Jack Kukoda

Hey you. Yeah, you, the guy with all the ponies. I know those ponies are out of control. I know that you don’t know what to do with them. I understand that maybe you started out with one or two ponies and then they bred and now you’ve got a house-full or a ranch-full or ponies messing up your house. Or maybe you have enough room for the ponies, but you’re just sick of having them around. Doesn’t matter. Because I’m here to help. And here’s how: by eating your ponies.

That’s right. I’ll eat them. No expensive euthanizing of them, no extravagant shooting of those ponies into space, no driving those ponies out into the woods and then leaving them there. Those days are over. And here’s the best part: I come to you. You don’t need to FedEx your superfluous ponies to me. No, sir. I bring my pony-eating services right to your door. You pay the travel expenses, I eat the ponies. That’s what’s called a business partnership.

Now, I’m sure you’ve got a couple questions like “How long does it take you to eat the pony?” or “Are there bones leftover or you eat those, too?” and finally, “How much does it cost?” Listen, don’t you worry your pretty little head about any of those questions. As for how long it takes me to eat a pony the answer is: until I’m finished. Each pony is different. There’s no set amount of time it takes and if I told you there was, well, I’d be a liar. And no, there will be no bones leftover. Don’t ask me how I do this, just trust that I do. When I’m done with your pony, the only thing left of him will be the photos you took. And, if you like, I’ll eat those, too. As for how much this costs, you pay what you can. I didn’t get into the pony-eating business for profit. I did it because it’s the right thing to do.

You know where to reach me. Right here. I look forward to serving you. And eating your ponies.

Update: The very talented Laina sent me some photos of ponies being launched into space.

The days of launching ponies into space via catapult are over. Call me today!

So for some reason I’m having trouble uploading all my photos onto my website, so the Denver wrap-up mega post will have to wait until tomorrow. But I can tell you that I ate somewhere between 10 and 15 pounds of red meat in Denver. That’s all they eat there. Or maybe that’s just all my friends eat. But Good Lord, that was a lot of meat. Burgers, steaks, tacos, ribs, chicken-fried steaks, chops, chicken-fried tacos. My chest feels like it’s been twisted with a giant pipe wrench and then stuffed with hot coals. That’s a metaphor for heart burn! And, oooohhh, how it burns! Last night I could barely choke down the 42 oz. strip steak I ordered. I would have just asked them to wrap up the leftovers, but if you eat the whole steak at this restaurant you win a pony. And I wasn’t about to lose a pony. So I finished the steak. Then I took that pony, rode him right into a barbecue pit, and ate him for dessert. His name was Cinammon and he was delicious.

Seriously, my chest hurts just from typing this. Is that normal? I’m just going to assume it is. Oh, in other news, it appears I have gotten even fatter over the past week. All of my pants are near the breaking point. On the bright side, I no longer need to wear belts. So that’s nice. On the less bright side, I’m a bloated fatty who can only fit into two pairs of pants. It is a good compromise.

Okay, I’m going to get some heartburn medicine. But I hate the taste of it so I think I’ll wash it down with a couple of sausage links. I learned that trick from when my dog had gout.

I’m heading back to New York today and won’t be near a computer. Enjoy this picture of an airplane till I see you again.

Hey, jerks! I’m in Denver. Last night I went to my first Major Indoor Lacrosse League game. A friend got free tickets to the game through work, so we decided to go. Actually, I didn’t really decide anything. My friend Paul asked if I wanted to go. I didn’t even know professional lacrosse existed and even if I had known, there’s no way in hell I wanted to actually watch a game. So I politely said, “That could be fun.” And so we went. We saw the Colorado Mammoth defeat the Portland Lumberjacks by a score of something to something. Actually, I didn’t see that, because we left about halfway through. If you’ve never been to an MILL game, I’ll try to explain it to you in the following equation.

Ice Hockey Minus The Ice Plus Lacrosse Sticks Plus Rules that Make No Sense Minus Skill and Athleticism Plus Absolute Brutality Equals MILL

Here’s my friend Paul, the one who forced me to attend this shit. He is no longer my friend.

The other thing I noticed is that the game does not stop for injuries. Last night some player got slashed across the face with a stick and immediately fell to the ground. It was one of those injuries that are painful to watch. He was writhing on the ground in pain, wiggling his legs like in NHPLA 93 and play just continued. The team’s trainer couldn’t even get out to help him.

The other thing I noticed is that the PA announcer talks throughout the entire game. He plays AC/DC songs during the game, too. It was like watching a game while a strip club DJ announced it for you. “C’mon crowd, let the Mammoth hear you! You want to see another goal?! Also, Tanya, you’re up next on stage number 2. Gentlemen, make some noise for Crystallllllllll!”

And here’s that guy who was injured. I swear he was on the turf for a good two minutes before anyone noticed he was hurt.

After the lacrosse game, we all went to my friend Paul’s house and drank and played darts. It was very fun. I was also informed that I’m going to a MOE concert against my will tomorrow night. I hate Moe and all the horrible hippie jam bands like them. I’ve offered a number of times to sell my ticket, but my friends won’t hear of it. So I should at least have a MOE concert to report on later on. God, that shit will be horrible.

