Jack Kukoda

I just noticed that if you view this site in Internet Explorer, the sidebar is all the way at the bottom of the page. I’ll try to get that fixed up real soon, because, oh man, there is some awesome stuff in that sidebar and I don’t want anyone to have to scroll all the way to the bottom of the page to find it. Oh, and I’ll be adding a new video hopefully by the end of the week, or early next week at the latest. And the Upcoming Shows page should be up soon, too.

In the meantime, tickets are still available for the Winter Olympics so head over to Turin! You’ll want to be there in person to see if Michelle Kwan can finally redeem herself and capture Olympic Gold. She must be about 40 by now, God bless her.

UPDATE: The problem should be fixed now. Looks like that awesome photoshopping job I did on me and Danz was a little too wide, which is what was causing the problem.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Never trust the Russians. They’ll just steal your ideas and pass them off as their own. Check out what I found on Newsmax.com:

Russia to Mine Moon for Energy

Those sneaky Ruskies just announced plans to build a permanent base on the moon so they can mine it for isotope helium-3, a promising fuel for nuclear energy. Uh, hello? I proposed the same thing two years ago. Except, in my version, my moon base was filled with sexy female cosmonauts that wore string bikinis and space helmets. And those furry boots.

They would spend their afternoons in the moon mines, then come back to my lunar palace to cook me chicken Kiev and massage me while I watched Card Sharks. In no time I would balloon to 400 pounds as I lay about, drinking vodka and ordering the girls around. “Natalya,” I would bellow, “Make me some goddamn borscht! I’m starving over here. And when you’re done, go dig up some isotopes.” Yeah, that would be sweet.

(Russian Accent) “We are making sexy party on the moon, da?”

So I guess all I need to get this plan off the ground is a little seed money. I know there are people who read this that work on Wall Street or thereabouts. Any of you know how I can get a few billion dollars to make my beautiful dream a reality? If you do, please feel free to tell me. Oh, and if you somehow help me get this thing going, you’ll having a standing invitation to visit me on the moon. I imagine the sexy cosmonauts will help me build a guest house.

Russia to Mine Moon for Energy[Newsmax]

P.S. If you search for “sexy astronaut” on Google Images, you better be prepared for what you find. My Lord, there are some sickos out there. And if you want the unedited version of the above photo, you can click here. Sinner.

I can’t pretend it didn’t hurt a little when I saw this on CNN.com:

‘Baby Jessica,’ now 19, reportedly marries

I know what you’re thinking: “Jack, you and ‘Baby Jessica’ broke up a long time ago. She’s clearly moved on and so should you.” True as that may be, it still hurts. I mean, we had so much in common: our mutual love of sports, similar taste in movies, and the fact that we both fell down wells as babies and became media sensations. I always thought it would be me walking her down the aisle.

Oh, well. I wish you all the best, Jess. We’ll always have Paris. And that “Where are they now?” episode of Maury Povich where he caught up with people who had fallen down wells.

Over the weekend, I casually asked my roommate a question about Australia. He responded, “Australia the country or Australia the continent?” I asked him what the difference was and he gave me some convoluted answer about islands and sovereignty. His basic point was that if an island is part of a country, that island belongs to the same continent that its country belongs to. I told my rommate that he didn’t know what he was talking about. He said I was wrong.

“What about Hawaii?” I said “That’s part of the United States, but it’s not part of North America.” “Yes, it is,” my roommate responded. I told him that he was an idiot and that not every land mass necessarily belongs to a continent. Then my roommate, for some reason, started to name the continents. There’s only seven, so it wasn’t hard. I don’t know what this had to do with his argument, and I think he was just trying to buy himself some time to figure out what to say. He continued to claim that every island in the world was part of one of the seven continents. Again, I told him he was an idiot. So I asked him, “What about the British Virgin Islands and the US Virgin Islands? They’re located literally miles apart in the Caribbean, but, by your logic, one is part of Europe and the other is part of North America.” He didn’t have an answer for that. “I thought so, jackass,” I taunted him. “How’s your little continent theory working out now?”

According to my roommate, you are looking at two different continents.

