Jack Kukoda

You hear what I’m saying? I don’t want to listen to how you had a difficult childhood and how embarrassing your parents were and how they made your whole adolescence one awkward moment after another. Let me tell you something about shame, buster.

When I was playing Little League baseball, one day my Mom showed up at a game drunk and wrestled a bear. What?! Where did she even find the bear? I’ve been asking myself that question all my life. Man, oh man, now that was embarrassing.

Another time, at a grade school basketball game, one of my grandparents was arrested for selling illegal fireworks right there in the stands. Can you believe that? In the middle of the game, my grandfather was selling bottle rockets and the like.

Then this one time my dad showed up at my 8th grade graduation with a cooler full of fish and just as my name was being called he started throwing the fish at everyone. What? Why in the hell did he do that? You know, he’s never given me a straight answer.

None of that is important, though. I’m going to Six Flags Great Adventure today with the Lady and some other friends. Sweet Christ on a cracker, I’m excited for it. El Toro, you’re on my to do list. Same for you Kinga Ka and Nitro. Hell, I might even swing by Hurricane Harbor if I feel crazy. Okay, the rest of you enjoy your work day. I’ll be thinking of you while I’m spending 30 dollars on a ring toss game trying to win the Lady a 2 dollar bear.

Hey everybody! TGIF, ya know what I’m saying?! (Beep beep) You got DJ Jack here for the drive at five today. I’m going to be taking you home and then I’m going to hand it over to the Love Doctor a little bit later. The Love Doctor’s going to get you through the weekend, isn’t that right Love Doctor. (Moaning sound) All right, don’t forget to call me on the request line if there’s something you want to hear. And let me remind you, I’ve got tickets to the Peter Cetera concert this weekend at Jones Beach. But if you want ‘em, you’re gonna have to call me up and put your boobs on the phone. Let me hear those boobs, ladies!

All right, let’s get into the news. It looks like Paris Hilton is in the news again…for banging some guy. Oh, boy, she is a whore. Dirty whore, that Paris. What else is in the news? Israel is fighting Lebanon still. Hey, I haven’t seen fighting like this since I wore my Larry Bird jersey in Harlem. Hello!!! (Gong sound) Oh, man, how do I do it? Hey, let’s take some calls.

All right caller, you’re live on the air with DJ Jack with the Drive at Five. Go ahead.

(Static)

Turn down your radio please.

(Static)

Okay, never mind. Let’s forget the callers for a little while. Uh-oh, I’ve just been handed a news bulletin. It says, “Paris Hilton just blew like ten guys.” Wow, she is a whore, that Paris Hilton. I would not like to have sex with her. No sir, because she is slutty. And a whore.

Let’s check the forecast. Looks like sun and fun all weekend. And that’s a good thing if you’re planning on going to Beachfest this weekend. Steve Perry’s gonna be tearing things up there. And it is SOLD OUT so if you want tickets, we’re the only place to get them. Ladies, if you want these tickets, call in and describe your boobs. Make sure you say boobs a lot. And be the tenth caller. Some lucky lady will win these tickets.

All right, let’s check on sports. Looks like football season’s starting soon as training camps get underway this weekend. I can’t wait for those Coors Light Twins commercials to start re-airing. That’s my favorite part of football. But you know who won’t be watching football this fall? Lance Bass, because he’s gay. Lance Bass, huh? More like Lance Ass, right! You know I’m right. Okay, we’re going to take a quick break, but when we come back I’ll have a rock block of Aerosmith for you and something to do with boobs. Toot toot

Hey, hey! Ho, Ho! These designer jeans have got to go! That’s right, Denim Jack is back and he’s on the jean attack. And when I say attack, I mean sale! Oh, yeah! Denim Jack has got too many jeans piled up in his jean warehouse and he wants to sell those jeans to you. Jeans! It’s almost back to school time and unless you want to look like a jerk, you’ll buy some of my seriously discounted jeans. Enough talk, let’s get to those jeans. Yay!

