Jack Kukoda

Hey, it’s CRAZY JACK with another one of my INSANE offers on this season’s hottest patio furniture!!!! If you buy your patio furniture from any other website, then YOU’RE CRAZY, TOO!!!! Look at all the WACKY DEALS we’ve got this week!!!!

Two-Tone Umbrella Set! Just $49.95!!!!

$49.95? Now that’s some SERIOUSLY FUCKING INSANE patio furniture pricing!!! This umbrella set couldn’t be any CRAZIER if it was STRAPPED IN A STRAIGHT JACKET!!!!!

All-Wood Picnic Set! Just $149.95!!!!

OH MY GOD IN HELL! The price on this picnic set is so INSANE that it EATS ITS OWN FECES!!! Now that is what I call CA-RAZY!!!!

100% Aluminum “Bistro” Table and Chairs! Just $229.95!!!

AAAAARRRGHGGH!!! You want to know how CRAZY this price is? Yesterday, when I was walking past this set in the showroom, the price tag whispered to me, “I am the Son of Man. Praise be to the Lizard Rulers of Alfonsia.” Then it shit in its pants. WHAT?! Put a foil hat on this one, folks, because it’s FREAKING NUTS!!!

Email me for delivery details and payment options. You’re garden/backyard will look CRAZY FANCY!!!!!

The ‘Da Vinci Code’ had its premier last night and was roundly panned by critics. I called it months ago! God, I’m like some kind of freaking psychic. A freaking psychic who worked a 16-hour day yesterday and is a little too tired right now to write something new, so he’s pointing you to something he wrote when he first started this site. That kind of psychic.

See for yourself.

Careful! Spoilers Ahead [Kukoda.com]
‘Da Vinci Code’ Meets With Catcalls [CNN.com]

Oooh! I’ve got a raging case of Cup Fever. On a scale of 1 to fever, I’m at FEVER! The Sabres are moving on to the the Eastern Conference Finals against the Carolina Hurricanes and I can barely contain myself. And it seems that Buffalonians are getting a little ahead of themselves. A local architect has suggested that, if the Sabres go on to win the Stanley Cup, which would require 8 more victories, they should turn the top of Buffalo’s City Hall into a giant recreation of the Cup.

Here’s Buffalo City Hall

And here’s the Stanley Cup

Here’s what local architect Paul L. Battaglia would like to do with them.

Makes sense to me. Battaglia created this image using Photoshop. If someone can create a Photoshop image using Buffalo’s City Hall, the Stanley Cup, The City of Buffalo, a buffalo, me, or any combination of them, you will be my best friend.

Off Main Street [Buffalo News]

Forget the immigration debate, here’s the real conflict that’s brewing in California. Someone call Bill O’Reilly! Because sea lions are out of control in Newport Beach. It seems they keep jumping onto people’s boats, causing them to sink. My favorite part:

“The mischievous pinnipeds have returned to the bay after wreaking havoc last summer by trashing boat cabins and decks, swamping a vintage yacht and barking all night.”

Sea lions climbed aboard a vintage yacht, causing it to sink. That sounds like something that would happen in an 80’s movie. You know, like there’s some dilapidated marina run by some ragtag misfits who sit around all day fishing and drinking beer. But it turns out that the marina’s property is worth a ton of money, so some rich developers try to take it over. And the rich guys make fun of the lovable losers and threaten them and stuff. So one night, the misfits train a bunch of sea lions to jump onto the lead rich guy’s boat while he’s trying to seduce some woman. And the boat sinks and the rich guy is in the water with his fancy captain’s hat and blue blazer are all wet and he’s yelling about how some royal guy gave him that blazer and now he’s going to destroy the misfits. But in the end, the ragtag misfits challenge the rich developers to some sort of regatta and, despite overwhelming odds, win the race and get to maintain control of their marina. And then Rodney Dangerfield shows up. Oh, and at some point in the movie, there’s a gratuitous titty shot.

That would be one sweet-ass movie.

Oh, and I’m going to throw my hat into this debate. I’m pro sea lion. But I’m anti-otter. You hear me, otters? Fuck you and your stupid whiskers! You’re dead to me, otters!

