Jack Kukoda

One of the city’s millionaires, who happened to make his fortune in strip clubs, has amassed the most complete collection of checks signed by former presidents. God. Damn. Why do other cities even try to compete with my hometown anymore?

Who needs a Museum of Modern Art when you’ve got a titty bar magnate showing off presidential signatures? Not Buffalo, my friend. Not Buffalo. And you can keep your skyscrapers, too. Because who needs skyscrapers when you can claim the world’s only brick boat. That’s a boat made of bricks!

Last weekend I went hunting with my Dad and he was all, “I bet you can’t kill 50 deer in a minute.” So I was all, “Yes, I can.” So he was like, “Prove it.” And then I was like, “Okay then, I will.” The old man was right, though. I couldn’t kill 50 deer that day. But that’s going to change next week once I get my hands on one of these.

Introducing the Dillon Aero M134D, a machine gun capable of firing 50 rounds per second. “Why would anyone need a machine gun that fires that many rounds?” you might ask. Well, perhaps the police need it to catch criminals. Or the military needs one to hunt down terrorists. Or maybe because you might need to kill a whole bunch of deer to win your father’s approval. The point is, we all need extravagant guns for different reasons so let’s not judge each other. That’s all I’m saying.

Now do you love me, Father?

California nuclear lab brings out the big guns [CNN.com]

More of my Dad: Father & Son

The Super Bowl is coming up this weekend and I’ve got the fever! Gambling fever! I’m taking all bets this weekend. Bets on the winner, the halftime score, temperature at kickoff; you name it. I’m taking all bets!

But that’s not all! I’m also taking dares! You heard me! Dares, gambling’s younger brother. Don’t think that I’ll run around the block with no pants on? Dare me! Wanna watch me eat some bugs? Dare me! What’s that? You think that I can’t swim across the East River to that giant Pepsi sign with a cinderblock tied to my penis? There’s only one way to find out and that’s by daring me!

So if you see me between today and Super Bowl Sunday, let loose with the bets and dares! I’ll take/do anything. Except fight a kangaroo. That is not cool.

I’ll be in the midtown area all day today working at a shit-ass job. Anyone want to meet up at the WWE Restaurant for some mozzarella sticks? Those are pretty good. Is that place even still open? I hope so. What about the All-Star Cafe? Planet Hollywood? No? They’re all closed? Jesus, who do I have to blow around here just to get some motzy sticks?

I hope this job goes well. They asked me to dress corporate casual, but I’m going to do them one better. Last weekend I got drunk and got a tuxedo tattooed on my entire body. Now it looks like I’m going to the prom everytime I get naked. Anyway, I’m going to show up tomorrow in my tuxedo tattoo and see if anyone notices. Shit, anything’s better than wearing a tie.

Feel free to let me know if you want to get in on those stix with me. I’ll bring my own marinara sauce.

But that’s the price you pay when you compete in the North Atlantic semi-professional arm-wrestling circuit. What? I never told you that I’m a competitive arm-wrestler? Well, you got me. I had been trying to keep it under wraps for a while until I had moved up far enough in the rankings, but as long as the cat’s out of the bag…

Anyway, last night, I took on Pete “The Arm-Wrestler” Malloch. For those of you non-arm-wrestling aficianados, “The Arm-Wrestler” is one of the toughest competitors on the Eastern Seaboard. Frankly, I was lucky to get a shot at him. Before I could even battle him, I had to sit down at the “table of arm pain” with such contenders as Jim “Strong Arm” Jackson, David “Elbows Down” Thompson, and Lisa “Iron Ulna” Teetles. (Yes, I have arm-wrestled women. Divisions are determined by weight and experience, with no regard for gender, okay?)

At the ‘Table of Arm Pain,’ we’re all brothers. Dig?

I’m not going to lie, “The Arm-Wrestler” kicked my ass last night. Or, as we say on the circuit, he “kicked some arm.” Figuratively, of course, as kicking is not allowed in arm-wrestling. My loss dropped me a few spots in the rankings, but that’s not why I do this. Or maybe it is. I can’t remember right now. After I lost, I was feeling pretty down, so I walked to a Home Depot and bought some industrial strength varnish remover. I spent the next few hours huffing that out of a paper bag in a bus depot.

Well, that’s the glamorous life a semi-pro arm wrangler. I’ve got to get going. I have a job interview in an hour and I need to wash the ring of varnish off of my face. It looks ridiculous.

Here’s the proof.

Likes:
1.Sports, particularly football; softball in the summer
2.Sleater-Kinney
3.Building Stuff
4.Vaginas
5.Sensible Shoes
6.Women freely expressing their sexuality

Dislikes:
1.The Patriarchy

Ladies, you know where to find me.