I always give money to homeless people.  I rarely give to organizations, but always to people on the street that ask me for money.  I know a lot of people are against this.  Their logic is, “Well, if you give that bum money, he’s just going to get drunk, and that’s not going to help him any.”  On the contrary, I think it will help him a lot.  If you’re homeless and you use the $2 I give you to buy a bottle of Mad Dog, well, then go on with your bad self.  If you have to sleep on the street every night, I’m not gonna judge you for wanting to get a lil’ fucked up.  Whatever gets you through the night, s’alright, s’alright. 

 

I admit that my willingness to give is not out of the kindness of my heart.  It is rather a selfish gesture.  I give to people less fortunate to cleanse myself of all my sins, which include but are not limited to lying, swearing, wishing death upon enemies and most women, misogyny, one count of manslaughter, twice masturbating to Dakota Fanning, and hatred toward those less fortunate.  My hope is that when I die on September 15, 2008, I will stand before God at the gates of heaven and He’ll say,

 

God:   “Let’s see here…on January ... read more

I’ve been bouncing around the Northeast very much the past few days, trying to make it through this awkward week between Christmas and New Year’s. 

 

Since my schedule is hectic, you get a hectic post.  Hopefully, I’ll be able to write something more coherent now that I’ll be spending more than one night in the same place for the first time in over a week.  But I’m pretty sure I’m losing my mind, so I can’t promise that.

 

God I love you all.

 

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

 

Look, it’s funny.  It really is.  But please stop sending me facts about Chuck Norris.  I’ve gotten a least three emails a day for the past month or so with these Chuck Norris facts.  Yes, I know they exist.  And yes, I know they are funny.  But I’ve known about them for a while.  The original target of these “facts” was Vin Diesel.  The facts were basically the same, sans beard and roundhouse kick jokes.  They were funny.

 

So I appreciate y’all bringing this to my attention, but I am aware of it.  But what the hell – here are some of my favorite facts:

Chuck Norris raised his ... read more

Unexpectedly traveling today, so no post.  Will get you tomorrow.

 

Hugs and kisses,

Jason

Last night, ABC aired its final episode of Monday Night Football. Monday Night Football will still continue, but it will be shown on ESPN next season (NBC will get the Sunday night game). Though it will still be shown, MNF will never be the same.  I tried explaining this to a female cousin over the holiday weekend and she didn’t get it. This is mostly because she was completely shit-bombed at the time. Also, I’ve been sleeping about three hours a night as of late, so when I drink I’ll have four beers and turn into Drunky McPassOut, meaning my powers of elocution have suffered.  But it’s also it’s just a difficult thing to explain. I won’t try to either, because there’s nothing I can say that hasn’t been already said, either during the show last night or in this article. Also, I’m only 26 and have no knowledge of MNF pre-mid 80’s, so I can’t offer a proper retrospective. But it goes without saying that MNF was more than just another game. It was an event.  Some of my fondest childhood memories involve MNF. For my birthday, probably when I turned 7 or 8, my dad got me a handheld black and white TV (kinda like this one, but much more primitive). My bedtime was 9:30, but every Monday night during football season I’d tune in to watch Al Michaels, Frank Gifford, Dan Dierdorf and whatever two teams were battling it out. ... read more

Just a quick note to wish y’all a Merry Christmas.  I’m not really good at giving holiday wishes since I hate Christmas and all, but have a good one.  And be safe.

 

(And be sure to really hit the egg nog, since you won’t be able to enjoy it again until next year.  God I fucking love egg nog.)

 

Posting will resume on Wednesday, 12/28. 

The “memo” area on your average check is a comedy goldmine begging to be spelunked, yet people fail to recognize this.  More often than not, people use this space to describe what the check is being written for: “May 2004 rent”, “John’s birthday”, “Account Number 193883984297″, etc.

 

But in reality, this is an opportunity for free-form comedy.  I’m telling you this now because the holidays are upon us, and, like many of you, I have no imagination when it comes to giving gifts, so I often give money.  Since we all know that giving cash is too…Italian (read: tacky), I always give checks.  I know that receiving cash is preferable, but my logic is, “Hey – I’m giving you free money.  The least you could do is take your lazy ass to the bank to cash the check.”  Sartre says that the purpose of giving a gift is to enslave the recipient.  I think that giving a gift is just another opportunity to be a dick. 

 

[Please note: this does not apply only to holidays.  Every check I write has something retarded in the memo.  This is a year-round thing.]

