Jack Kukoda

No? I didn’t? That’s probably because I don’t like to brag about myself. If I did, I’d mention stuff like the fact that I was the MVP of the Christ the King basketball tournament in 7th Grade. Or the time in college when I took a dump so big that it clogged my dorm’s third floor bathroom, and the fire department had to come because the sinks were overflowing. But since I’m real modest, I don’t normally talk about that sort of stuff.

The only reason I’m telling you about the boar now is that you might someday find yourself in a situation where you’ll need to fend off a wild animal, and perhaps, by sharing my experience, I can help you out.

Back to the boar story. A few summers ago, I was hanging out at Hott Traxxxx, a pretty sweet club in Belmar on the Jersey Shore. Hott Traxxxx is such a hot club that there’s a line around the block to get in, but that’s okay because it gives me and my friends time to do push ups so that our arms look jacked by the time we get in. Anyway, my buddies and I were having a good time when this boar walks up and starts dancing with my girl. She tried to dance away, but the boar just followed her. She told him that she had a boyfriend, but the boar didn’t seem to care. You get the point: the boar was being a real dick.

I rolled up my sleeves, bashed myself in the chest a few times like Mark Wahlberg in Fear to pump myself up, and walked right over to the boar. “Excuse me,” I said. “I don’t think the lady wants to dance with you.” The boar just looked up at me, then side-to-side, then back to me. “Did you hear me?” I continued, “I’m talking to you. Look at me when I’m talking to you, you goddamn boar!” The entire club seemed to go silent at this point, (although I know for a fact that it did not, since my friends later told me that Sean Paul’s “Gimme the Light” was playing while the whole thing went down.)

Stay out of the Jersey Shore and get back in the woods where you belong!

At this point, the boar and I were locked in a pretty serious staring contest and I was determined to make him blink first. Then the boar started making some sort of snorting noise in my general direction. That was the last mistake he ever made.

I threw my Malibu and tonic in the boar’s face, temporarily blinding him. Then I dropped to the ground and delivered a spinning sweep kick to the boar’s front legs. His snout hit the dancefloor with a resounding “oomph” noise. By now the crowd was cheering, as New Jerseyians are notorious boar-haters. I jumped back to my feet, then, using a nearby girl’s headband, I hogtied the boar’s legs together. I picked the boar up and began racing around the dancefloor, high-fiving people with my free hand as I blurred past them. I don’t know if it was the adrenaline flowing through my body or the crowd’s chants of “Kill that boar!” but I soon found myself on top of the bar, holding the wild pig above my head. I can’t remember the rest, but the police report says that it wasn’t pretty. I got off with just a warning because the police said that no jury in New Jersey would ever convict a man for killing a no-good filthy boar.

I don’t usually post gossipy stuff on here, mostly because I don’t want to offend any of my super famous friends(Shadoe Stevens) who fly me around the world and give me free drugs, and also because I don’t want to take away precious readers from hard-hitting magazines like Star and InTouch. But here goes.

Apparently, Ricky Martin is shocked and outraged at the backlash his recent interview with Blender has caused. And with good reason. I mean, it’s not like Ricky said anything weird or kind of gross in the interview. Except, of course, when Ricky told Blender:

“I love giving the ‘golden shower.’ I’ve done it before in the shower. It’s like, so sexy, you know, the temperature of your body and the shower water is very different.”
Ricky went on to say, “I’m open to everything. There are moments for soft, gentle sex. And there are moments for a good spank in the butt.”

Yikes. I’m not really sure how to defend you here, Ricky. Even I’m a little queasy after reading that, and I have to order my pornography from other countries because I find the American stuff too tame. I don’t know when it became okay for celebrities to openly talk about peeing on people, but I think we should change that law. And furthermore, how, exactly, do you give someone a smack IN the butt? Ricky, I know you speak perfect English, so I’m guessing this is not a mistake, but code for some horrible butt-sex act that I don’t want to know about.

That’s all the gossip for now.

