Jack Kukoda

I have to run out now to do some catering-I know, I know, it’s a glamorous lifestyle, but somebody’s got to live it. So since I don’t have time to post anything else, here are some pictures of goats! Everyone likes goats, right?

Here’s another goat:

Just so you know, these are not Google Image goats, which means you can’t find these goats anywhere else. That’s right, they’re Kukoda.com exclusives. How did I get my hands on these hot, hot goat pix? Well, they belong to a special Kukoda.com reader. If you would like your goats to be featured on this site, just email me at jack@kukoda.com with the subject line: Check Out These Goats! If I don’t get any emails, I’ll consider posting pictures of readers’ other animals. But goats get first crack at it.

Oh, and if you ever hear anyone say, “Jack’s site used to be funny, but now it just seems like he’s getting lazy,” just direct them to this awesome post to show them how wrong they are.

What if there were a character who was sort of like the Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer from SNL, but instead of a lawyer, he was a scientist. And when he was thawed out in the future, instead of becoming successful, he would discover that today’s scientific discoveries are completely bewildering to him and that he could never compete with the other scientists. He would eventually kill himself out of misery.

Pretty bad idea for a sketch, huh?

Okay, how about this one: A talk show on the moon. The host would be an astronaut or something and the guests would be, I don’t know, moon rocks? Imagine how bad that would be. An astronaut trying to interview rocks.

Not bad enough? Just wait.

I’ve got this other idea where cell phones are like six feet tall…and they use people to talk!! That’s bad and scary.

Oh boy, I’ve got a million of these. No, really, I literally have a million bad sketch ideas. Feel free to contact me if you would like to pay me a lot of money for them. Or to tell me to go to hell. I just want attention, I don’t differentiate between the good or the bad kind.

Well, this isn’t exactly new. I shot it a few months ago, but I didn’t get a chance to edit the new one I was planning on posting today, so…here you are.

The other two people in the movie are Dana Chehansky & Michael Chmiel, two very talented kids, who are also my former sketch partners. It helps if you’re a fan of The New Yorker, but it’s certainly not necessary. Oh, and this really exists.

Brian Moorman, Punter #8

AKA “The Cobra”

I’ll freely admit that this nickname makes no sense. I have no reason for giving Moorman the nickname “The Cobra” other than the fact that punters never have nicknames. There have probably been one or two in history, but I can’t think of any off hand. Anyway, I think Moorman should have one, if only because he was the only player on the Bills to be elected to the Pro Bowl.

Just imagine how cool it would be to hear an announcer say, “And the Bills fail to convert on the third down, so they’ll be forced to punt. Here comes…”The Cobra!” Moorman and the rest of the punt team could maybe even have some cool theme music like relief pitchers get when they come in from the bullpen. Something from Whitesnake perhaps? Anyone know any songs about cobras? That’s not important right now. They’ve got a whole off-season to come up with something.

So, “The Cobra.” I’ll give myself a solid B for this one. Takeo’s nickname is still my finest moment as far as I’m concerned, and I won’t rest until everyone calls him “Volcano.”

Oh, and there will be a video up by lunchtime.

Previous Buffalo Bills Nicknames

1. Masturbate to Internet pornography.
2. Masturbate to traditional pornography.
3. Stalk ex-girlfriends on MySpace, masturbate to memories of them.

OR…

You can go see some shows that my friends are involved in:

Elephant Larry Has No Girlfriends
followed by
The Dating Game
which, in turn, is followed by
The Dating Game: Lesbian Edition
Starting at 7pm tonight at the P.I.T.
Details here

Geniuses of Love
Hosted by Becky Yamamoto & Tony Carnevale
Featuring: Way too many people to list! Click on the link for details.
Galapagos Art Space
70 North 6th Street
between Kent and Wythe
Williamsburg, Brooklyn
8pm

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Remember when I told you what the most romantic gift was for Valentine’s Day? Well, I was wrong. This is:

This is what your lady really wants. Light some candles, pour some wine, then paint each other’s faces to look like animals or flags or something. That’s a recipe for baby-making, my friend.