 

So this holiday season, instead of writing in the memo of the check, “Merry Christmas, Tom!” or “Happy Hanukkah, Chaim!”, have a little fun with it.  ... read more

I had the worst hangover of my life on Saturday.

 

I know I employ hyperbole a lot on the site, i.e. “It was the best sandwich I ever had” or “There is an International Jewish Conspiracy that is out to destroy me” or “I was so upset that I ran him over and it was the best Sunday ever.” 

 

But there is not a hint of overstatement when I say that this past Saturday, I had the worst hangover of my life.  Every New Year’s Day, I get so drunk marching in the Mummer’s Parade that I can’t maintain an erection for the next three weeks.  My twenty-first birthday began a month-long drunken orgy that ended with my roommates and I being evicted and sued for $23,000 in damages to our apartment.  I went to Oktoberfest – the real Oktoberfest, in Munich – where I spent an astounding ELEVEN days and nights drinking $7 liters of beer fourteen hours a day, leaving in such a state of withdrawal when I got home that I would sit at my desk at work, shaking and sweating, counting the minutes until I got off from work and could go home, smoke pot, and take a very long shower.

 

None of those hangovers compared to Saturday.

 

... read more

 

This morning at around 3am, the MTA went on strike. All subway and bus lines were shut down. Traffic restrictions limited vehicles into Manhattan, mandating that each vehicle have at least four people in it before entering the city. Seven million New Yorkers needed to find an alternate way to get to work this morning. I mean, fuck.

This was originally supposed to happen last Friday, and so I was indifferent about it. I only really have to leave the house the one day a week that I work – Tuesday. Otherwise, I’m content to sit at home. Everything I need in my life is within walking distance of my apartment: food, booze, chaffy handjobs from Chinese immigrants who don’t have all their teeth but really know how to handle a bird, etc. I figured that the strike would happen on Friday but then would be resolved by the time the next Tuesday rolled around, when I had to go to work. Once again, I escape unscathed.

Wrong.

Of course, the strike was delayed until today, and my ass had to walk to work in the cold weather (wind chill: 19?). Fortunately, I live only about a twenty-five minute walk to work. Not great, but it could have been much, much worse. ... read more

Someone I know was very, very upset about this.  We will call him “Justin.”  Justin went away recently.  On his first day out of NYC, he got a frantic voicemail message from his roommate, “Bill.”  Bill was very wound up and upset, wailing like Ron Burgundy in his glass case of emotion, unable to even explain what happened before abruptly hanging up.

 

Justin tracked Bill down and got the scoop.  It was the unthinkable: their “source”, with whom they’ve had an on-again off-again relationship for the past four years, had been arrested, busted by the feds.  So no more of one of the few things that makes Justin’s and Bill’s lives bearable.  This is especially bad, since Justin has recently transformed into the most miserable human being on the planet and derives pleasure only from abuse (particularly from the substance that the source offers, but also from the abuse of booze, other people, and himself). 

 

Not only that, a list of the source’s clients had been confiscated.  On that list are, presumably, Justin’s and Bill’s names and contact information.

 

Once Justin got the fully story from Bill, he tried to calm him down.  “I promise you,” he said, “They’re not going to come after us.  Not with athletes and celebrities on that list anyway.”

... read more

The web page says it all.  Be there.

 

RSVP at info@GloriusMustache.com.

First, I apologize for my behavior over the past few months.  Not for generally being a sucky person, but for sounding so “mysterious” with the projects that I’ve been working on.  Let me backtrack: typically, when I’m feeling down, I’ll print out some posts from this here blog and read them aloud to myself.  It never fails to get me up and even a little randy.  Knowing that this past week was going to be a rough one (mood swings, depression, etc), I printed out a few months worth of archives to bring with me on my self-imposed exile.  And though there were parts that brought me near climax, I realized what an incredible douche I sound like when referring so mysteriously to my “projects”.

 

[Right now you're thinking, "I really hope he's not serious about printing out his old posts and reading.  But I can't say for sure."]

 

Though I apologize for my doucheness, I still can’t give y’all full disclosure.  I will however, tell you as much as I can:

Since the end of September, I have only been working one day a week at my normal job.  That day is Tuesday. I will continue working one day a week through December.  Then I will take a leave of absence from work until mid-February.  That means I’ll have off from work entirely from Jan 1 until mid-Feb. I’ve divided my time between time between ... read more

God I missed you sons of bitches.

