Jack Kukoda

Here’s the sweet news: On Tuesday, April 25th, I’ll be hosting a big-ass comedy show to benefit the James F. Keppel Foundation. We’ve been putting the show together for a little while now and we finally settled on a date and place. The show will be at the Slipper Room on Orchard and Stanton in the Lower East Side and I personally guarantee it will be awesome. I don’t want to give away too many details now, but let’s just say you won’t want to miss it.

So mark it down on your calendars now. Really, right now. If you’re in the New York area, I want you to get out your calendars and circle that date with a comically large red pen. There will be comedians, musicians, and lots of other suprises. You won’t be disappointed. I’ll post more details next week, including the line up and information about the foundation. This is just a heads up, as they say.

Also, I’m in Denver right now.

Here are our specials for today:

Appetizer: Knuckle Sandwich

Main Course: Head-Butt Filet

Dessert: Round-House-Kick-To-The-Face Pie

Why don’t you come on down to my restaurant if you think you can handle this fury. Better yet, don’t. I don’t feel like kicking ass on a day this beautiful. Speaking of fury, sports fans will probably remember this. Via Deadspin.

Oh, I’ll have some sweet-ass news to put up later today. Stick around for that.

This is the boat that my ancestors came over on.

In the late 1850’s, over 200 Kukodas crammed themselves into this rickety vessel to make the voyage from Hungary to the United States. And once they got here, they stayed on the boat until they got to Buffalo. A lot of families would have disembarked in New York and taken a wagon train across the country. Not the Kukodas. The men of my family took turns towing that boat overland across New York State.

Other travelers kept yelling at them to stop, but my family wouldn’t listen. “What in the hell are you doing, you stupid Hungarians?” People would say. “At least put some wheels on that boat or have a donkey tow it before you kill yourselves.” But the Kukodas refused. Nearly half of them were crippled by the journey, but they didn’t complain. Talk about hearty people.

That’s what makes us Kukodas so successful; our unbelievable work ethic. I’ll give you an example. Less than two weeks ago, during a catering gig, I worked coat check at a party on the Upper East Side for three full hours. Three! And I only hid out in the bathroom to take a nap once! For less than 15 minutes!

A job like that would have broken lesser men. Not me, though, and I owe it all to my forebears.

You can look up your ancestors here: EllisIsland.org. It’s pretty amazing, actually.

It would be called Carry On, My Wayward Son. The movie would be about a guy named Zack Dakota, who is trying to drive from New York up to Maine to visit some friends. And he’ll keep asking directions, but the only thing people will say to him is, “Carry on my wayward son.”

And Zack will get really pissed and say, “No, seriously, how to I get to 91 North? I’m trying to get to Portland, Maine to see some friends and I’m already late. Please stop telling me to ‘carry on’ and calling me your ‘wayward son.’ It’s getting very frustrating.”

And then Zack will get back into his car, drive a little more, get lost, and have to ask for directions again. But all people will say to him is “Carry on, my wayward son.” And Zack will go crazy.

Also, whenever characters in the movie aren’t talking, Kansas’ “Carry On, My Wayward Son” will be playing.

I seriously think this would be the worst movie ever made. Seriously, can you think of anything worse than an hour and a half of some guy driving around and asking directions and then people just repeat the name of a shitty Kansas song? And then that shitty Kansas song keeps on playing? That would be horrible! I doubt I could watch it for more than a few minutes. I’m just saying.

Previously: Here’s a Terrible Idea for a Sketch

Kansas’ Official Website - Yes, “Carry On My Wayward Son” will begin playing immediately when you open their site just in case you weren’t sure.

This is the graphic CNN.com had on their homepage last night.

Fuck you, CNN.com. I almost shit in my pants when I saw this graphic. Good Lord, look at how frightening it is. Based on this image, I naturally assumed that Canada and Mexico had declared war on the U.S., attacked us with some chemical/nuclear/viral weapon, and turned our rivers from tranquil blue rivulets into bulging red veins.

