought me my very own.  I think it was his last ditch effort to make me a man.  I’m sure he thought to himself, “Well, I tried to teach him to fight and to play sports and that didn’t work.  On top of that, he was Julia Roberts from ‘Pretty Woman’ for Halloween last year and has a very girlie speaking voice.  Guess I should get him a motorcycle.”  Sadly, it wasn’t meant to be for me and the motorcycle.  Having only learned to ride a normal bike the year before and never very good at the whole “coordination” thing, after two weeks my dad sold it to the brother of a guy I went to high school with.  Oh well.

But please, if you have a bike, don’t rev it up outside my house.  I’m too scared to buy a gun but I did buy a can of mace and I swear to you that I will use it.  If you don’t believe me, test me mother fucker. 

*************************************

Payback is a bitch.  This evening, I have to help a friend move.  My friend Abby (who, by the way, is the happiest woman on earth since the People thing, since it mentions her name all over the place) has a car.  When I was moving last month, she helped me out a lot by making runs to my new apartment with my stuff, cramming all of my junk into her Saab, driving through the streets of Chinatown while I screamed, “No!  Make a left!  Damn it!  Where the hell are all these Asian people coming from anyway???  Are they falling from the fucking sky???”

Tonight, Abby is moving her “big stuff” to her new place in Brooklyn.  And now she’s calling in a favor.  Crap.

What’s even better about the situation is that Abby will have three people helping her move in addition to me: her dad, her brother-in-law, and one of her dad’s co-workers.  What’s so good about this?  Abby’s dad is 6′6″ and a farmer.  Her brother-in-law is also a farmer.  And the third guy is a farmer too, but when not farming he goes to Alaska to do deep sea crab fishing, like in the show “The Deadliest Catch”.

These guys spend their days in the hot sun hauling 100 pound bags of seed.  I spend my days in an air conditioned office eating peanut M&M’s.  If anyone has a video camera, I encourage you to come to Brooklyn to film this, because it’s going to be comical.  My only hope is that I can escape the embarrassment by somehow pulling a hamstring on the subway ride over to Brooklyn, rendering myself unable to move.  Otherwise, I’m in trouble.   

*************************************

Ladies, can we have a moment?

There is a phenomenon sweeping the nation that drives men wild (or at least drives me wild).  What is it, you ask?  The messy ponytail.

I tried to find a picture as an example, but to no avail.  But you know what I’m talking about…the hair is pulled back in a ponytail, but it’s not in a long tail form but rather half-up and half-down, and some strands of hair loosely hang in the front and in the back.  Like a messy ponytail.

This is a popular look for women in the summer and I think it’s pretty darn hot.  It says, “You know what?  It’s hot so I’m gonna pull my hair back.  But I really don’t care about what it looks like, so whatever.”  And we all know nothing is hotter than not caring.

So please ladies, for my sake and the sake of men everywhere, rock the messy ponytail.  Thank you.

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Two things to be aware of:

1) As I mentioned yesterday, I will be on vacation from the week of Monday, July 4 to Friday, July 8.  There will be no posts this week (most likely).

2) My birthday is Sunday, July 17.  I will be 26.  Start saving your pennies now, because we will have our biannual jasonmulgrew.com pledge drive.  Last time (December), less than .01% of you gave.  Let’s try to improve on that this time, especially since I had to shell out some extra cash to keep the site from crashing because too many of you were coming.  I recommend putting your loose change in a coffee can, though donations will be via Paypal (all you need is a credit/debit card).   

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I’ve gotten quite a bit of emails from you recently.  I am trying to answer as many as I can, but if I don’t, please do not take it personally.  Note: I will NOT answer your email if you put “boobies” in the title and you do not have boobies anywhere in the email.  This is just downright mean.  Getting me all giddy and excited like that, thinking I’m going to see some boobies, only to have a plug for your blog in the email, well, it’s just not right. 

But if you’re new to the site and you dig it, I ask that you pass it along.  This site is powered by word of mouth because my ass is too broke to do any advertising and I only have like eight friends, so that’s all the readers I can contribute.  Link it on your blogs or websites, email it to your friends, drop a link in a message board, use the “Spread the Word” page - whatever you’re most comfortable with.  Just fucking pimp it already because I’m freaking out over here.

Thank you in advance for your support.   

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Six Songs:

“I’m Lonely (But I Ain’t That Lonely Yet)”  The White Stripes
Get this album.  The whole thing.  Trust me. 