Hey, check out all these jeans. There’s enough jeans here to choke a horse! But don’t use these jeans to choke horses, or any other animal for that matter. That’s not what jeans are for. They are for wearing with a casual button down or a t-shirt. Leave the horses alone, that’s what Denim Jack says. You know, one time I saw a horse up close. I think it was at the zoo. No, wait, they don’t have horses at the zoo, do they? Not important. But you know what is important? JEEEEEAAAAAANNNNNNSSSSSS! So let’s get back to them, huh?

Hey, look at these jeans. It’s like their friends with each other. “Hey, let’s go down to the jean hangout place,” says the one on the left. Then the one on the right says, “I can’t. I have polio. I need to stay inside.” What?! Man, those jeans are wild. Get back in your iron lung, pair of jeans on the right. Isn’t that right, Billy Corrigan?

I have no idea why my picture showed up in a Google Image search for “jeans.” What am I doing here? Hey, remember when I was in that group Zwan?

No, I don’t! All I remember is how much I love jeans. I scream for jeans! Yaaarrrrggghhh! Oh, no! I’m having a serious jean attack! My left arm is numb. I’m coming for ya, Levi! Oh, the jeans!!!!!

P.S. Buy jeans.

Okay, first day on the new job. Got to make a good impression. Work hard, stay busy, look alert. That’s right, just play it cool. Gonna have a long career here at Henderson’s Nail & Glue Factory. Oh, yeah, gonna be the best night watchman they ever had.

All right, let’s get started on those rounds. Check on the production line first. “Hello, anybody in here?” Nope, the coast is clear. Okay, moving right along-”Ow! Ahh, shit!” Dammit, just stepped on a nail. Well, that was bound to happen sooner or later. It is a nail factory, after all. Just didn’t think it would happen so soon. Okay, just pull it out and we’ll keep going. That’s it, pull it out-think happy thoughts! Okay, it’s out. Remember to get tetanus shot first thing in the morning.

Hmm, think I’ll check out the packaging room. Well, looks like everything is okay in here. Why don’t I turn on the light to make sure. Now where’s that switch? Oh right, it’s over-Fuck! What is this goo? Oh, it’s a tub of glue. What the hell is it doing in the packaging room? Glue belongs in the glue room for shit’s sake. Ah! I’ve got glue all over me! Okay, calm down. Just get to the bathroom, clean yourself off, and keep going. Now where’s that bathroom? Right, it’s across the hall, at the end of the prototype testing facility.

All righty, just have to get across this nail testing room and then I’ll be at the bathroom. No sudden movements. Just creep quietly across this cavernous hall, filled to the brim with pneumatic guns that shoot hi-tech nails into various targets. Certainly don’t want to make any noise since the guns are sound activated. That’s it, almost to the bathroom, being very quiet-Oh no! Is that glue? Did I just step in glue again?! “Shit ass! Who left all this glue here? This is just goddamn ridiculous!” Oops! Why did I yell that? The nail guns are activated. Time to run. Okay, running. Running pretty fast. Ouch. Something just hit me. Was it a nail? Possibly. Ouch. Another one. That was definitely a nail. I can see it halfway into my leg. Keep running. Ouch. Is that-yep, that’s a nail. Right in my ass. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Oh, God. Too many nails to warrant their own individual “ouch.” I’d reckon there are about six or seven dozen technoligically advanced nails stuck in me. Hope I don’t pass out from pain or blood loss before I get to the bathroom.

Whoo! Made it. Hmm. Should I even bother to clean this glue off now? I mean, yeah, that was my original reason for coming to the bathroom, but it just seems less important now compared to the 72 carbon-titanium hybrid nails sticking into my body. Hmm. Okay, first I’ll get the nails out, then clean the glue off, then tend to my wounds, then eat a ham sandwich, then finish my shift, and finally, go to the doctor.