Then I saw the headline of the article: Report: Dirty Bomb Material Smuggled Into U.S.

…and I actually did shit in my pants. “Damn,” I thought to myself. “Now I got a whole bunch of shit in my pants. Also, our country is going to be bombed soon. I am displeased.”

Then I read the article and discovered that it wasn’t terrorists sneaking in bomb material, but government agents conducting an exercise to determine how easy it would be to obtain radioactive material and then sneak it into the country. Turns out it would be pretty easy.

Admittedly, that’s pretty scary, but did CNN need to use that graphic for their story? Isn’t that graphic a little bit inflammatory? And who’s going to pay for these pants I just ruined? All good questions, I have to say.

Dirty Bomb Material Smuggled Into U.S. [CNN.com]

Number 1

ME: Are you wearing astronaut underwear?

HER: No. Why?

ME: Because your ass reminds me of when the Challenger exploded.

HER: That was in poor taste.

Number 2

ME: Do you have a mirror in your pants?

HER: What? Why?

ME: Because I’m on a scavenger hunt and I need a mirror that was up someone’s ass.

HER: (Handing me her mirror) Okay, here you go.

ME: Thanks. Now I just need a picture of me in front of the Empire State Building. Wow, I can’t believe you really had a mirror up your ass.

HER: Don’t mention it.

Number 3

ME: Is your refrigerator running?

HER: Uh, I believe so.

ME: Well, then you better go catch it!

HER: I think this prank is supposed to be performed over the telephone.

ME: I think you’re a telephone.

HER: Sir, if you’re not going to purchase a kitchen appliance, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the store.

Actual pick-up lines.

Do you? Okay, then, I’ll tell you. It’s “Engineering Disasters” on the History Channel. Actually, it’s probably not my favorite show, but whenever it’s on, I get all excited. It’s sort of like “Cops,” but with gigantic structures falling down on themselves instead of shirtless meth addicts or transvestite hookers getting chased by the police. Okay, so it’s nothing like “Cops,” but it’s still a pretty good show.
I wonder if engineers watch “Engineering Disasters” and then call each other and talk shit about other engineers. That’s what I would do if I were an engineer. I would be super cocky and say things like, “You call that a trestle? My grandmother could build a stronger bridge support system, and she’s freaking blind! You suck, fellow engineer!”

Then I would get drunk on Peppermint Schnapps. Peppermint Schnapps…and power!

On a related note, I used to work in this horrible restaurant and my even more horrible boss once said to me, “You carry wine glasses like my grandmother. And she’s fucking dead.” I have no idea what that was supposed to mean. I know that my asshole boss meant it as an insult, but it didn’t really make sense no matter how you look at it. How could a dead woman carry wine glasses at all, let alone poorly? Whatever. My boss was a miserable idiot and often didn’t make sense. When he eventually fired me, he accidentally misused the word “antithesis” twice. He was a smart one.

Okay, I get it, jerks. I’ve put on a little weight recently. Yes, I’m fat. Does that mean that I deserve a barrage of insults whenever I decide to ride my Jazzy to the store for a little shopping? I don’t think so. Jesus, I feel bad enough about my weight without having all the stock boys make fun of the fact that I can’t use the arm rests on my scooter because my bulbous hips jut out too far. So just give it a rest, for Christ’s sake.

Why can’t you let me go to Sam’s Club to buy a 2 gallon jar of mayonnaise in peace? What business is it of yours why I need that much mayonnaise? I’ll tell you: none of your business. And to whatever jerk blocked my path with that blue shopping cart I say, “Go to hell.” I had to honk my scooter horn for a good five minutes before somebody came over and moved it for me.

You know, it’s incidents like these that cause me to eat too much. I medicate my pain with fritos, okay. It is a vicious, vicious cycle that I am powerless to escape. So please, if you see me riding my scooter down the street while eating a turkey leg, please don’t point and laugh. You’re doing more harm than good. Thank you and God bless.