 

More to come tomorrow, but I wanted to write to say that I’m alive and (reasonably) well in NYC.  Also, a plug: today I’m quoted in a New York Sun article about the attempted revival of the moustache.  It’s only a little blurb, but hey – it’ll make my mom happy.  I don’t have a hard copy, so I don’t know what page it’s on, but you can view the online version here. 

 

Now let’s never be apart again.

I will be on hiatus until next Wednesday, December 14.  That means I won’t be posting again until that day.

 

I have some deadlines approaching for a project and since I can’t get done any work in NYC, I’m going down the shore.  In the summer, North Wildwood, NJ is bumping: seasonal tourists fill the streets, drinking with abandon, speaking in thick South Philly accents, and getting into fights.  In the winter, it’s a ghost town.  There’s only one bar, one liquor store, one restaurant, and a Wawa (Philly’s localized version of 7-11) open, so I will be distraction-free.  Except for the fights, which I think are a year-round thing.  Sounds great, doesn’t it? 

 

What’s more, I won’t have internet access.  At all.  Well, that’s not true; I’ll have internet through my Treo, but that is very limited to begin with and I can’t imagine how good my reception will be down the shore anyway.  The prospect of no internet is both terrifying and liberating.  I have a feeling that by Day Two of my self-imposed exile I’ll either be in the grips of a complete nervous breakdown (who’s going to check up on my fantasy basketball team to see in Andrei Kirilenko starts actually making shots?) or I’ll be skipping along the beach playing a flute followed by a line of dancing orphan children (an ... read more

Loyal reader and friend JC from Charlotte was the first to bring to my attention that my post yesterday was similar to an episode of the FX show “It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia.“  In the episode, the main character learns that his old high school teacher was accused of sexual misconduct and he (the character) wonders why he was not a target of this teacher.  So it‘s pretty much the same exact idea that I wrote about yesterday.

 

Four things about this:

 

1) I have never seen this show.  Therefore, I did not steal the joke from it.  You might call “bullshit” on this, but it’s true.  You can believe me or not.  I don’t reallly care (I added an extra “l” for emphasis).

 

2) If we’re being honest, I’ve only consciously lifted one joke from someone else to use on this site without giving credit, and it’s bothered me since.  Back in March of 2005, I wrote about attending my 12-year 8th grade reunion.  For the reunion, I wrote a speech (which I never ended up giving).  In that speech I wrote:

 

But I look around the room and I’m happy with what we’ve become: good men, upstanding women, and whatever the hell Wick is.  And I feel nothing but respect for ... read more

When I tell people that I went to an all guys high school, the most common response is, “Eww – that sucks.”  Their logic is that since I was surroundded by 800 guys during my sexual peak, high school must have sucked for me.

 

But in truth, I have no regrets about going to an all guys high school (and not because I am actually an aggressive homosexual and spent four glorious years in high school giving handjobs to bi-curious classmates in the locker room).  My counter to the no-girls argument is that a) just because I wasn’t with girls in class doesn’t mean I didn’t know any girls in high school; and b) I still wouldn’t have gotten laid in high school even if half of the student body was made up of young ladies.  So the “no girls” argument, the biggest negative to the all guys school, is thus rendered moot. 

 

And there are a lot of good things about going to high school without girls.  The first is the absence of sexual pressure.  Every day when I went to class, I didn’t have to worry about what I looked like.  Hell, I didn’t even have to worry about whether or not I properly wiped my ass.  No girls around meant a lot less pressure, and that meant that we guys could be total ... read more

When I graduated college, I swore that I would never do my own laundry again.  I know this sounds hoity-toity, but this was back in the halcyon days of 2001, when a 22 year-old with no real skills could get a job making $60,000 a year based on a solid GPA and some witty banter during an interview.  So when I accepted my big time job in the big city for the big money, I decided that my laundry doing days were over.  Fine. 

 

And I’ve been true to my word since.  Like many New Yorkers, I take my laundry every week to an Asian laundromat.  I don’t understand why everyone doesn’t do this.  Though it’s more expensive than doing one’s own laundry, it’s not that much more expensive.  And when you factor in the ease of it – I drop my laundry off in the morning and pick it up after work, rather than sitting in a laundry room for two hours a week – it’s a real no-brainer.    

 

But there are times when I feel guilty about dropping my laundry off to be done by immigrants (Jason Mulgrew: Always Culturally Sensitive).  Not necessarily because they’re immigrants or anything, but because of the nastiness of my laundry (the squeamish might want to skip this next part).  You see, I beat off into my dirty laundry.  Before your mind starts ... read more