All right, turning on the faucet. You have got to be goddamned joking! There’s glue on the faucet! Sweet mother of God, this is not cool. What kind of dog and pony factory is Henderson running here? That’s it, I’m not working here. Now way, man. I’m leaving. I’m getting in my car and going home. Where’s the parking lot again. Oh right, it’s just past the glue room, where they keep giant vats of glue at a constant bubble for seemingly no reason at all. Hmm. That sounds like it could be a bad idea. I’ll just take a shortcut through the nails-infected-with-hepatitis room. Save myself at least two minutes. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Damn, I’m smart.

Whoooooo! Oh boy, things have been busy! OhmygodwheredoIstart? It’s been an exciting week for me. And the news! Oh, the news! I’ll start at last Thursday. I did a show Thursday night at Mo Pitkin’s. I always like performing at that place. The crowds are usually pretty hip and they’re unfailingly positive. Usually a bunch of people who want to drink beer, eat fancy cheese fries, and watch whatever performance is taking place. What more could you ask for? How about Ukrainian teenagers taking their shirts off and yelling out bullshit throughout your set? What, you didn’t ask for that? Too bad, cause that’s what you’re getting. At least, that’s what I got last Thursday.

The show started at 10 and I arrived a little before then. I had just come from a barbecue and for one reason or another, I thought I was going to have a panic attack. Maybe it was because the barbecue was full of people from college who were talking about the difference between private equity management and investment banking, all of whom make more money in two months than I make in a year.(Yes, this is the part where you shed a single tear for me.) Or maybe it was because I had started a part time job doing a little graphic design and I had drank about 6 large ice coffees over the course of the day. Whatever the reason, I thought I was going to have a seizure before I even got onstage.

I could tell right away it was going to be an odd show. There were about 40 people crammed into a tiny upstairs room at Mo’s. And the room was strictly segregated. On the right side, there was a column of comedians. In the center, there was a table of thirty-something gay men. Packed around the sides were lots of normal people. And in the back corner, there was a booth of boys and girls who looked like they were about 18 years old.* The guys all had slicked back/spiked straight up hair and chains. The girls looked like they were about to go to the fanciest mall in the world. Right before the hosts introduced the first guest, they jokingly asked if anyone wanted to take their shirt off. I forget why they did this. I think it was hot and they were joking. Well, one of the young men from the back did not take it as a joke and he bolted to the front of the room, unbuttoned his skintight H & M number and displayed his hairless tween chest for the room. “Yes!” I thought to myself. “This is definitely my kind of audience. Hoo boy.”

I was the second comic on the bill. The room was a little loud for the first comic, the lovely and talented Michelle Collins, but she handled it admirably. I got on stage and instead of ingratiating myself to the crowd, I decided to insult the unruliest section of it. That’s called being a pro! I forget my exact words, but it was something along the lines of, “And I’d like to welcome the table in the back, who are here on a field trip from a day camp in New Jersey.” I thought it was a decent line. Some of the other comics laughed, too. But the table in the back wasn’t going to have it. They had their shirtless honor to defend, after all.

“We’re not from Jersey,” they seemed to yell in unison. “No?” I asked. “Where are you from?” A couple of them said Brooklyn. “Where in Brooklyn?” I asked. “From Russia,” one of them said. They then went on to explain, sometimes five of them at once, that they were all originally from the Ukraine, but they live in Brooklyn now. “Awesome,” I thought. “I managed to rile up the children of the Russian mafia.” Actually, they weren’t combative or mean or anything. They just seemed like young kids that wanted to see a comedy show and thought that the most appropriate behavior was just to yell shit out. A lot of people act this way at comedy shows. They operate under the assumption that it helps the comedian to shout things that they recognize, or to add their two cents. Whatever, this wasn’t the first time this has happened to me.