Straight off the Yahoo! home page comes this headline:

Here’s my forecast: There’s a 99 percent chance she’ll be wearing a hat!!!

Whoooo! If I were in front of an audience, I would be running through it and collecting high-fives for a joke this lame. I’m that proud of it.

The show.

Well, this story on CNN.com is pretty incredible:

Jesse Sullivan powers robotic arms with his mind

Now that’s how you write a headline! The story is about a real-life bionic man named Jesse Sullivan who was electrocuted a few years ago while working for a power company and had to have his arms amputated. He became a candidate for an experimental project and now has robotic arms that he can control using his mind! Swear to God. That’s absolutely amazing. Even more amazing is the following quote from his doctor.

“We haven’t spent $6 million yet, but we hope to!” said Dr.Todd Kuiken, director of amputee services at R.I.C.

Wait, did I say amazing? I meant horribly inappropriate. If I were an amputee, and my doctor was making lame ass jokes based on references to an old television show, I would punch him in the face with my robotic arms. Or, if I had robotic legs, I would use those to kick my doctor in his smart-ass shins. You get the point. There would be some robotic fury directed towards my hacky-jokey making doctor. Word up.

Oh, and the third round of the NCAA tournament kicks off tonight, but will I be watching it? No, because I will be reading here tonight. Instead of watching the game while sitting in a gigantic bowl of nachos that I have to eat my way out of, I’ll be entertaining(hopefully) some literary types. That’s okay by me. I’ll actually be reading a story or two about sports, so everything will even out.

Shit, man. I’m in trouble. I did something stupid last night. Really, really stupid. I accidentally killed a man in a brick fight. What’s a brick fight, you ask? Well, it’s when you fight another man using bricks. Duh.

I’m pretty well-known on the underground brick-fighting scene. They call me “College Boy” because I’m the only brickfighter who has any college education. Most of the other fighters are bums and transients whose lives have become so desperate that they’ve turned to fighting other men in alleys in the hopes of winning a few dollars.

I don’t brickfight for the money, though. I do it for the pride. Also, I just like bricks. If you asked me to name the five greatest things ever invented, you can bet your lazy ass bricks would be on that list. Anyway, back to how I killed that guy. Here’s how it went down: I hit him with a brick. Then he died. That’s all. There really wasn’t much to it. I’d say brick fights end in death at least 75 percent of the time. It was just a matter of time until it happened again.

Anyhow, the police are going to be looking for me. They’ve had it out for us brickfighters since the beginning. They’re probably just jealous. That, or they feel it is a serious detriment to the city to allow gangs of men to kill each other in alleys by throwing bricks. Whatever.

1. A Dancing Bear
2. A Dancing Monkey
3. Me drinking out of a novelty coconut

Only one of those thing actually happened. Can you guess which one?

If you said “dancing bear,” give yourself a pat on the back. Then give yourself a poke in the eye because you’re an idiot and you’re wrong. It was a dancing monkey that was at my birthday party last night. Who would let a bear into a bar? Not me. And certainly not the management of the Party Palace, which is where I celebrated my birthday last night. What? You’ve never been to the Party Palace? Can’t say that I’m surprised. It’s sort of a secret place and it’s totally awesome. You know how in some bars they have bras and underwear hanging from the ceiling so you know it’s a crazy place? Well, the Party Palace is actually made out of bras and underwear. Literally, it’s constructed out of them. It’s totally sweet. And so am I.

My head hurts. Actually, it wasn’t really a birthday party. It was just me playing pool with about 10 people in a bar. Please don’t feel like you were slighted. Especially you sexy teens who read this site. You know I love you, sexy teens.

God, who do I have to blow around here just to get someone to wish me a happy birthday? Uh, hello? It’s my birthday today. I’ve only mentioned it like twice already. Yeesh, what’s with you people?