Don’t forget to invite me to the wedding! Am I right?

Men have been trying to impress women on Valentine’s Day since the beginning of time. Here’s a quick history of some of the most famous cases.

150 A.D. Titus Vesuvius, First man to try to break up the wedding of the woman he loved.

Titus stormed into the wedding feast of his beloved, pounding on the stone walls of the palace and shouting her name. The family of the groom, however, were close friends of the Roman Imperial family, and sicced their guards on Titus. He attempted to fight them off using a cross, but was unsuccessful. He was crucified later that day, ironically, on the same cross.

1250 A.D. Oliver Cronenstaff, First man to bring a woman flowers.

Oliver thought he would really impress his love by giving her a bundle of posies he had picked. Unfortunately, the other villagers found out and deduced that she had cast a spell over him. She was burned at the stake for witchcraft. Oliver killed himself days later.

1500 A.D. Fabrizio LeManza, First man to send his lady a Valentine’s Day card.

Fabrizio struggled for months to compose the perfect lyrical poem to prove his devotion to the woman he loved. He then copied it to beautiful parchment, on which an artist friend had painted a lovely sunset, and sent it to her. Since his lady was a commoner, and therefore, unable to read, she assumed Fabrizio was mocking her. Before Fabrizio could explain himself, he contracted the plague and his girlfriend was kidnapped by gypsies.

1874 Arthur Popenstaff, First man to stand outside his girlfriend’s window holding a record player over his head.

Arthur showed up at the farmhouse of his girlfriend playing the most popular tune of the day. Sadly, this was 1874 and the average phonograph weighed over 300 pounds. Arthur’s spine was crushed beyond repair. He lived for a few more months thanks to the most advanced technology available, but it wasn’t much of a life.

1930 Frank Langley, First man to send a singing telegram to his girlfriend’s workplace.

Frank thought a singing telegram would win his lady’s heart. This being 1930, though, women were fairly new in the workplace and anything that drew attention to them was frowned up. As a result, Frank’s lady love was fired on the spot. Since it was the Depression, she couldn’t find any honest work and was forced to turn to prostitution. She eventually contracted Tuberculosis, died penniless, and was tossed into a pauper’s grave.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I posed the following question to my roommate last night: If you could create an unlimited number of clones of yourself, each clone possessing the same strength and intelligence as you, how many of you would it take, without using weapons, to kill an average brown bear? His answer was two. I said he was full of shit. A brown bear would rip my roommate in half before his clone knew what was happening. Here are the rest of the animals I asked him about, followed by his responses:

Polar Bear: “Three of me.”
Kodiak Bear: Five of me.”
Rhinoceros: “I don’t know if I could kill a rhinoceros. Its skin is too thick.”
Shark: “Fifteen of me.”
Tiger: “At least thirty. My fighting style is pretty similar to a tiger’s, so we would cancel each other out.
Silverback Gorilla: “Three of me.”
Regular Gorilla: “Two of me.”
Wolverine: “One of me.” To which I replied, “You really think you could kill a wolverine by yourself?” His reply: “Wolverines are actually not very big. You could fit a wolverine in a guitar case.”(I don’t know if this is true, but I know there’s no way he could single-handedly kill one.)
Elephant: “Thirty of me.”

This conversation went on for at least thirty minutes. I have no idea why neither of us has a girlfriend. Oh, and I think we all know how I would fare against a wild animal.

I’m heading out early today because my best friend from high school and his girlfriend are staying with me for the weekend. Oh, the walking we will do! I think we’re going to the Statue of Liberty today, which I don’t mind because you get such a great view of the city from the ferry.

I’ve actually been to the Statue of Liberty twice. Once when I was seven, and then again this past summer when I worked a party there for a luxury vodka. They had about twenty models lined up, passing out vodka shots and cosmos on trays. It was my job to shuttle new glasses to the models, being careful not to bring them too many, lest their little model arms get too tired. And I think I had to wear a black polyester Nehru jacket. It was very gratifying work. Oh, and Duran Duran played on a barge! That was crazy.