Ricky Martin Angered By Backlash From His Sexy ‘Blender’ Interview [Yahoo!]

Not really sure why this made front page news on Yahoo, but it did.

Disputed Study: Rape Rare in Prisons

Basically, a cultural anthropologist in California conducted a study on how often rape actually occurs in prisons, and surprisingly, found that prison rape is much less common than movies and TV make it seem. “Well, that’s nice,” I thought to myself when I read the story. “Now I can stop worrying about going to prison for fear of being raped, and get back to my highly illegal, yet highly lucrative business of selling counterfeit Oakleys. Awesome!”

Then I came to the part in the story where it explains that the entire study was based on interviews with inmates about whether or not they were raped. That was how the they conducted the entire study: a little Q & A session. I don’t know about you, but if I were in prison and someone invited me to participate in a rape study, I probably wouldn’t be all that forthcoming.

ANTHROPOLOGIST: So, you ever been raped in prison?

THE END.

And here’s a fun fact: My college roommate graduated with a B.A. in Anthropology. I’m not sure if he’s studying any interesting cultures, but I do know that he’s currently crashing at his girlfriend’s apartment in Hoboken because he doesn’t have an apartment. So that’s sweet!

Disputed Study: Rape Rare in Prisons [Yahoo!]

There are lots of valid reasons for hating parrots, but, as illustrated by this story, the number one reason is that they will give away your secrets. And I know from experience.

Back in college, I used to work part-time in a crystal meth lab to pay the bills. Look, I’m not proud of it, but it was the only way I could make enough money to pay for college and my stripper girlfriend’s stripper outfits. Incidentally, she was only stripping so that she could pay for college and my burgeoning crystal meth habit. It was sort of a Gift of the Magi thing.

The point is, during this time I lived with about a dozen or so parrots. I know it sounds silly now, but in the haze of my meth-induced paranoia, I believed the parrots were the only ones I could trust. Well, I was wrong.

It was parents’ weekend up at college, so my folks, as well as an aunt and my grandmother came up to visit. At least I think it was my grandmother. Like I said, I was doing a lot of meth back then, so it might have just been a coat that I thought was my grandmother. Anyway, while we were in my apartment trying to decide on a place for dinner, the parrots started blabbing all of my secrets, including the details of my job. Cursed parrots! My family had an intervention right then and there, forced me to quit the meth lab, and signed me up for a job in the dining hall. I hated working in the dining hall. It was very hot in the dish room and there was not much crystal meth available. I did steal a lot of cold cuts, though, and sometimes filled the cereal boxes with lettuce when nobody was watching.

Here’s that parrot story. I think that’s what this was supposed to be about in the first place.

Mouthy parrot ‘reveals sex secret’ [CNN]

This is a short I made over the summer with fellow comic Roger Hailes and Elephant Larry’s Geoff Haggerty. We shot it in two days and the Haggerty family was nice enough to open their lovely home on Staten Island to us. Roger plays the Dad, I play the Son. And look for Geoff making a cameo as my college professor.

Like I said before, I’m going to make videos a regular feature on this site, although they won’t necessarily have a plot and different locations like this one. More than likely, it will be more along the lines of me eating oatmeal in my bathtub. And who’s going to complain about that? Not you.

As regular readers of this site know, I get most of my news from Moby’s blog. Man, that guy can just cut through all the filler and spin, and give me the news the way it’s meant to be read: in all lowercase letters. Over time, I’ve grown accustomed to getting my daily dose of the world from Ol’ Moby, but the guy managed to surprise even me with his latest journal entry.(Regular readers of Moby’s know that he dislikes the word “blog.”)

Anyway, Moby’s latest entry deals with death. “Whoa,” you’re probably saying. “That’s a heavy topic. I don’t know if I can handle reading about something like that.” Well, don’t worry, because Moby handles it with his usual grace and aplomb. He asks each of us to think about how we would like to look back on our lives when we’re on our death beds at some point in the future. Moby wants to know if you want to look back on your life with contentment and happiness, or regret and sadness. I know which one I picked, but it took quite a bit of soul-searching, I must say. So if you feel like you’re ready to be enlightened by a man who may very well turn out to be our generation’s Martin Luther King, Jr., head on over to his site and pick up some knowledge.