Calif. Officials Resume Sea Lion Battle [Yahoo! News]

Hey there, readers. I hope you all remembered to call your moms yesterday and send flowers and cards. But if you didn’t, don’t worry because there is still time! Actually, there isn’t still time. Mother’s Day was yesterday, but if you get your mom a gift this week she’ll still be happy. Really, it doesn’t take much to impress moms. After all, this is the lady who wiped your ass for the first few years of your life. The fact that you can now do that on you own should be enough to make her happy. On to the gifts:

Nachos

Nothing says “thank you for the gift of life” than the gift of chips and cheese. You should probably only give this to your mom if you live in the same city as her and can deliver it yourself. I’ve sent nachos through the mail before and it’s not pretty when they get there. Even though I wrote on the envelope “Nachos Inside: Do Not Bend,” the Post Office still managed to screw it up.

A Trip to Space Camp

Even if your mom is 60 years-old and has doesn’t even like driving over high bridges, she’ll love the feeling of being whipped around in a g-force simulator. Warning: Buying this for your mother increases exponentially the likelihood that someone will insult you by saying, “Your momma’s an astronaut.” You’ve been warned.

Some Homemade Arts and Crafts Bullshit

It’s almost tragic how moms fall for this sort of thing. Just get yourself some popsicle sticks, Elmer’s glue, and cottonballs, and slap it all together on a paper plate. Hell, throw a pipe cleaner or two in there if you want to get really nuts. Call it a hat, call it a winter landscape, call it whatever you want. Your mom will love it.

As for what I got my mom for Mother’s Day, I bought her a trip in a hot air balloon while George Clooney fed her grapes and told her what a super lady she is. But that’s just because my mom is the best. Much, much better than your moms. I even made her a certificate that says so.

The remake of the 1972 disaster movie The Poseidon Adventure, cleverly renamed just Poseidon, opens today, but I won’t be going. Why? Because I lived that shit already. No need to see the Hollywood version when the experience is burned into my memory.

If you don’t know, Poseidon is about a cruise ship that capsizes in the ocean, and the survivors have to escape from the overturned ship before it sinks. The same thing happened to me a few years back. Except the boat didn’t sink. Or capsize for that matter. But the water was pretty choppy one day! Anyway, here’s what happened.

I got a job on a Carnival Cruise ship as the “dance captain.” My duties were similar to those of a those “party-starters,” who convince awkward 13 year-olds to dance at Bar Mitzvahs. The only difference is that my job was to encourage old people to dance. If there’s one thing I learned about old people, it’s this: they do not enjoy dancing. Another thing I learned is that if there’s one thing they enjoy less than dancing, it’s being coerced to dance by a sweaty, drunken college student in bright red suspenders.

“Hey now,” I would shout at them with eyes half-closed, “I think this couple wants to get down to some KC and the Sunshine Band.” “No, we do not,” they would inform me. But I was undeterrable. “Oh, but I think you do. And the dance captain knows all. Get on up here, sir. Show everybody why you’re the Greatest Generation!” “Ow, my leg!” an old man yelled. “You’ve hurt my leg.” “Well, that’s nothing that a little dancing can’t fix!” I said. “Am I right folks? Come on, everybody shake it.” Then I ran away.

It turned out that that old man had, in fact, dislocated both of his knees while I was forcibly shaking him in an attempt to make him do the twist. Oops. I was fired from my job and forced off the boat while they were docked at a remote port. Then I met some really nice pirates and joined up with them. Contrary to popular belief, pirates are quite friendly. And, as luck would have it, they love dancing! Oh, the times we had! Drinking rum, dancing, harpooning things. It felt like those days would never end.

But end they did. And now I’m here. And aren’t we all better off because of it? Yes. Yes, we are.

Sweet news, everybody. I just got a job at the Sears Portrait Studio! I’ll be working as the photographer at the Sears in the Short Hills, NJ mall. Oh, man, I am psyched. I’ve always been a bit of a photog, but now I’ll be getting paid to do what I love: take pictures of awkward families.

You probably think that being an official Sears portrait photographer is all glitz and glamour, but it’s not. While there is plenty of “G & G” to go around, the job also involves a lot of hard work. I have to paint all of those sweet backdrops by hand. You think a laser backdrop paints itself? Well, you thought wrong.