“Promises”  Eric Clapton
If I’m ever in a relationship, and I get in a huge fight with my girl, and I leave her place, get in my car, and just drive, unsure of where I’m going, I’m going to play this song in the car.  Also, it would be helpful if it’s 1978.  That would be perfect. 

“Save It For A Rainy Day”  The Jayhawks
A nice country-ish ditty that starts, “Pretty little hairdo/Don’t do what it used to”.  Sad.  So I like it.

“We All Had A Real Good Time”  Edgar Winter Group
The official song of “Jason Mulgrew 2005: Summer of Party.”  Anytime you have a man as gorgeous as this leading your group, I’m listening.  But when you back it up with extraordinary musical talent and a song about getting messed up, you deserve a Nobel Prize.

“Paper Doll”  Louis XIV
This song is cool, but it is so sexual in nature that it makes me blush.  A female reader suggested it to me and I played it for my roommate Brian.  After listening to it, he said, jokingly, “Any girl who likes that song is a slut.”  I wouldn’t go that far, but I certainly wouldn’t want my 17 year-old daughter singing it.  Of course, I haven’t spoken to or seen my daughter in about twelve years, so I don’t think I’ll hear her singing this.  Unless she like, shows up or something, because Lord knows I’m not looking for her.

“See Me Feel Me”  The Who (Live from Woodstock)
This is possibly the best easily accessible live performance of all-time.  I say “easily accessible” because I’m not one of those guys who has dozens and dozens of recorded live shows, so I can’t say how well this stacks up against Zeppelin’s “In The Light” from 10/14/78 or Phish’s “Antelope” from 2/11/94.  It’s a lot like how I have sex: it starts softly and beautifully, builds slowly to a stunning climax, and then abruptly ends.  Only after sex I also have to climb back out the window, and this song doesn’t do that in any way.  But otherwise it’s exactly the same.  

drink until you shit
Jason posted on June 22, 2005

Whenever my buddy David and I get together, we get messed up - big time.  David’s one of my oldest friends from Philly and whenever I go down there or he comes up to NYC, it gets ugly.  Not “I got so drunk I threw up” ugly, but “I woke up in an Arizona desert without a left hand” ugly.
 
David and I lived together in North Wildwood, NJ (henceforth, “down the shore”) the summer after we graduated high school.  It was an awkward time for us both, but a good time nonetheless.  Last summer, when we were both down the shore for the weekend, we had a “drinking tour.”  This consisted of the two of us getting black-out drunk while people looked on and shook their heads in disgust.
 
In two weeks, I’m going down the shore again.  I’ll be there from around July 3 to July 10.  David and I have planned another “drinking tour” this year, which will again most likely be the two of us drinking way more than we should while people judge us.  And again, I will probably tell all the girls I grew up with who rejected me back then because I was fat/borderline gay how much money I make.  They in turn will be disgusted and feel sad for me.  I am such a fucking ladykiller.
 
But this year, we’re coming prepared and making it official.  We’re calling it the “Flood/Mulgrew 7th Annual Quasi-Celebrity Drinking Tour”.  The first five didn’t actually happen and the sixth was last year, so naturally this is the seventh.  The “quasi-celebrity” thing I don’t really like, but hey, that’s what I am. Our motto?  “Drink until you shit.”  Simple, direct, effective.
 
And we have an official uniform.  I have spent the last three hours perfecting this shirt and I have to say, I couldn’t be happier with myself.
 
You should probably get yours now.  It’ll only be a matter of days before you see Paris wearing one.  Or rather it’ll only be a matter of days before you see me wearing one, in handcuffs going to jail because I broke into Paris’ house and masturbated all over her kitchen floor.  Whatever.

it’s official
Jason posted on June 21, 2005

I have completely crumpled under the pressure of the People thing and have been rendered impotent (blog-wise and with my bird).  I find it impossible to be self-deprecating when a real-live magazine said I was “hot”.  Not only that, but I have grown to believe this magazine’s proclamation and thus have adopted certain strange and diva-like tendencies, like eating only with disposable white utensils, spending two hours each morning in the bathroom grooming the hair on my scrotum, forcing all my friends to communicate with me in six words or less, and demanding my roommate Brian call me “Mr. Mulgrew” and my parents call me ”Jesus II”. 
 
This has destroyed the blog and so I am officially retiring.  When I started this in February of 2004, I had one goal in mind: to be in People.  And now having achieved that goal, I am content to return to a life of anonymity, finally able to retreat to the rest stops of I-95, offering weary travelers handjobs in exchange for $2 for a McFlurry, all just as I had envisioned in my very first post.  It has been a long and nauseous ride, one with with self-doubt and pity, and it is over.  And I am hot.  Thank you and god bless.
 