I joked around with them a little more, and went on with my set. I was telling a story about being in the airport(don’t worry, it wasn’t a what’s-the-deal-with-babies-on-planes joke) when one of Ukrainian girls yelled out, “You have to pay for it!” “What?” I said. “The food,” she said in her Ukrainian accent, “You have to pay for the food.” “Uh, yeah, that’s great,” was all I could manage. Unfortunately, the whole gist of my joke was that I didn’t want my story to turn into a joke about airline food. But now this girl had mentioned it, I had commented on it, and now it was too late to finish the joke. But rather than finishing the rest of the joke smoothly and moving along, I said, “So where was I? Oh, right, I was on a plane. Uh, the plane crashed and everyone died. But don’t worry, it was an Aeroflot plane.” For those unaware, Aeroflot is the national airline of Russia. Whoops! Not a classy move on my part. Most of the audience sat quietly in their chairs for that crackerjack and the Ukrainian kids in the back sort of looked at each other like, “Did he just say something about us dying in an airplane crash?”

Man, oh man, the rest of the set went even better than that. Afterwards, I felt so awkward I chugged the host’s beer on stage and muttered something about the kind of girls I bring home to my parents. All in all, the most rewarding and fulfilling moment I’ve ever had on stage.

But the next day, I did Hot Tub, which is my absolute favorite show in the city, and I did a character that made very little sense. But I got to wear a camouflage hat and yell “America!” a lot, so that was fun. I feel much better now.

P.S. This is a picture of a Ukrainian folk singer. If I ever find her, I’m going to heckle the shit out of her. Then vengeance will be mine. Passive-aggressive, roundabout vengeance!

*I’m not saying they were 18, they just looked young.

The Internet was not working at my office today. Something about a cable being cut. I’ll be back at it tomorrow, folks. So sorry.

If it weren’t for their cunning and insatiable appetites, we wouldn’t have even made it past the primate stage.
Adds even more credence to my theory.

Sorry for the lack of posting today. Had a lot to do and show to get ready for tonight. Have a good weekend.

Hey readers, I’m announcing the first official kukoda.com get together. It’s a chance for you, the readers, to get to spend some quality time with Ol’ Kukoda. Who’s excited? Damn right, it’s you! So we’re going to meet up today around 3pm at the King of Prussia mall. Everyone meet outside the Foot Locker on the lower level. Once we’ve all arrived, then it’s time to hang out. Ooh, it’s going to be sweet. I figure we can check out Spencer’s and Hot Topic, then stop at Hot Sam for some pretzels. Then, it’s time to hit the Disney Store. After that, it’s free swim! We’ll just go wherever the mall flow takes us.

Damn, I’ve got some great memories of the mall. I used to work there when I was a teenager. My parents owned one of those little kiosks they have in the aisles of the mall. We sold windshield sealant or airbrushed T shirts or some shit. It was great. The only problem was that some of the other mall workers looked down on us because we only had a kiosk instead of a proper store.

These two jerks who worked at Brookstone used to throw corn dog sticks at us from the second level. And one time, my Dad punched out the manager of a Banana Republic for giving us grief. Actually, my Dad punched the guy out because he asked us to turn down our stereo. Uh, how else were we supposed to attract business besides blaring “Who Let The Dogs Out?” That song brings in customers!

So yeah, meet me at the mall today. It will be awesome. But we can’t go into Tower Records. I haven’t been allowed in there since I stole a Gin Blossoms CD when I was 13. And I’d do it again! Hey, Jealousy!

Well, it happened again. Another one of my MySpace friends raped me last night. Sure, this isn’t the first time it’s happened, but you never really get used to it no matter how many times it happens. What’s weird about last night’s raping is that I actually knew this MySpace friend before I met him online. It was my buddy Pete. I don’t know what it is about MySpace that turns normal people into voracious rapists, but I’m fed up with it. I guess the online world isn’t safe for ridiculously handsome comedians/temps like myself who just want to use a networking site to post photos of their awesome abs. But I’m going to change all that. Follow these online safety tips and you should be saying, “I didn’t get raped today” in no time.

1. If someone asks you for your personal information, ask them why they want it. If they say, “So I can come over and rape you,” DO NOT give out the information. If they say, “So I can make you a delicious crumb cake and deliver it to your house,” then it’s okay to give out that info. Seriously, who wants to risk losing crumb cake?