So far I haven’t gotten my monster truck or donkey-pulled syrup, but I’m willing to look past that. In fact, I’ve lowered my expectations quite a bit. All you have to do now is click on that handy email link—> over on the right side of the page and send me an email that says happy birthday. Or use the contact form. Or the comments section. That’s all! Just a short note saying you’re glad that I was born on this day twenty-some years ago. I’ll pretend like I never even wrote this post shamelessly begging for a birthday email. This post never happened, okay? Okay? Now get to wishing!!!!

Thank you to Katherine and Laina, who sent me photos of a birthday clown and a smiling birthday goat, respectively. You two are the best.

Every movie set in the not-so-distant future contains a number of the same elements: a corrupt, Big Brother-esque government; flying cars; and super potent drugs that pacify the masses. Go ahead, name some movies that are set in the near future. I bet they’ve got super drugs in them. Shit, I’ll do it for you. Prayer of the Rollerboys had “The Rope,” Robocop 2 had “Nuke” and New Jack City had “Crack.” Wait, that one’s real. At any rate, here’s a short, but handy guide to the super drugs. Feel free to add some if you can remember any.

Movie: Prayer of the Rollerboys
Drug: “The Rope”
How It Was Ingested: I think it was smoked out of a machine that sort of looked like an IV, but don’t quote me because I’m going by memory here. I’m certainly not going to rent it to verify this.
What It Did: Made you lazy, again, I think.

Movie: A Clockwork Orange
Drug: Korova Milkbar Milkshakes
How It Was Ingested: Drunk in a creepy bar that is recreated on Avenue A.
What It Did: “Sharpened you up and made you ready for a bit of the old ultra-violence.” Basically, turned you into a raping and stabbing maniac.

Movie: Sleeper
Drug: That Orb
How It Was Ingested: You just held on to it.
What It Did: Made you all tingly, from what I could gather.

Movie: Minority Report
Drug: I Forget the Name.
How It Was Ingested: Just like an asthma inhaler.
What It Did: (Insert Tom Cruise is crazy joke here.)

Movie: Robocop 2
Drug: “Nuke”
How It Was Ingested: Don’t remember, but I’m pretty sure that it glowed.
What It Did: Made you crazy.

So what happened to all these super drugs? I’m happy we don’t have a 1984-style government, and I live in New York so I can do without the flying cars, but where are the super drugs? I’ve developed a pretty strong tolerance to everything that’s available right now, so some super drugs would come in handy. Last night I rolled some horse tranquilizers into a joint, dipped it in formaldehyde, smoked it, blew the smoke into a syringe, then shot the smoke directly into my eyeballs. I got a little buzz, but nothing major. Oh well, there’s always the choking game. That sounds fun and safe.

P.S. Today’s my birthday!!!!!!!!!

So, tomorrow’s my birthday. I’m not making a big deal out of it because I’m not really crazy about birthdays or birthday parties. I like going to other people’s birthday parties, but when it comes to my own, I just feel kind of awkward.

So, instead of inviting all of you to a birthday party and making you buy me drinks all night, I thought I’d just put my wishlist online, and let you spend your money on gifts for me. The following items are listed in order of how much I want them.

1. A Jingoistic Monster Truck

2. Two Barrels of Maple Syrup Being Pulled by a Donkey

That’s all. Those are the only things I want for my birthday.

I’m guessing that a monster truck is pretty expensive, so some of you guys might want to go in on that together. That’s fine by me. As for the donkey-pulled syrup, please note that I only want maple syrup if it comes in gigantic barrels. If you get me a regular-sized container of syrup, I’ll probably just throw it against the wall and tell you to go to hell. And don’t even think of getting me those barrels if they’re not pulled by a donkey. I know a mule when I see one and I won’t be amused if you try to sneak one by me.

Thank you in advance for making my birthday so special.