Kudos to you, Moby. You took a dark subject like human mortality, and from it, spun gold. You also mispelled the word “germane” and used the word “arbitrary” incorrectly. Whatever, I still love you.

Moby’s Blog

So remember how on Friday I said I would be posting a movie today? Well, I lied. My Mom was still in town last night, so instead of editing the movie I planned to post, my Mom and I went out for Thai food. I have no regrets. I’ll put a movie up tomorrow. And some other stuff. There will be lots of stuff tomorrow since it’s not a holiday. And we will fall in love all over again.

Sam Adams, DT #95

AKA “Fatty-Fatty-Boombalatty” or “Ol’ Crazy Eyes”

“Whoo! Look at that blubber fly!”

Since it’s a Monday morning and most people are enjoying their day off by honoring Dr. King in some fashion, I thought I’d start the day off with a nice, easy Bills nickname post. And I thought I would make it even easier for myself by doing Sam Adams. (I had been planning on using Sam Adams for this feature since the day I started this site, but was saving it for a time when I was too tired or busy to come up with someone smart or original.) Anyway, if there was ever a man who deserved the nickname “Fatty Fatty Boombalatty,” it’s Sam Adams. I think he’s listed at about 330 pounds, but he’s 380 at least. As someone who once weighed just over 400 pounds(I gained the freshman 250 in college,) I can tell these things just by looking. So yeah, ha ha, Sam Adams is a big fat man. All I have to do is find a suitable picture of Sam on Google Images, upload that, put it in the post, and I can go see Match Point with my friend Katie. Then I’ll spend the rest of the day thinking of Scarlett Johannson’s breasts, and that girl I slept with that kind of looked like her, if Scarlett Johannson had dark hair.

That’s when it happened. While I was searching for a suitably fatty picture of Sam Adams, I came across this, his official team photo.

Yowza! This looks more like the headshot of a meth-addict you’d see on The Smoking Gun. I’m actually afraid to look directly at this photo, in fear of Sam Adams stealing my soul with his crazy hypnotic gaze.

Needless to say, I’m conflicted. Should Adams’ nickname be Fatty-Fatty-Boombalatty or Ol’ Crazy Eyes? I’ll leave it up to you, dear readers, to decide. Feel free to vote in the comments section. Or not.

I wanted to link to that Onion Infographic about how Americans are celebrating the birthday of Martin Luther King, but I couldn’t find it. So here’s a link to one of my favorite Onion stories. That’s all.

Previous Bills’ Nicknames

That’s just about it for me today. I’m about to go meet my mom for some walking and museums. Who’s jealous? All of you, I would guess. Anyway, I might be able to post this weekend, but there’s a good chance it will just be reviews of the shows “Altar Boyz” and “Avenue Q,” since that’s what we’re seeing. Those are about sports, right? I hope so, I sure do enjoy sports.

In other news, I should have some Church Basement news to report next week. That will be good.

And lastly, I finally figured out how to post videos on my site. I actually did a test post last night, but unless any of you were feverishly refreshing your browsers at around 11pm, it’s doubtful you saw it. So yeah, check back on Monday for a video. It will probably just be a short film I made a while back, but then they’ll become a regular feature on this site. So there. Have a good weekend everyone!

The Bills held a press conference this morning to announce that head coach Mike Mularkey resigned last night due to personal issues. Those issues, apparently, have to do with being a giant pussy who can’t take a little criticism from the fans and media. Jeez, it’s not like he’s coaching in New York. Buffalo has one newspaper and some of the most loyal fans in sports. I seriously doubt he had garbage strewn across his lawn like Tommy Maddox did in Pittsburgh.