Anyway, I’ll be offering a 10 percent discount on our Super Package to anyone who reads this website. The Super Package includes two 8×10’s, four 5×7’s, a dozen wallet-size photos, and a giant poster. Here’s a sample of some of my work:

“The Multi-Ethnic Special”

This one is also known as “The Grab Bag,” but according to the liberal media, that’s not a very politically correct term for a mixed-race family. Anyway, if you’ve got a family like this, I can take your picture and make you look real classy.

“The Baby-Toucher”

Would you like to look like a child molester in all your black and white glory? I can make it happen.

“Opposite Day”

See how this woman is hitting her man? That’s why I call this one opposite day, because it’s the exact opposite of what happens in real life. Would you like to show the lighter side of domestic violence? Then come on down to the Short Hills Sears and let me make your dreams a reality.

I will also accept bearclaws and donuts in lieu of money. I’m starving!!!!!!

Remember like 10 years ago when Michael Jordan Cologne came out? It was before every celebrity had their own fragrance and, at the time, Michael Jordan was maybe the biggest celebrity in America so it was all over the news. And every newscaster or interviewer made the obvious joke “Does it smell like Michael Jordan after a game?” And Michael Jordan would have to politely laugh and explain that, no, it does not smell like him after a game. And he would explain that the cologne captures the essence of competitiveness and class and grace of Michael Jordan. And it became the number one selling cologne in America. Remember that?

Anyway, a few years ago I had this idea for a sketch called “George Clooney’s Ball Sweat Cologne.” Hilarious, right? The sketch takes place on a fake interview show where George Clooney is announcing his new cologne called, you guessed it, “George Clooney’s Ball Sweat Cologne.”

And the interviewer poses the obvious question, “Does this cologne smell like your balls?” And Clooney laughs and says, “No, this cologne captures the essence of my balls. Their cosmopolitanism. Their jet-setting extravagance. Their old-Hollywood glamour. My balls have been close to, and in some cases, inside of, the most beautiful women in the world. This cologne reflects my balls’ lifestyle. And if you wear it, some of my balls’ greatness just might rub off on you.”

And that was pretty much the whole sketch. Terrible, right? You better believe it.

Related: Here’s A Terrible Idea For A Sketch
Here’s A Terrible Idea For A Movie

For anyone, and I’m assuming it’s nearly everyone, who’s ever received one of those NIgerian scam emails, this article should be pretty interesting. It’s fairly long, so I recommend reading it at work instead of doing your Excel spreadsheets. From this article, it appears that Nigeria’s entire economy is based on these email scams. I had no idea they made so much money. I also learned how they get your email address in the first place(those email chain letters that are supposedly sent by Microsoft promising money to anyone who passes it along.)

Oh, and even though it’s a little old, here’s the story of two guys who got back at some Nigerian scammers. This one is even longer, but it’s definitely worth reading, at least until they convince the scammer to take pictures of himself wearing a handmade t-shirt for their fictional rap group that reads “In This Mothafucka.” (Thanks, Clark)

The Perfect Mark [The New Yorker]

A screen capture from today’s wrap-up of last night’s NHL playoff action on ESPN.com:

Oh, Ryan Miller had 43 saves all right. But he made them against the Ottawa Senators, not the New Jersey Devils. The Devils are playing the Hurricanes. That is a different series.

Seriously, ESPN, how difficult is it to simply read the AP report of last night’s game? I know your interns and production assistants have their hands full combing through forgotten TV shows and early 90’s rap songs in a never-ending quest for Stuart Scott’s next blood-curdling catchphrase, but for Christ’s sake, at least try to get your fucking geography straight.

Oh, and it looks like Buffalo is coming down with a raging case of Cup Fever! If the Sabres go to the Cup, I’m quitting my job and moving back for the series.

Playoff Notebook [ESPN]

Guess who’s coaching a Little League team this summer! Give up? It’s me! I just got hired as the head coach of the Brooklyn Bearcats, a lovable bunch of sluggers in the 10 year old division. And I’m going to coach the shit out of them!