2. Don’t post a lot of sexy photos of yourself on the Internet. For me, this is damn near impossible since every picture I take is pretty gosh darn sexy. I recently found an old photo of me sitting in a high chair with a bowl of spaghetti on my head. And wouldn’t you know, I looked dead sexy in it.

3. Lock yourself in your home and never venture outside again.

4. Tape a sign to your computer monitor declaring it a “Rape Free Zone.”

5. If someone asks you to meet them at a seedy motel, make sure you’re dressed in your best outfit. Chances are, it’s someone from Dateline conducting a sting operation. And you don’t want to be on TV wearing a pair of ratty old jeans.

6. Avoid using the following screen names, as they are bait to online predators: Like2Flirt, 2Sexy4U, HottStuff, Looking2GetRaped, EasilyDuped, NoSelfEsteem69, or RonBurgundy44. The Ron Burgundy one has nothing to do with online safety, I just think people should give Anchorman references a rest for a little while.

Okay, now you’re armed for the online world. Go out and have fun!

I wish I could tell you how delightful it was to wake up this morning to the sound of construction workers banging away outside my window, but there’s no way to put it into words. They’re renovating the store directly beneath my apartment, and from the sounds of it, they’re not leaving a single thing un-smashed. Right now, there are construction workers in my backyard, which my bedroom faces, digging a giant hole in the backyard.

The workers are so loud and close that, when they first started, I thought someone was drilling holes in my kitchen. Since I only have one roommate, I assumed it was him, attempting some sort of home improvement project at 7am. “Matt!” I screamed from my bedroom. “What the hell are you doing! Stop hammering!” No response. “Shut up, Matt! Seriously, stop hammering! I hate you!” Again, I got no response. “Good Lord, answer me you son of a bitch!” Nothing.

I dragged myself out of bed and over to my window to see what the hell was going on. And there, outside my window, not 5 feet from me, were three construction workers tearing the tin roof off of the store beneath my apartment. But they weren’t content to just tear it off. Once it was off, they felt the need to smash it with pipes for some reason. Construction workers and contractors, help me out here, why would anyone need to punish a tin roof by bashing it with pipes? Is there a construction term for that?

After they were done tearing up the roof, they started bashing old pieces of wood with their pipes. It was like watching a four year old breaking up a pile of Lincoln Logs. Except four year olds don’t make nearly that much noise. And you can tell four year olds to stop what they’re doing. I wasn’t about to chastise a bunch of clearly crazed construction workers five feet from me, lest they simply walk over to my window and start bashing that with pipes.

Good God, from the looks of this project, it’s probably going to go on all summer. So it’s time for another contest. The winner of this contest gets to have me live with them for the next two months! You heard me, it could happen to you. I’ll be sleeping on your couch, eating your food, bring home floozies to your home! Enter today!

Oh, and the worst part is, I’ve walked past the construction workers half a dozen times and they’ve yet to make a pass at me. Jerks.

Sorry about the late start today, but I’ve been at the salon all day. The Lady has been nominated for a fancy shmancy theater award and the ceremony is tonight, so I’ve got to look my best! I’m not exactly sure what she’s nominated for because when she told me about it, there was a commercial for nachos on TV and I was pretty engrossed in that. All I know is I’ve got to look my best. And, if there’s an award for sexiest date, she’s sure to win that one.

I’m going to be wearing my hair up tonight. I get so few chances to wear it like that, so why not? I also got a spray-on tan today, so I’ll be looking my orangest. And I haven’t eaten anything in the past four days so I can squeeze into my super thin pants. Holy Jesus, it will be great. I hope there’s a red carpet there so I can make an extravagant entrance. I rented us a stretch hummer limo, but I had them remove the engine so it can be pulled by a dozen white horses. I think that will make us look extra classy. And I’m going to glue horns to the horses’ faces to make them look like unicorns. If you can think of a classier entrance than stepping out of a hummer limo pulled by unicorns, then you’re a damn liar.