Anyway, the three people the Bills are reportedly considering for head coach are former Saints coach Jim Haslett(please tell me this is a joke), former Bills defensive cooridanator Ted Cottrell, and current Bills special teams coach Bobby April. Wow.

Outside of Joe Theismann, I don’t know of anyone that thinks Jim Haslett is a good coach. Ted Cottrell is a good defensive coordinator, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be a good head coach, plus he’s spent the last few years up in Minnesota with Mike Tice, which can’t be a good thing. As for Bobby April, as good as the Bills special teams are, I can’t see making him a head coach. It would be like naming your place kicker as captain of the team. Whatever. Marv Levy’s back so that’s some small comfort. I gots to get ready for the family visiting this weekend. Later.

As I’ve mentioned before, my roommate grew up an only child in rural Ohio, and as a result, was forced to invent games to keep himself entertained. Lately, he’s been playing them in our small apartment. Here they are in no particular order in case you’d like to play them at home.

The Get Up Five In the Morning and Bang Pots Around Game

I’m not sure of the rules of this game since I’ve never actually witnessed it. I’m usually in my bedroom, seething with rage underneath my blankets, but I think the title pretty much explains it. The object of the game, from what I gather, is to get up at an ungodly hour for work, go into the kitchen next to my bedroom, and rattle pans about. Sometimes my roommate puts on his giant boots and clomps around while playing this game, but I’m not sure if you get extra points for that or what.

The Build a Small Pyramid of Cheese and Water on the Kitchen Counter Game.

I have no idea how you score points or win this particular game. All I know is that my roommate likes to play it whenever he makes himself a breakfast burrito.

The Let’s See How Long I Can Leave This Rotting Food in the Refrigerator Game

This game is one of endurance and strategy, much like Risk. Sometimes my roommate will hide rotten leftovers behind comparatively fresh dishes, so that nobody will suspect they are there. I think you win if you can keep a head of lettuce until it completely liquefies.

That’s all the games for now. As for me, I like to play the Passive-Aggressive Roommate With a Website Game. It’s sweet.

Quite a bit, thank you very much. You should check that shit out while there’s still time.

And for the record, I think I prefer Roger Moore to Sean Connery as Bond. I don’t know if it’s the upper-crust accent or the permanently-cocked eyebrow, but Moore can get away with the most excruciating puns, sexual or otherwise. I like that about him, even though I hate puns. On the other hand, Connery seems much more believable when it comes to jumping over helicopters and stuff. Moore looks pretty ridiculous when he has to do even remotely-possible stuff like ski down a hill. And Moore’s Bond only has one move: the awkward judo chop. Still, they’re both sweet. As for Timothy Dalton, he just reminds me of a snooty maitre d’. Damn! Take that Timothy Dalton!

I’ve never cared much about the Steelers. They’re not in the Bills division, so despite their geographic proximity to my beloved City of Buffalo, over the years the Bills have played the Steelers just about the same number of times they’ve played the Broncos or the Chiefs.(This might not be true, I’m just guessing.) So there was never any rivalry between the two teams.

I even had a soft spot for these “Stillers,” as Pittsburgians(?), with their horrific accents, call them. Like Buffalo, Pittsburgh is another rust-belt city that’s seen better days as the American manufacturting base has shifted further and further South, so I almost felt like Pittsburgh and Buffalo were cousins. And their fans wave around yellow towels. That’s both cute and kind of sad.

But the recent actions of a number of Steelers are starting to irk me. Yesterday, Steelers QB Ben Roethlisberger, talking about the their upcoming game against the Colts, was quoted in a story on ESPN.com:

“This team is an unbelievable football team,” Roethlisberger said of the Colts, who won their first 13 games before dropping two of their final three. “They’re as good as it gets in the NFL. It’s going to take our A-plus game to go out and beat their B-minus game.”

Ooh, Ben, you so tricky with your reverse psychology! You’re going to give the Colts an inflated sense of self-worth, then, when the Colts get distracted thinking about how great they are, you’ll have Antwaan Randle El hide the ball under his jersey and run it in for a score! Good Lord, what a douche.