I’m heading to Denver tomorrow morning to visit some friends for a week. Holy Christ, I can’t wait. Denver is very fun. They have horses instead of taxis that pick you up from the airport and instead of hot and cold water, the faucets have sasparilla and Coors Light. It’s great. And everything looks like Ponderosa. I think I mentioned that before. Here, too.

I’m going to see all the sights while I’m there: the Pepsi Center, Columbine, the grocery store where John Elway buys his cigarettes. Should be awesome. I’ll even do some sledding if I get drunk enough.

I’ll be there for almost a week so I’ll be posting from there, too. It will be glorious. Oh, and they announced this year’s winner of the Newbery again. When will those bastards learn?

I know, I know. Super Bowl tickets are pretty hard to come by. Why should you take a complete stranger like me? Well, first off, after the plane ride down together we won’t be strangers anymore because I’ll talk your fucking ear off. Want to hear all about how my 8th grade basketball team won the Diocesan championship? Then you’re in luck, because I like to tell that story. Same goes for that time in high school when I saw that horse. You’ll hear all about that one. Not interested in all the pets my family’s had since I was a kid, as well as their names? Tough luck, because you’re going to hear about them.

Bam. There you go. We aren’t strangers anymore. Problem number one solved. What else might keep you from taking me to the Super Bowl? What’s that? You say you already promised the tickets to a friend/loved one/business associate? Well, that’s a good plan if you want to be unoriginal. Everyone takes those people to the Super Bowl. Why not take the lead singer of a mariachi band or a kid in a wheelchair? Because those are both costumes I own and would be happy to dress in if you take me to the Super Bowl. Think you’ll have to stand in line at a Super Bowl party? Not if you’re with a mariachi band or a wheelchair-bound kid. Tell the bouncer I’ve got cancer and my last wish is to hang out with Chris Berman and listen to him tell stories about the maverick days of ESPN and that one time he farted. Or that other time that he farted. It’s a rich tapestry with that man, you really can’t go wrong. The point I’m trying to make is Me plus Wheelchair equals You breezing through the line at a Super Bowl party. Let’s make that math happen.

Okay, so we’ve gotten those concerns out of the way. What else could be preventing you from taking me to the Super Bowl? The fact that you don’t like me? Well, life isn’t fair. Maybe I don’t like you. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to. But I’m willing to look past all that and put petty differences aside if it will mean a trip to the Super Bowl. So send me an email and let me know where your seats are. I’ll pick the winner based on who’s got the best seats. And if you think I’m sitting anywhere past the 40 yard line you are out of your freaking mind.

For some reason I’ve been thinking about this Kids in the Hall sketch lately. It’s one of my favorites.

Have a good weekend!

1. Crystal goblet
2. Scalding, and I mean SCALDING, coffee
3. Several Blackberries(I rubberband my Blackberries together like remote controls.)
4. Another servant
5. The bones of the Elephant Man(I won them in a poker game.)
6. A tube sock stuffed with billiard balls.
7. My own feces

Get your freaking collective act together, servants. I just bought a hot caramel maker. You want hot caramel thrown at you?! Then don’t leave my socks lying around anymore!

I have not slept for two straight days.

You totally should. We’re calling ourselves “Slize of Pi.” Slice is spelled with a “z” so people will know we’re street and pie is spelled “pi” because while we’re rapping, we also teach important lessons about math. We’ll make you dance and then we’ll make you think!

I’m super proud of my new group. We’ve been writing up rap songs for a couple weeks now and we’ve got about 50. Once you realize you just have to make a line rhyme with the one preceding it, writing rap songs is a breeze. The members of the group are me, my friend Matt, my friend Paul, my old math teacher Mr. Krum, and Heavy D. Who would have thought Heavy D would join my rap group, or would have a listed phone number for that matter? But I decided to call him up anyway to ask him to join. And in between bites of a ham sandwich and audible panting, Heavy D said yes. Hurrah.

I can’t wait to get into the studio to lay down our new album. We’ve got a lot of potential tracks to pick from. Heavy says we should only put about 12 on the album, plus we have to leave room for those hilarious skits rappers are always doing on rap albums. Oh man, I love those skits. Right now, my top song choices for the album are “Circumference Rap,” “Trianglezzz” and “Math League Drop Out.” But who am I kidding, they’re all winners. Just like people who stay off drugs.

Except cocaine. Cocaine is freaking awesome.

Hey everyone. If you were just thinking to yourself, “I’d really like to see Jack Kukoda looking very bloated and talking about celebrities wearing wigs,” then guess what: It’s your lucky day! A couple weeks ago I participated in a “bloggers roundtable” for the delightful Sara Schaeffer’s show on AOL. It was mostly about celebrities and music and celebrities and yeah. I didn’t know what I was talking about. But if you really want to see it, here it is:

The other participants are Lang Fisher and Todd Levin, two very funny comedians and writers. And both much more comfortable being on camera that particular morning.