I really had him here. A look of confusion and anger came over his face and, balling up his little fists, he blurted out, “Oh yeah? Well…what did you get on your SAT’s?”

At first I thought I had misheard him. I mean, there’s no way a twenty-six year-old man with a graduate degree would try to weasel his way out of an argument by asking me what I got on my SAT’s, right? Right? Isn’t that the sort of question people stop asking by their sophomore or junior year of college?

I made sure I hadn’t misheard him. “Did you just ask me what I got on my SAT’s, you fucking jackass?” I asked him. He acted like he didn’t hear me, and continued with his rather sad line of questioning. “Huh, what did you get? Was it better than (his score)? Huh?”

“You are pathetic,” I responded. “You are a sad little man. You know, it’s too bad there isn’t a section on the SAT’s about how to be a giant pussy, because you definitely would have gotten an 800 on it.”

I think my roommate immediately regretted bringing up the SAT’s, because he knows it’s the sort of thing that I’ll taunt him with for months. You better believe the next time we’re at a party and he’s talking to a pretty girl, I’ll sidle up to them and say, “Hey, Matt, remember that time you had taken a ridiculous position in an argument, and then to cover it up, you started bragging about your SAT scores? Remember that? Boy, that was cool. Almost as cool as that time last year when you fell off your bike and started crying. Anyway, I didn’t mean to interrupt. You two kids enjoy the party.”

God, I can’t wait to do that.

Here’s what Wikipedia has to say about continents. Apparently, there are some different theories about islands belonging to continents, but I think I’m right on this subject.

Previous Roommate Posts:
Games My Roommate Plays
My Roommate, The Published Writer, Is Also Very Smart

Wow! After years of auditioning, performing to near-empty houses, and barely scraping by, I’ve finally gotten my big break! My agent just told me that I’ve been cast in “I’ll Tell You Who’s The Boss,” a one-man show about Tony Danza! I’ll be playing Tony! (Duh, it’s a one-man show.)

It’s going to be so great. The show starts out when Tony is 12, just after he immigrated to the US from Mexico, and goes all the way up to the present day. God, I’m so excited. It will really give me a great opportunity to push myself as an actor, and to learn something about The Danz, which is how Tony is known in the ‘Biz(show business.)

As many of you know, I’m a method actor, so get used to calling me Tony for the next few months and listening to my zany stories about what life was like on the set of “Taxi.” Also, I’ll probably start dating Judith Light. Don’t worry, she’s really cool and I know all you guys will love her.

Check out the resemblance!

God, I’m so thrilled to be working on such a worthwhile project. It just goes to show that dreams really do come true if you keep believing!

Oh, I’m thinking of using this as my bio in the Playbill. Let me know what you guys think:

“Broadway Debut! Jack Kukoda is proud to be working with such a talented group of people as they breathe life into the story of this great man. He has appeared in numerous regional theatre productions, including The Pajama Game and The Caucasian Chalk Circle. Jack would like to thank God for making this all possible, the wonderful kids and counselors at Stagedoor Manor Performing Arts Camp, and his loving family for their unending support!”

Have a great weekend, everybody! Sorry this was so poorly written and bizarre!

Gosh, I just wanted to pinch Canada on its rosy little cheeks when I read this article about how they plan to reassert their authority over Canada’s Arctic waters. Newly-elected Prime Minister Stephen Harper is actually planning on putting military ice-breakers up in the arctic to keep other countries out. Isn’t that cute? Here’s what Harper had to say when US ambassador David Wilkins expressed his displeasure at the move:

“It is the Canadian people we get our mandate from, not the ambassador of the United States,” he said.

SNAP! Take that, Mr. Wilkins! Do Not mess with Canada! Just kidding. Oh, where does the Prime Minister come up with this stuff? I just want to wrap my arms around the guy! Can’t you just see him out in the arctic in an oversized military uniform, marching about with a toy gun, protecting the polar bears and seals? Here’s what else he had to say:

“I was very clear about this in the election campaign: the United States defends its sovereignty. The Canadian government will defend our sovereignty.”