Lazy Friday Roundup:

Thanks to The Apiary for linking to the story about the magician. And thanks to all the people who offered to go down to Alabama to out-magic/fight him. I’m looking to see if we can get a group rate. Oh, and there will definitely be a new video up next week. Let’s say Tuesday-ish. In the meantime, you can watch this new one by my good friends Elephant Larry. I think it’s one of the best things they’ve done. Have a good weekend, everyone.

That’s not a typo. I didn’t mean bad milk. I’m sure everyone, at some point in their lives, has had bad milk. I’m talking about bag milk, which is milk that comes in a bag. When I was five years old, my parents rented a small cottage in Canada near Lake Erie. For some reason, the milk they purchased up there came in a bag. I don’t know if back then all Canadian milk came in bag form, or just the area we were in, or if it was cheaper or what. But that’s what my parents bought: bags of milk.

Let me tell you, it was disgusting. It’s hard to accurately describe the taste of bag milk or how it differs from regular milk. I’ll just say this: I vividly remember taking a swig from a juice cup without looking, thinking it was juice, then throwing up on the table when I discovered it was bag milk. Granted, I was five, and five year olds throw up quite frequently, but that doesn’t change the fact that bag milk is vomit-inducing.

For your endless amusement, here are some more food items that would taste or look gross if they came in bag form:

1. Pasta Sauce
2. Mashed Potatoes
3. Oatmeal
4. Nacho Cheese
5. Bacon Fat Run-off

Now that’s what I call a half-assed list! Woo!

At first, I didn’t know if I should be flattered or angered by this, but I recently found out that another blogger has been copying and pasting my posts, almost verbatim, into his website. Who is this person that’s been ripping me off? Why it’s no other than Christopher Peek, a standup comic/magician who lives in Birmingham, Alabama. That’s right, a fucking magician. Christopher, I know you are reading this. You’ve been coming to my site almost everyday since late December, looking for material to pass off as your own.

Actually, Christopher, when I discovered you were a magician “slash” standup comic who works the Birmingham, Alabama bar circuit, I was slightly embarrassed that you were stealing from me. Then I went back through your site and found all the other comedians, bloggers, and magazines that you’ve been habitually robbing over the past year or so. A partial list includes Elephant Larry’s Group Blog, My Blog is Poop, The Best Week Ever Blog, and New York Magazine. Pretty nice company to be in, if you ask me. I mean, I can see trying to steal from me. My website gets less than a hundred visitors on an average day. But New York Magazine? Jesus Christ, what were you thinking?

Keep reading for the full story on how we found this guy, screenshots of his site, an almost-complete list of the people he ripped off.

(Read on …)

Here is a list of items, in no particular order, that my mother recently sent me in a care package.

1. ‘Tastefully Simple’ Brand Cheesy Pepper Soup Mix
2. Medicated Gold Pond Powder, Travel Size
3. Two Bottles of ‘Softsoap For Men’ Brand Body Wash, “Active” Scent
4. ‘Tastefully Simple’ Brand Wild Rice Soup Mix
5. Curel Original Formula Moisturizer
6. One Pound Bag Of Chopped Walnuts.

I’m pretty sure she’s just taking stuff that she finds around the house, putting it in a box, and slapping some postage on it. That lady is one step away from becoming the crazy aunt in Christmas Vacation that wraps up her cat as a Christmas present.

I kid because I love, Mom. But send money next time. I can’t trade walnuts for drugs.

Hey, men. Listen up. Valentine’s day is one week away, but don’t worry. If you haven’t made any plans or gotten your lady any presents, just take a deep breath and calm down. Because I’m here to tell you the one and only foolproof way to a lady’s heart. And it’s not chocolates, or roses, or scented candles. I’ll tell you what it is. Are you ready?

Shoulder pads.

Not the football kind, my man. I’m talking lady’s shoulder pads. Nothing makes a lady look or feel sexier than a couple of foam pads stitched into a pantsuit. Hell, it’s Valentine’s Day. Get her a scalloped-neck dress with a little extra something up there. And when I say “up there,” you know I’m talking ’bout the shoulders. Check it out.