A lot of parents and child psychologists will tell you that, for kids at this age, sports should be about fun and sportsmanship, rather than competition. Those people are queers. I don’t care if it’s the World-freaking-Series, or a t-ball game for toddlers, your objective is to win. It’s like my dad always said, “If you don’t win today, don’t bother coming home, ’cause you’ll be in the doghouse, buster.” And my dad meant it, too. Literally. When I was a kid, if my team lost, I had to sleep outside in the makeshift lean-to my father had built for the dog. It was quite uncomfortable, but it taught me an important lesson: Don’t cross my dad. He’s freaking nuts.

Anyway, this isn’t about me. It’s about the Bearcats. Last week, when I was having the kids push my car up a hill during practice to teach them a lesson about bunting, one of their parents ran over and asked me what the hell I was doing. “Making your son into a man,” I said. “How are you doing that?” the parent inquired. “Listen,” I said, “I’m the coach here, okay? I don’t come down to where you work and light your office on fire, do I?” “No,” the parent replied, confused. “Then get off my back,” I said. “Or I swear to God I’ll come over to your office and light it on fire.” That shut him up.

So if you want to support the team, we’ve got our first game next week against the Staten Island Yankees. Come on out and support us. In fact, we could probably put you on the field, since all but two parents have yanked their kids off the team and filed grievances against me with the league. Go Bearcats!

I really do. They’re loud and they take up way too much room on the sidewalk when they’re walking in groups. And sometimes they yell at me and make me feel uncomfortable. But the main reason I currently hate teenagers is because I got absolutely schooled by one in pickup basketball over the weekend. On Friday afternoon, I went to the park across the street from my apartment looking for a game. There were some kids on the middle court and I asked them if anyone had winners from their previous game. They said no.

They said they were playing three on three so I asked if anyone wanted to be on my team. One kid, who looked pretty athletic immediately said yes. I was psyched. Then another kid, who was wearing jeans, said he would like to play. For those of you who don’t play much pickup basketball, here’s a tip: don’t play with the kid wearing jeans. He’s probably not very good. If he doesn’t even own a pair of athletic shorts, chances are he’s not the best athlete.

Anyway, the other team had a chubby kid and a girl on their side, so I figured, jeans-teammate or not, we’d win handily. I was wrong. Their third player was a quick little bastard who kept draining threes over me. When I came out to guard him, he would just break me down off the dribble. I hated him. I kept trying to casually mention how I’m not really in “basketball shape just yet,” which is true, but the teenagers didn’t really buy that as an excuse.

As the game wore on, I started to wonder if these kids regarded me the same way I used to regard old men who would come to the park for pickup basketball. “Doesn’t this guy have friends?” I imagined them saying to each other. “Shouldn’t he be at work? It’s 3 o’clock on a Friday.”

I also found myself wishing that I could play against these kids as my teenage self. “You wouldn’t pull this shit on Teenage Jack,” I wanted to tell them. “Teenage Jack was fast. Real fast. And his back didn’t make creaking sounds whenever he bent down to pick up his keys.”

We only ended up losing by 3 points, but I had had enough. After I had said my “good games,” I gathered up my stuff and my basketball, and went home. Then I went to the store and bought the makings of a Cinco de Mayo feast and a six pack of beer. Those teenage kids might have youth and optimism on their side, but I can buy beer when and wherever I please. Fireworks, too.

P.S. I’m having a beer and fireworks party at my apartment next week. 25 and up. I.D. required. See you there, teens. NOT!

The Sabres start the second round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs tonight against the Ottawa Senators and now it’s official: I’ve got a raging case of Stanley Cup Fever. It’s not quite as acute as it was when the Sabres went to the finals in 1999. That year, my friend Tim and I made homemade jerseys by slapping Sabres’ bumper stickers onto t-shirts, then painting our names on the back. God, sometimes I forget how cool I was back then.

Anyway, I thought this would as good a time as any to point out a slightly disturbing fact about the City of Buffalo’s sports franchises: No matter what the name of the team is, the mascot is always a buffalo. I’ll admit it, we’ve got a bit of a creativity problem.

We’ll start with the Sabres. First off, ’sabre’ is actually the British spelling of the word ’saber.’ Not sure why the Sabres spell their name that way. Perhaps it was to attract Canadian fans. Or maybe it’s because Buffalo is often referred to as “America’s answer to London.” Sorry, that was a lie. I digress. According to an online dictionary, a sabre is “a fencing sword with a v-shaped blade and a slightly curved handle.” Well, that’s pretty tough-sounding. A sabre should make a good mascot, right? Wrong. Because this is the official Sabres’ mascot.