Hmm. Not sure if this is still cute. I think PM Harper is trying to draw a correlation between the US invading Iraq in a pre-emptive strike, and Canada prohibiting other countries from entering the Arctic. I’m going to have to disagree with you here, Canada. I know the new PM is trying to look tough and prove he’s not in love with Bush, but if you’re going to emulate one aspect of the US, I suggest something other than our invasion of Iraq. That hasn’t really been one of our most successful or popular endeavors. Maybe try and copy our love of the automobile or the Super Bowl first. Or maybe our abundance of sexy college girls willing to bare it all for the cameras. I bet Canadians would like more of those. Not me, though. My apartment is already full of them. I can barely get to my kitchen, as is. I’m just kidding, sexy college girls. You know I love you!

Harper to U.S.: Keep out of Canada’s Arctic [Toronto Star]

Dick Jauron, Head Coach

AKA “Mr. Basement Full of Dead Hookers”

“How much for a one-on-one party at my house?”

I think it’s pretty obvious why Coach Jauron gets this nickname. One look at the guy will tell you that he’s got some pretty dark secrets. Hooker secrets. Whenever the FBI catches a serial killer, he invariably looks like this. 50ish white guy, slightly crazy eyes, even crazier smile. It just gives off that whole “I’m trying to look like a regular guy by maintaing this frozen smile, but, oh boy, if you ever dug around in my basement, you’d quickly realize I’m anything but normal.”

I know this seems like a cheap shot since Jauron, by all accounts, is an intelligent, well-respected man. But if shows like CSI, the X-Files, and Criminal Minds have taught me anything, it’s that that’s exactly how serial killers get away with what they do. The talk politely, volunteer in the community, maybe even help out at the local church. Then they go home, order up a hooker, and get down to business in their sound-proof basements.

That’s all. Sorry, I just noticed the last few posts have contained material that might be miscontrued as misogynist or violent. That’s not usually how things are done around here at kukoda.com. I’ll clean up my act real soon, I promise. No more cheap laughs. In fact, I want to start making it up to you right now. Here’s a picture of Asian children holding puppies that’s guaranteed to melt even the coldest of hearts.

You’re welcome. And for more cute, read this post. Or go to this site. You’ll probably spend a good hour on it.

Previous Buffalo Bills Nicknames

Occasionally, when I’m bored, I’ll head on over to the website of right-wing crackpot James Dobson’s Focus on the Family. There’s usually some crazy bullshit on there that’s good for a laugh. But sometimes, like today, it will feature an excellent piece of service journalism like the article titled “The Secret to Motivating a Husband.” According to the article, the secret to motivating a husband(to what, I don’t know. The article didn’t really explain.) is to show him unconditional respect. Just old-fashioned deference, no matter what. Doesn’t matter if he’s a hardworking provider who respects you back, or a shiftless, unemployed racist who beats you every second of the day, save for when NASCAR is on. I don’t want to give away all of the tips in the article, but here’s a little something to whet your appetite:

“God designed a wife to love. She loves to love. For this reason, a husband does not doubt his wife’s love. What he doubts is her respect for him. During an argument, if she shouts , “I love you a ton but don’t feel any respect for you!” he’ll become an island unto himself. A mysterious island.”

Can’t argue with that; women do love to love. And I can’t tell you how many times a woman has told me that she “loves me a ton,” only to turn around say that she doesn’t respect me. I guess that’s partly my fault. My sexual technique and cuddling skills make ‘em fall in love, then they lose respect for me when they find out I can’t really play the banjo like I claimed.

And that’s when I turn into an island. A mysterious island. A mysterious island, shrouded in mist, that holds a buried treasure. And you know what’s in that treasure? A whole bunch of I.O.U.’s for back massages, redeemable at any time, ladies. I’ll be waiting for your call. This island’s been lonely for too long.

I came across this headline on Yahoo! Sports late last night:

‘81′ Becomes New Nickname for Kobe Bryant

For those of you who don’t know, Kobe Bryant scored 81 points in a game against the Toronto Raptors Sunday night, which is the second highest single-game point total in NBA history. Hence, Kobe’s teammates have given him the nickname “81.” At least, that’s what I thought. Then I read the article and came across this little nugget:

“Kobe Bryant practiced Tuesday for the first time since his astonishing performance against the Toronto Raptors, and was tagged with a new nickname.