If this Google Image could talk, it would say, “Damn. I look hot.”

See what I’m saying? So, so sexy. On Valentine’s Day, don’t give your lady a slinky little number that you bought at Frederick’s of Hollywood. Every girl knows that’s not really a gift for her, but a gift for you. Give her the gift that will make her feel like a real woman, while letting the men at the office know that she can play in their world, too. Am I right, career gals?

Her eyes say ‘bedroom,’ but her shoulders say ‘boardroom.’

So there you go. That’s all you need to know about women. I hope I’ve done my part to help you all have a safe and sexy Valentine’s Day.

P.S. Marian, this was for you. It counts as your birthday present.

I came across this headline on Yahoo! News earlier today.

Financial scams expected to boom as boomers age

You better believe these scams will increase, and so will their victims, starting with my parents. As those two Baby Boomers enter their twilight years, I’ll fleece them for everything they’ve got:

SFX: Phone Ringing

ME:(Disguising My Voice) Hello? Is this the Kukodas?

THEM:(My Confused and Senile Parents) What? Who is this? Where is my soup?

ME: I have your son, Jack. I have kidnapped him.

THEM: Who is this? Is this about the furnace?

ME: No, it’s not about the furnace. Dammit, Mo-. I mean, uh, send me some money if you ever want to see your son again.

THEM: Which son?

ME: You only have one son, for Christ’s sake. Just go to your purse, take out all the cash you have, and put it in the that potted plant on the front porch.

THEM: Why does the plant want money?

ME: Arrh! Just do it, you old coots! If you want to see your son alive again, put some freaking money in that ugly plant that I used to trip over on the way to school all the time!

THEM: Who is this? Clare, is that you?

ME: No, it’s not Clare! It’s a kidnapper who has your son! And I swear I’ll kill him if you don’t put that money under the plant.

THEM: Okay, I’ll put the money in the plant.

ME: Sweet!

THEM: It’s all the money I have left, though. It seems our son Jack gets kidnapped at least once a week. Oh, well. When you release our son, could you at least ask him to call us? We’d love to hear how he’s-

ME: (Just before I hang up) Click!

And that’s how I’ll keep myself in deep-dish pizzas well into my thirties.

More On My Parents’ Senility: The 7 Habits Of Highly Lonely Parents

Uh, this is getting a little ridiculous. How could I get so drunk to let something like this happen again? And this time, I’m not just embarrassed, I’m a little scared. A lot of people are going to be angry when they realize the Lombardi Trophy is missing. And they’re going to be even angrier when they find out it was up my ass.

Once again, I have no idea how any of this happened. All I know is that I woke up this morning on the floor of a motel room in Detroit next to someone in a Tommy Maddox jersey, although I didn’t check if it was actually Maddox or just a fan with his jersey. There were also about fifteen other people strewn about the room. I’m not too clear on how I ended up on the floor. Shit, I don’t even know how I got to Detroit. From what I can remember, as late as Sunday morning, I planned on watching the Super Bowl at my cousin’s house in Queens. I must have boarded a flight to Detroit sometime yesterday afternoon because, well, I’m here. And I sure as hell didn’t walk.

For all its corners and odd angles, this thing came out surprisingly easy.

So, uh, anyone know what the best course of action would be here? Should I call the Steelers to apologize, and hope they’ll understand? Or should I just leave the thing in a dumpster somewhere? They’ll eventually find it if I just drop it somewhere, right? Damn! Why do I keep getting myself into these situations? I know! I’ll put it in a non-descript cardboard box and then I’ll mail it back to Pittsburgh! They’ll never be able to trace that.

In the meantime, I think I’ll take a little break from drinking. This time I’m serious. No booze until the end of February. This would be a good time for a break. Especially since I’m going to Las Vegas in a few weeks and there’s a pretty good chance I’ll end up shitting out an albino tiger.

This will be the last post of this nature for a while. The premise has stretched itself to the limit.

Previously: I Just Shat Out A Gutenberg Bible
I Just Shat Out A Faberge Egg