…
 
I’m kidding!  God I am so silly.  I couldn’t stop this blog if I tried, as it’s pretty much the one thing keeping me going right now.  I’m just trying to get on your good side because I don’t have much for you today.  I know you’re probably thinking, “The last time you wrote was on Friday - what the hell have you done since then?”  Well, thank you for asking, I’ve done a lot.  Being named one of the hottest bachelors by People magazine has changed my life dramatically and provided with all sorts of new and exciting things, like…um…nothing.  It has actually done nothing.  No interviews, no press, no invitations to parties in the Hollywood Hills, no nothing.  As far as women: no random sex in bar bathrooms, no blowjobs in cabs, no making out with two chicks at once, nothing.  You know what the highlight of my People experience has been in the lady department?  This conversation from Friday night:
 

[Girl has just been convinced by my friends that I'm in the magazine - they didn't bring it to the bar with them like I asked]

Girl: “No offense, but why are you in it?“
Me: [sheepishly] “Um, I have a blog.“

Girl: [confused] “What’s a blog?“

Me: [astounded, forgetting that 75% of the population doesn't know what a blog is] “It’s like a diary, but on the internet.“

Girl: [brutally unimpressed] “Oh.“

[Four seconds of silence]

Me: “So do you want a drink?”

Girl: “I guess.”

 

Needless to say, I did not score with her that night. 

 
You know what the People thing has done?  It’s made me really uncomfortable when talking to family friends and older people about it.
 
Middle-aged woman friend of family: [looking at People issue] “Oh, you look so handsome Jason!  And what’s this about a ’blog?’”
Me: “Yeah, I have a website that people read, I guess.”
Woman: [excited] “Oh, I can’t wait to see it to see what all the fuss is about!”
Me: “Um, yeah, you might not want to read it.  It’s a little, um, raunchy.”
Woman: “That’s ok.  I am sure I can handle it!  I am so happy for you!”
 
Two hours later, I got a call from that woman’s son, who I am friends with:
 
Him: “Yeah, my mom read the site.  I don’t think you’re welcome in our house anymore.”
Me: “I kinda figured that.”
Him: “She actually started crying.”
Me: “I guess I’ll talk to you later then.”
 
Another upshot of this is the sizeable number of emails I have gotten from you all saying that I am a liar and everything I’ve written about on this site is a lie and everything I’ve even thought about is a lie because I am “normal” looking. 
 
Friends, how can I explain this?  Do you think People magazine would put me in a bachelor issue in my normal attire, which consists of a slightly pit-stained t-shirt, an old pair of jeans, and New Balance sneakers I’ve had since 2003?  Do you think they’d set me up on a couch with one hand in a plate of nachos and the other covered in vanilla pudding?  They were obviously trying very hard to make me look good.  Those were not my clothes; they were brought to the shoot by a stylist (who, thankfully, listened to me when I said I wear a lot of dark colors to minimize my girth).  That is not how I normally look; during the entirety of the four-hour shoot, a hair and make-up person was fussing with me, putting on make-up, fixing my hair, combing my beard, etc.  And these reasons are precisely why I like that picture so much: because it is not an accurate representation of how I actually look, and is in fact much better than I look on a daily basis (or even when I go out scoping for high school girls).  I am sorry that I am not as ugly as you had imagined, but if you want, drop me a line and we’ll hang out.  I promise to disappoint you.  And, if you play your cards right, I will probably sexually assault you.
 
The good thing that has come out of this is the amazing ballbusting going on between my friends and I.  See, I didn’t know that the issue was going to be 50 “hottest” bachelors until I had it in my hands.  All the while, I thought it was going to be something like “most eligible” bachelors.  This made some sense to me.  I’m nothing if not eligible, in the sense of “available because no one else will take me.”  But “hottest”?  You have got to be fucking kidding me.  My penis and testes have shriveled to one-eighth their actual size because I haven’t used them in so long, and I’m the “hottest” anything?  Yeah, right.
 
So when I showed my buddies the issue with the word “hottest” on the cover, all hell broke lose.  Immediately I started calling myself one of the hottest men in America.  Then I started saying I was ranked #2 on that list (behind Usher, and I claimed that he only got the #1 spot because of reverse-racism).  By Saturday night, my friends were introducing me to their friends (guys, of course) as “the most physically fit man in the world according to People.”  Eventually, this has degenerated so much that I think we’ve established that I’m so hot that every time I ejaculate, $40,000 in gold doubloons spew forth from my penis. 
 