“Just calling me 81,” he said of his teammates.”

What?! Kobe’s new nickname is “81″ just because he says that’s what his teammates call him? Well, I call bullshit! First of all, I’m not really inclined to believe much of what Kobe Bryant says. Maybe it’s because he grew up in Italy. Or perhaps it’s because he’s very possibly a rapist. I’m not sure which is clouding my judgment more: my irrational distrust of Italians, or my perfectly rational distrust of rapists. That’s besides the point.

The main issue here is that everyone knows that you can’t give yourself a nickname. Nicknames have to be conferred upon you. Sorry, Kobe, you don’t get to be Mr. 81 just because you want to be. If that’s how things worked, I would be known as Sir Humps-A-Lot the Vagina Slayer, but I’m not. The only nickname I’ve ever gotten that’s stuck is “Sneak Tip,” which I received for my slightly sleazy habit of trying to turn the average pants-less makeout session into a little bit more.* Come to think of it, “Sneak Tip” would be a pretty good nickname for Kobe Bryant, based on his past disgressions. Yup, I’m officially calling Kobe “Sneak Tip.” And, since someone else is giving him the name, it’s perfectly legal. Spread the word across the Internet! Kobe “Sneak Tip” Bryant shall live forever!

Bryant gets new nickname [Yahoo! Sports}

*Sneak Tip was actually not my nickname, but that of someone I knew in college. I was known simply as “The Makeout King of Buffalo, NY.”

Well, they announced the winner of the Newbery Medal today and, once again, those bastards on the committee screwed me. For the laymen out there, the Newbery is the most prestigious award there is for children’s literature. Some asshole I’ve never heard of won it this year.

Sweet Christ, how many awesome children’s books do I have to write before these elitists will give me a freaking Newbery? My latest children’s book, “The Talking Lion, a Large Piece of Fruit, and the Lesson-Learning Boy,” was by far the greatest work I’ve produced in the past five years. Even better than last year’s “A Witch, a Little Girl, Some Ponies, and a Bag of Magic,” which was pretty goddamn unbelievable if you ask me.

Some of my critics say that I’ll never win the Newbery because my books contain language too coarse and racially insensitive for children. To that, I say, “Fuck you, Indian. Do not tell me how to write!” Whatever. I don’t write children’s books for awards. I do it for the money. And all the trim I get. You have any idea how many hot, lonely moms there are in this country? Well, I’ll tell you. A fucking shitload, that’s how many, you lazy Eskimo. And they line up around the block for my book signings. Then they line up around my balls.(Note to self, remember that line for the next book.)

Ah, I’ve wasted too much of my time complaining already. I’ve got to finish my next children’s book. It’s tentatively called, “The Magical Train, Some Mean Step-Parents, a Bear, Something To Do With the Circus, and a Lesson About Material Possessions.” And if it doesn’t win me the Newbery, I swear to God I’ll find Roald Dahl’s widow and I’ll punch her in the heart.

‘Criss Cross’ Nets Newbery Medal for Perkins [NPR]

Sorry if this seems a little dated to you because you’ve seen them, but they’re new to me. Holy Christ, the Office of National Drug Control Policy has some new anti-drug ads out…And they’re hilarious!!! Wow, these are so terribly bizarre that they’re borderline self-parody. Remember those old ads where a little girl got run over by pot-smoking teens at a fast-food drive thru? Or the one where two kids got high, and then one accidentally shot the other with a shotgun? Or that whole (Fill in the Blank) is My Anti-Drug campaign? Sure you do, lazy comics have been rehashing those bits for years now.

Well, those blatant scare tactics are nothing compared to the ads that are running now. You thought pot was dangerous when all it did was make you run over little kids? Look at what they’ve found out marijuana can do now:

“Me bones! The marijuana stole me bones! Now I’ll never make the cheerleading squad!”