I’m too lazy to find the story, but I’m 99 percent sure Ben did this before last year’s AFC Championship game when he said that Tom Brady was the best QB in the NFL. I know Roethlisberger is a somewhat of a hillbilly that has spent his entire life in Ohio and Pittsburgh, but is he really so dumb that he thinks anyone is fooled by this? Oh, and Roethlisberger is on track to becoming the ugliest man in sports. How can a professional athlete have a face this pufffy? It boggles the mind.(For the record, I also have a gigantic puffy face, so I’m allowed to say these things about Roethlisberger.)

“Hey Ben, cut back on the pickles and pretzels.”

Then there’s Joey Porter, who recently claimed that the Colts are afraid to play the Steelers in straight up football, and that they need to rely on trickery to win games. This coming from a Steelers team that ran THREE gadget plays against the Bengals last week. I don’t care much for you, Joey Porter!

Okay, that’s enough sports dorkery for today. Probably for the entire week. It’s just that my Mom is visiting this weekend, which means I’m going to be attending two Broadway musicals, plus lots and lots of shopping and strolling. I think all the sports stuff lately was just to overcompensate for the ladyness that’s coming my way this weekend. Also, I’m depressed the Bills’ season is over and I’m having trouble psyching myself up for the Sabres.

Here’s those stories, both from ESPN.com:
Big Ben: Colts must play badly for Steelers to win
Steelers LB Porter umimpressed with Colts offense

Now that I have your attention, there’s something I’d like to tell you: I just shat out a Faberge Egg. For real.

To tell you the truth, I’m kind of worried. I mean, I’ve gotten blackout drunk before and done some pretty weird shit, but I’ve never had a priceless antique from the Romanov Dynasty show up in my stool. Were any of you hanging out with me last night? I must have drank more than I thought because I can’t remember anything. What did we do? Where did we go? Did anyone see me eat a Faberge Egg? Please, somebody help me out.

Here’s as much as I can tell you. I woke up this morning in my apartment from the torso up. The rest of me was sticking out into the hallway. I’m going to hazard a guess that last night, I got as far as putting the key in the door, then passed out. Also, when I woke up, my mouth tasted like sawdust. What?!

This came out of my ass.

How did I get my hands on a Faberge Egg? Where would I have even found one? And why did I eat it? At least, I’m hoping I ate it. Since the Egg was in pristine condition when it came out, I can’t rule out the possibility that I actually shoved the Egg up my ass at some point in the night. I prefer to think that it just didn’t digest well, though, like peanuts.

Oh man, if you guys know what happened, please tell me. I’m also slightly worried that whomever the Egg belongs to is going to want it back. And they could be foreigners. I don’t want to fuck with Interpol, the law enforcement agency, not the NYU students. Although, I hear those guys are pretty tough, too. All right, that’s all. I’m going to stay in for the rest of the day and make a list of ways to turn my life around. I can’t keep having stuff like this happen to me.

I just found this on CNN.com.

California High School Sued Over ‘Intelligent Design’ Class

It seems another high school is trying to discredit evolution, this time by teaching “intelligent design” in a philosophy class. A philosophy class that just happens to be taught by a minister’s wife. Although, it appears she’s not doing much teaching, because tucked into the bottom of the story is this gem:

“Classes started two days later with a class plan that relied solely on videos, not guest speakers.”

Now, I’m not really sure how I should feel about this since Moby has not yet weighed in on it on his blog, which is where I usually get all my news, but I’m pretty sure I’m against the idea of a preacher’s wife showing pro “intelligent design” videos in a public high school during class time. But that’s just me.

Oh, and here’s the graphic CNN is using for this story, which I would assume they use for all their Science v. Religion reports.

In the beginning, Man kind of crawled, then he was just sort of hunched over, then he began to jog, now his legs form a perfect A-frame.

Moby, please let me know how I should feel about this story. I’m just a babe in the woods without you.

Previously: Bad News For Dinosaur Haters

The story itself: CNN