And one more thing. Happy Birthday, Mom!!!!

The DL (AOL)

The president is going to send 20,000 more troops to Iraq to quell the violence in Baghdad. 20,000 young men and women who will risk life and limb in this folly of a war. And what do they get in return? A dearth of hilarious song parodies on popular radio. When I was a boy, you couldn’t listen to the radio for 5 minutes without hearing Weird Al’s latest assault on Michael Jackson or Nirvana. And what of those local radio station DJ’s that would write their own song parodies? I’ll never forget where I was when I first heard MC Hammer’s “Let’s get it Started” re-interpreted as “Somebody Farted” on Buffalo, New York’s own Kiss 98.5. Where are you now in our hour of need, DJ tandems? Where? Will I ever know who that somebody who farted was? Doubtful.

Think of all the songs being made today that would be perfect for a parodying. Really, think about it. Take your time. You done? Okay good. That’s a lot of songs, isn’t it? So who’s parodying them? Nobody. And why not? Because the government refuses to fund programs that would allow song parodists to work on their craft. The air force gets another bomber while the Weird Als of tomorrow put on bake sales and borrow money for their parents in order to buy an accordion to create a spot-on parody of that song by Rihanna. You know the song. I think it’s Rihanna. Doesn’t matter.

I think I’ve made my point. And that is, I could not think of any funny ideas today. So this is what you get. Whatever, it’s not like you’re paying for it or anything.

Related: Scatalogical Holiday Song Parody Titles

www.howtokillyourboss-andalsocollegesluts.com

I have no idea how these people plan to make money off of this thing. Their ad-based revenue plan is so 2001! Also, they’re targeting a niche market. First thing you learn in business school: Target the homicidal employees OR lonely men looking for ball draining videos of no-holes barred action featuring sexy co-eds. Not Both. This site is bush league. I give it a poor rating as a bad stock. Or whatever the technical term bankers use to signify bad investments. I know there’s a term for this. Paul? James? Other finance people, help me out. I’m too lazy to Google it. No buy? Something like that, right?

For those of you who aren’t giant dorks and didn’t spend the last two hours reading three! different live blogs of the Macworld keynote address like me and Alex Zalben, let me direct you to the iPhone. It’s a stupid name, I can’t possibly afford it, and it’s not even available until June. But Good Lord. It’s…glorious. I can’t even begin to describe what it can do. Go read about it.

I just realized today I haven’t watched a new Netflix movie in about 4 months. I know that’s not very original. Lots of people leave their Netflix accounts dormant, unable to bring themselves to watch the director’s cut of Maria Full of Grace that sits on top of their DVD player, daring them to watch a heart-wrenching immigrant’s tale. But it’s new for me. I used to watch on average at least 15 Netflix movies per month. I took it as a challenge to watch them as quickly as possible and get them back in the mail. But no longer. They keep taking my money and I get nothing for it. I might as well dig a hole in the ground and bury my money in it. That’s what my mom used to say when I was a kid and would break a toy or beg for something new I certainly didn’t need. “You need another video game? I just bought you a video game. Why don’t I just dig a whole in the parking lot, throw all my money in and pave over it?” I believe that is a direct quote from a Buffalo-area Toys ‘R Us, circa 1990.

Anyhow, I’ve realized Netflix isn’t the only subscription service I’m currently wasting money on. Here’s the rest.

1. Pudding of the Month Club - I pay 40 dollars a month to have a 25 gallon barrel of a different pudding flavor delivered to my apartment every month. No idea why. I don’t even remember signing up for it. And the human body can only consume about a half pint of pudding a day, so even if I eat as much as I can I’m wasting approximately 23 gallons of pudding per month. Need to cancel this.

2. Extremely Perishable Cheeses by Mail - Not once has one of these arrived suitable for consumption.

3. Hookers by Crook - This is a service that delivers hookers to your apartment directly through the window. The have a big crook they use to get them up here. Actually, this one is pretty amazing.

4. Asskickings Delivered to Your Door - For some reason I pay 200 bucks a month to have a karate master come to my house and beat the ever living shit out of me.

5. Farts in a Bottle - This one is fairly self-explanatory. For 20 dollars a month Farts in a Bottle will send you a hermetically sealed bottle containing a human fart. How they make money is beyond me.

Okay, so that’s where all my money is going. Well, that and the drugs, since nobody wanted to give me any free ones. Some friends you are.

In honor of the New York Jets totally unsurprising first round exit from the playoffs yesterday, I present the following video. These picks make trading up to take J.P. Losman look like a work of genius in comparison. Enjoy, James.

Thanks for the tip, Terry. I’ll try to post some sexy photos of myself later on today for all you ladies out there not interested in sports. Although I know of one sporting event you might be interested in. The Jack Kukoda Chest Hair 5K run. That’s a charity race I organize and compete in. It raises money so I can buy hair products to keep my chest hairs looking their glossiest. Am I a saint? You’re goddamn right I am.