That’s an actual screenshot of the new ads that are running. In this ad, a girl laments to an off-screen interviewer that, since her friend started smoking pot, all she does is lie around. Get it? They’ve taken the figurative idea of pot making you lazy, and turned it into a visual crackerjack! Here’s another picture of it:

“Her bones! Where have they gone? Pot stole them and now I have to bring her sodas because she can’t go to the fridge!”

Good Lord, these aren’t just horribly manipulative, they’re downright crazy. But the White House couldn’t do them all on its own. They hired the advertising agency of Foote, Cone & Belding to do it for them. The name, or “tag,” for these ads is “Above the Influence,” which Foote, Cone & Belding actually believes will steer teens away from drugs and alcohol and sex. Just listen to FCB’s Executive Vice President Kim Corrigan, whose optimism regarding these ads is, frankly, fucking ridiculous:

“We had an opportunity to make the whole concept of “anti-drug” more aspirational and to figure out a way of taking the notion of drug use and putting it in the context of something teens could find motivating,” said Kim Corrigan, FCB’s evp and worldwide account director. “This brand platform will stick with [teens] . . . because it is the kind of message that is more readily internalized when they are confronted with the choice of to smoke pot or not. It is more peer to peer and it feels more authentic.”

There you have it: advertising doubletalk from a woman who probably lives in a three story loft in Tribeca from all the money she’s previously made by coming up with beer ads that feature horses farting in women’s faces or some such. And if Ms. Corrigan’s statement isn’t enough to convince you the nation is this close to turning the corner on the war on drugs, well, then I just don’t know what to tell you. Here’s some more screenshots of the ads. This one comes from a spot affectionately titled “Smushed.”

“I got really drunk at a party, had sex with some guy, and before I knew it, I had tape on my face. Plus, I shrunk.”

And here’s another one:

“It’s hard to put on my makeup so I can look pretty for boys now.”

By the way, this advertising campaign cost 125 million dollars. I wonder how much cocaine that would buy for an ad exec. A lot, I would guess. And, if you’re curious about the origin of the ads, you can read this article.

You can see the rest of the ads on their official website, for which I have provided this handy link.
Above The Influence

Apparently, these ads starting running in November, but on shows like Malcolm in the Middle and Charmed, so you can guess why I’ve never seen them. It was on the Colbert Report last night, which is where I caught it.

So the Bills have hired former Bears Coach and Yale graduate Dick Jauron as their head coach. Not really a surprise there. Jauron was in the running two years ago when they hired Mularkey as coach. And I still love to point out this little fact: Five years ago, when the Bills hired Greg Williams as head coach, there were two other guys who were being considered. Who were they? John Fox of Carolina and Marvin Lewis of Cincinnati, two guys that managed to turn around franchises and get them to the playoffs within three years of taking over.

Anyway, I’m going to wait for the live press conference at 2:30 before I weigh in on the Jauron decision. I just have two more things for now. 1. Jauron is a fellow Yale grad. I don’t really care. There are plenty of things I think Yale grads are capable of: working on Wall Street, starfucking, marrying other Yale graduates, throwing themselves birthday parties at really expensive bars in New York, staying unemployed three years after graduation(me!), and, of course, that whole Yale thing. I don’t know that spending four years in New Haven, drinking Ice House while making excuses not to go to your friends’ experimental dance recitals or a cappella concerts, in any way qualifies you to coach an NFL team. Prove me wrong, Dick.

And 2, Here’s a little snapshot of how Bills’ fans feel about the hiring move. This poll is from Bills Daily, one of the many Bills-centric sites I visit regularly because I’m a giant dork.

Now, this poll is nowhere near scientific, but it does give you some idea about how the Bills fans who are rabid enough to vote online in the middle of the night feel about the Jauron move. And they don’t like it. 47% think you’re an “awful choice?” Yikes.

I’m still undecided on the Jauron move, but I’m pretty sure I’ll end up hating it. Oh, well. At least we didn’t hire Dom Capers.

Seriously, what the fuck? How does this keep happening to me? I feel like Bruce Willis in the Die Hard Trilogy. Or Sandra Bullock in Speed 2. Or Danny Glover in the Lethal Weapon franchise. You get the point.