I should have a full run-down on the event tomorrow, maybe even with real pictures. You will like that, right? Damn straight you will.

Ooh, I almost forgot. The Lady is taking me out for a fancy steak dinner tonight, too. I’m going to wear my jacket with the hidden pockets so I can stuff mashed potatoes into it. That way, as the evening wears on and I get a little hungry-Bam! I’ve got a pocket full of potatoes ready to go. I can almost taste those pocket potatoes. All right, hope you all have fun not going to a steak dinner and awards show tonight. I’m sure it will be great. Psych!!

P.S. I’m trying to bring “Psych!” back.

Well, I finally finished my screenplay and sweet mother of God, it is freaking awesome. I haven’t sold it to anyone yet, so please don’t give out any of the details I’m about to let you in on. Otherwise, someone is liable to steal it. Here we go!

My movie takes place in the year 2008! Oh, yeah, the future! But it’s not just another futuristic thriller. It’s sort of a love story slash buddy comedy slash animal documentary. I know, I know. It sounds crazy, but stay with me.

You see, in the year 2008, whales have taken over the world. There was a nuclear war and it turns out that a whale’s blubber makes them immune to nuclear fallout. How’s that for a twist, M. Night Shamadong? I’ll give you a minute to collect the pieces of your mind that I just blew out of your ears with that little revelation. Anyhow, two whales, Arkaloo and Pete, have to race against two other whales, Steve Perry and Washu, to find a magic crystal that will somehow reverse time so they can prevent the nuclear war. Is your head still on straight?

The conflict arises when the whale named Steve Perry has second thoughts about being a villainous whale and starts helping out the two good whales. Well, you can imagine how Washu feels about this! He is not pleased and he uses all of his whale magic to summon the forces of the deep to stop the three whales from obtaining the crystal. That’s when things get really interesting. But if you want to find out how it ends, you’ll just have to go to the movie.

But before you can go to the movie, I’ll have to sell this script and get someone to make it. I’m guessing that with all the CGI and special effects involved, this movie will cost around 150 million dollars. And I want Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt to play Arkaloo and Pete, respectively. Audiences love when really attractive people voice animated characters, thereby canceling out the major attribute attractive people have going for them. Why? Hey, don’t ask me! I’m just a fantastically talented screenwriter. So if you anyone of you know the studio chiefs at say, Warner Brothers or Sony Pictures, please set up a meeting for me so I can get this thing going. Oh, and you’ll have to lend me a suit. I traded the last of my clothes for food.

You heard me! I am seriously pissed off at you, rain! Because of you, my outdoor beer pong league game got cancelled last night. And I am not pleased.

I had been looking forward to last night’s game since the schedule came out in early June. Maybe I never told you guys this, but I’ve been a pretty serious beer pong player since college. They used to call me “Ole’ Pongy.” Get it? Pongy refers to the “pong” in beer pong. Whatever. The point is I got a super awesome squad together this year for the Hoboken Outdoor Beer Pong League.(That’s the HOBPL. Don’t call it beirut!) The team is me(Ole’ Pongy,”) James “Beer Baron” Flaybern, Paul “I Like Beer Bong” Pardire, and some other guy we just call Moose. And we are sweet!

We’re called the The Gravity Pongers(get it?) and so far we’re undefeated season. Last night we were supposed to play “The Popped Collars,” the only other undefeated team in the league. Man, I hate the Popped Collars. They go around this town(by which I mean a four block radius in Hoboken) acting like they own it. But they don’t. Various businesses and landlords and the city government own it. Whatever. That’s not important. What is important is that we were denied the opportunity to show up the Popped Collars.

We’ve had a pretty serious rivalry going with the PC’s since last summer when they beat us in the championship. They threw well and deserved to win. But after the match, James, as is his custom, passed out in a lawn chair and one of the PC’s pooped on his chin. That was gross! And a total breach of the beer pong code. It is never, under any circumstances, okay to poop on another player. Man, we ended up brawling after that one. We probably would have killed each other if not for a friendly priest who convinced us to settle our differences, not in the streets with various clubs, but on the beer pong table. Which we would have done if not for that cursed rain last night!