Why, it’s not a sabre at all! It’s a buffalo. Jesus Christ, Buffalo, just because the city’s name is also that of a majestic animal, doesn’t mean you have to go with that as the logo. At least the old logo, which is probably the greatest logo and color scheme in the history of the NHL, had some swords in it:

Of course, it, too had a buffalo in it, positioned between the two swords. I never noticed it before, but it looks like that buffalo is headed straight into the point of one of the sabres. Look out, buffalo!

Oh, and the Sabres’ physical mascot? The one who goes around the arena getting people excited and leading cheers and stuff?

Yeah, he’s a tiger. Let’s move on.

Next up, the Buffalo Bills. For people who weren’t born in Buffalo, I can’t even begin to describe how much the success of the Buffalo Bills is tied to the self-esteem and mental well-being of an entire city. The depression that pervades the people of Western New York after a Bills’ loss is palpable. God help us if they ever move the team to L.A. But that’s a matter for another day.

So what, exactly, is a ‘Bill?’ I have no idea. I’m guessing they just picked the name because it sounded good. As in “Buffalo Bill,” the colorful Old West figure who put on “Buffalo Bill’s Wild West” shows. And yes, I know that Buffalo Bill is also the name of the serial killer in Silence of the Lambs, but if you think I’m going to make a hack “it puts the lotion in the basket” joke, you’re dead wrong. The Bills deserve better than that. Anyway, here’s the Bills’ logo:

Surprise, surprise! It’s a buffalo! A buffalo with a raging case of pink eye, apparently. The Bills used to have an old logo, too. What might it have been?

Oh, right. It was a buffalo. Although, a much more sedentary one. My roommate just said that the buffalo on this helmet looks like it was just told of its impending extinction. That’s a sad buffalo.

All right, finally, we’ll move on to the most egregious example. The City of Buffalo has a AAA Minor League Baseball team. They are the minor league affiliate for the Cleveland Indians. They almost became a major league franchise the year the Marlins and Rockies entered the league. Can you name that team? I can. It’s the Buffalo…wait for it…Bisons! Yes, the Buffalo Bisons. Sweet fucking Christ.

“Wait,” you’re saying. “Aren’t a buffalo and a bison the same thing? Isn’t that like calling them the Buffalo Buffaloes?” Sigh. Yes. Yes, it is. Actually, they’re slightly different, although Wikipedia suggests it’s a matter of semantics.

Anyway, here is the Bisons’ logo:

It’s a bison wearing the Bisons’ uniform, which has a picture of a bison on it, and the team plays in city called Buffalo. My head is spinning. The only thing that approaches the meta-factor of this logo is the obscure Spiderman villain Stegron, who was a half-man half-dinosaur that rode other dinosaurs. As seen below.

Now that’s a team mascot I could be proud of.

Related: Buffalo Bills Nicknames

It’s occurred to me that I’m not the first person from Buffalo to notice this. But I haven’t seen anything written about it before. So feel free to let me know if there is a comprehensive list of these somewhere or if I missed any. Oh, and apparently the site is experiencing some technical difficulties. Namely, the sidebar is all the way at the bottom of the page. I’ll try to get that fixed today or tomorrow.

I’m going to celebrate by throwing a nacho party! In my stomach! Hey, nachos, you’re invited to my belly! All your friends will be there: tacos, burritos, and booze. The party starts around noon and ends whenever I feel I’ve eaten enough to kill my sadness. You won’t want to miss it.

Here’s tonight’s primetime lineup.

Because when you’ve been abducted at age 13, kept from your family for months, and forced into a bizarre, sexually abusive relationship with a much, much older man, clearly, the first person you want to talk about all of it with is a 73-year-old crazy man who’s been married six times:

Good Lord, look at this lunatic. I’m going to say 10 minutes at most before the creepy, horrifying stare of Larry King starts giving Elizabeth flashbacks.

So CNN won’t show us comically fat people, but they will allow a nutjob geriatric to question this poor girl about the most traumatic experience of her life in a quest for ratings? Burn in hell, CNN programmers. You burn in hell.

Related: I Am Fucking Insane [The Onion]