Good Lord, how drunk did I get last night? And where? From what I can remember, I started drinking while watching the AFC Championship game. How I got from the Mulligan’s Sports Bar to a rare books library, I have no idea. Please, if anyone reading this was hanging out with me last night and knows I managed to eat, digest, and eventually dispel the first book printed on a printing press, email me at tips@kukoda.com and let me know.

I know the New York Public Library has a Gutenberg Bible. I hope their’s isn’t the one that’s currently clogging my toilet. But if I remember correctly, their Bible is under lock and key, inside of a thick glass case. So I doubt it’s that one. Unless, of course, I somehow acquire the skills of a successful cat burglar whenever I get blackout drunk.

I think I’m going to institute some sort of buddy program when I plan on drinking a lot. Or you know how when you go to a bachelor party, the groom-to-be sometimes wears a shirt that says “Do not arrest this man?” Maybe I could do something like that. Except my shirt would say “Don’t let me eat priceless artifacts.”

See this beautiful, ornate treasure of Western Civilization? It was in my ass not ten minutes ago.

I guess I could stop drinking. But then I would be depriving thousands of strangers of witnessing my hilarious antics. Like that time I got drunk and tried to take a piss behind this bar, but I didn’t notice that my penis was tucked into my waistband pointing up, and I just stood there pissing all over my chest? Yeah, hilarious stuff like that. Anyway, I’m sure whoever lost their Gutenberg Bible will report it missing and I’ll return it and we’ll all have a good laugh.

Anyway, I’m heading to Mulligan’s tomorrow for the Tennessee-Duke Women’s game and I’m gonna get hammered. Anyone want to join me?

Previously: I Just Shat Out A Faberge Egg.

Phrases, besides “Paper Tiger,” that Mao Zedong once used to describe the military prowess of the United States.

1. Plywood Crocodile
2. Wet-Cardboard Shark
3. Permeable Donkey
4. Silk Rambo
5. Cotton Ball Rattlesnake
6. Flannel Brontosaurus
7. Zucchini-Stuffed Jockstrap

Sorry, it’s Friday.

The AP is reporting that the Bills are interviewing former Bills player and current San Diego recievers coach James Lofton as a possible head coach. Really, Mr. Wilson? James Lofton, huh? First you bring back Marv Levy as GM, then you’re going to hire James Lofton as head coach? What’s next? Frank Reich as quarterbacks coach? Kenneth Davis as offensive coordinator? Why not bring everyone back from the Bills teams that went to the Super Bowl?

Mr. Wilson, if you’re so obsessed with recapturing the magic of the Super Bowl Bills, get yourself a copy of Madden Football. All of them give you the option of playing with the 1990 Bills. Shit, you can make them play the 1984 49ers if you want to get really nuts. But for the love of God, do not hire someone with four years of experience as a position coach to be the head coach of the Bills. The City of Buffalo will erupt in flames, I guarantee it. Hell, I’ll fly back there just to get in on the looting. Please hire someone with head coaching experience. I don’t even care if it’s at the high school level.

Just to recap, the Bills have interviewed three candidates so far, and they have no plans to interview anyone else. The candidates are: recently-fired Packers coach Mike Sherman, Not-even-good-enough-to-coach-the-Lions Dick Jauron, and Apparently-nostalgia-is-more-important-than-experience James Lofton. Ahh! I’m on the verge of going berserk with anger right now. We might as well start calling them the Los Angeles Bills and get it over with.

By the way, since the NFL requires teams to interview at least one minority candidate for a head coaching vacancy, there’s a chance that the Bills interviewed Lofton for that reason alone. This would be a rather shitty move since Lofton played for the Bills under Marv Levy, and to use him as a quota-fulfilling token would be despicable. And, why not interview at least one of the many qualified minority head coaching prospects like Mike Singletary?

Ugh, as if this weren’t depressing enough, my friend Paul sent me this link yesterday. Apparently, God didn’t want the Bills to win Super Bowl XXVII. And to think I used to love you, Frank Reich.

Hall of Fame receiver Lofton interviews with Bills [Associated Press]