And so, like I said on Friday, I am keeping it real and not letting this go to my head.  Not because I don’t want to, but because I simply can’t.  At least you can look at me and say, “Man, Mulgrew didn’t change a bit when he got his break.  He probably shouldn’t have stolen that bus and run over that Chinese family, but I guess a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
 
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A new lover has been added (though don’t tell him I said that, because he’d probably kick my ass).  The byline description of Clublife says it best:
An online narrative of the life of a bouncer at two of New York’s most popular nightclubs.
A fascinating read.  I dare you to read one post and not get hooked.  So do it: Clublife.
 
And remember, please remember to visit all our lovers and friends when you have the time (and have read every fucking word on this site).  Thank you.

people people people
Jason posted on June 17, 2005

Your assignment:

1) Got to your nearest bodega, convenience store, or place that sells magazines
2) Buy the June 27th issue of People (available now)
3) Turn to page 102
4) Say "Holy shit - I read that guy’s blog!"

I can’t believe that I’m not joking when I write this, but I have been named one of People’s "50 Hottest Bachelors" of 2005.

(I’m not mentioned on the website - shockingly - but you can see the write-up here)

Now everyone, just stay calm. The important thing here is that no one freaks out. Because if you guys start freaking out, then I’m gonna start freaking out, and then something bad is going to happen, most likely involving fire, a mob of people, and my crotch.

Realizing that this would be a strange and confusing time for all of us, I have prepared an FAQ to help get us through this. Remember, deep breaths. We’re all in this together. Mostly.

Q: People Magazine? What the fuck?
A: I know. Ain’t that some shit?

Q: How did this happen?
A: What, you think you’re the only one who reads this blog? You think that I’m lying when I talk about how popular I am? You think I just woke up hungover on one Saturday morning, cheese fries crushed into my pillowcase and my hair, and said to myself, "You know what? I’m going to start calling myself an ‘Internet Quasi-Celebrity?’" Of course not.

(Well, that last one is actually true, but you get it)

The good people at People read this here blog. They emailed me and asked if I’d like to be a part of the issue. Of course I said, "You’re joking, right?" But they were actually serious. And so here we are, trying to piece together what went wrong.

Q: No, I mean it like, "How did this happen? You suck."
A: Oh, sorry. No idea. I’ve thought a lot about it and I’ve come up with three possible scenarios:

1) Someone at People is trying to lose his/her job.

2) God, who as I’ve mentioned I’ve been feuding on and off with since 1994, is building me up as high as possible in order to bring me crashing, kicking, screaming, and swearing to the ground.

3) This issue is not actually "50 Hottest Bachelors", but rather "50 Guys Who Like to Drink Beer in the Shower" or "50 Dudes Who Masturbate in Empty Parked Cars" and the "Hottest Bachelors" thing is just a typo.

Q: What’s with the quote? "Women in the Midwest want to marry me?" What the fuck?
A: You know what you’re telling me when you ask that question? Do you know what you’re saying? You’re saying, "I am not famous. Not at all."

The interview was almost an hour long. That is a long-ass time. After about thirty minutes, I had no idea what I was saying or what the questions were. I started answering all questions with "I don’t know" or "I have no comment". At the forty minute mark, I accused the interviewer of calling me a racist and for the rest of the interview put the phone down and did push-ups (or rather attempted to do push-ups). So yes, I may have mentioned that I have received a few marriage proposals from women in the Midwest. The exclamation points I can’t take credit for. I don’t usually speak in exclamation points, unless there are a lot of methamphetamines involved.

Q: And the picture? The excerpt? I mean, what gives here?
A: Look, again, you’re just showing me how un-famous you are. In regards to the excerpt, it’s People, so there are certain restrictions about what can and what can not be printed. 2000 words on how I got messed up on pills and beat up a cabbie or how I smoked some crazy shit and tried to fuck a refrigerator is just not gonna make the cut. I’m happy they were able to find something usable, since most of the site is not exactly PG-rated.

And the picture - I personally think I look like the sexiest man on earth, so I’m happy with it. It’s a good look that I’m giving. One that says, suavely, "Excuse me, but do you mind if I have that last nacho? No? Well then you should know that I am going to poison you." Also, the photo shoot was a whopping four hours long. The good news is that I got to drink the whole time. Put me and a camera in a bar for four hours and magic happens. Put me and a pile of hot dogs in a bar for four hours and no one is going to walk away a winner.

And really, you’re being too negative. It’s People! Come on! Let’s be positive. Because really, it’s all downhill from here for me. Quickly, too.

[I do want to clear one thing