Well, what are you going to do? The match got rescheduled for the second week of August. Email me if you want tickets to go. Oh, and last night after the game got rained out, we all headed to a bar around the corner. Right before we left we found James passed out in the bathroom with poop all over his shirt. We’ll get you Popped Collars!

What up, dudes? Get your asses out to Tower Records and buy my latest CD. But don’t steal it. Because mall security will follow you into the food court and ask you to come back to the store. And then you’ll get sent to the police station and then your mom will have to pick you up and it will make your whole summer awkward. Trust me, I know. But for realz, you should buy my latest album. It’s called “Kukoda Kares” and it’s a charity album. All the proceeds go to a charity of some sort. Now, I don’t want to toot my own horn, but I if I had to, I would say I’m better than Mother Theresa and Ghandi combined.

Basically, I got all of my famous friends together to record this album. All the greats are on it: Chicago, Peter Cetera. All of ‘em. And man, this album is smoking. Usually, benefit albums don’t make for good make out albums, but this one is different. Invite your lady over, light some candles, then let the duet between me and Peter C. take you away. Take you away to sex, that is.

The album is like me in that it’s a crazy mix of styles. I do some rapping on it, some singing, some more rapping, and then on one track I just play the bongos for twenty minutes. God, I was stoned that day! The Moody Blues had brought over some great peyote and we just had at it. Did I forget to mention that I hang out with the Moody Blues? Well, I do. We have a time share together in Cabo.

All right, I got to get going. Sammy Haggar is coming over and we’re going to snort tequila and then play horseshoes on my roof. Give me a call if you want to come by.

I present: plot holes in the upcoming Wayans Brothers’ movie Little Man. I know, I know. What’s the point of detailing all the things wrong with this movie? It’s going to be a horrible piece of garbage. Why take it seriously? I’ll tell you why: Because I’ve got nowhere else to go. No wait, that’s why I put up with Lou Gosset Junior’s tough love when I was trying to get into Navy Flight school. Because I’ve got nothing better to do. That’s what I meant to say.

Here’s how IMDB summarizes Little Man in case you’re unfamiliar with it: “A wannabe dad (Shawn Wayans) mistakes a vertically challenged criminal on the lam (Marlon Wayans) as his newly adopted son.” That’s the whole plot. One joke for 90 minutes. Whoo boy, sounds like a crackerjack. Anyway, here’s why the whole thing wouldn’t work.

1. In one of the TV spots for the movie, you can clearly see that Marlon’s character has a tattoo on his left arm. That’s a definite tip-off that you’re dealing with a freakishly short criminal and not a baby.
2. Marlon’s character has Marlon Wayans’ face. Marlon Wayans does not look like a baby. Ridiculous!
3. If Marlon’s character were able to pass himself off as a baby this easily, he certainly would have tried it before. Like in cartoons where the baby in the stroller is actually a gangster, this would have been Marlon’s character’s M.O. from the beginning.
4. Marlon’s character is way too muscular to be a baby.
5. Marlon’s character has visible facial hair! What kind of baby has facial hair?
6. And most disturbing of all, why do I kind of, deep down want to see this movie? Why, oh God, why? Someone explain that one to me. And while you’re at it, can you walk me through the plot of Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest? How could a Disney movie based on a ride be that difficult to follow? I swear to God, I thought Geoffrey Rush was playing Orlando Bloom’s dad until afterwards the Lady told me that it was, in fact, Stellan Skarsgard. What? Was he even in the first movie? And how did he know Johnny Depp at the start of the movie? And what was with that gambling game with the dice they were playing? I couldn’t even figure that out. Ugh, I’m going to go watch White Chicks to feel better about myself. Even I can follow the plot of that one.

Here’s a link to the trailer. Let me know if you spot any other glaring problems.