Jack Kukoda

Hey, gang! I’m sure a lot of you noticed that I wasn’t quite up to the task of writing yesterday. But I have an excellent reason! I’ve been trying out for my hometown Buffalo Bills for the past couple weeks. I know what you’re saying. “Jack, didn’t you once make three interceptions in one game against St. Mary’s of Lancaster your Junior year of high school? Why should you even have to try out? They should just put you on the first defense on the basis of that game alone!”

Look, I agree with you. I was great that day. More than a man, in fact. A superman even, but with the added attributes of some sort of ferocious animal. Perhaps the jaguar. I digress. The point is, I have been trying out for the Bills. NFL teams don’t normally hold open try outs(unless there’s a chance that it might somehow provide the incomparable Mark Wahlberg another vehicle in which to show off how awesome he looks with 1970’s hair!), but the Bills made an exception this year because they are horrible. Good God, I can’t remember another season I was looking forward to less than the current one. If they win more than 6 games I’ll throw a freaking party complete with helmet-shaped cake. Wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Back to the try outs. I showed up last week at Bills training camp. I couldn’t find my old football shoulder pads, so I went to Play-It-Again Sports and bought a pair of hockey shoulder pads. Same thing, right? Wrong! Oh, how I was teased when I got out onto that field! Not just by the players, but by the coaches, too. The coaches asked me what position I was trying out for and I said I would play any position that would help the Bills. The coaches said they needed me to pick a position so they could decide on how to evaluate me. I told them I would like to play quarterback, but only if I could use a slightly smaller ball because, as I’ve mentioned before, my hands are sort of dainty and I find the regular ones difficult to grip.

The coaches let me take a few snaps at quarterback, but not with the special Sugar Bowl Commemorative novelty ball I had brought from home. I had to use the regular ball. Well, needless to say, when I went to throw it the giant ball wobbled out of my hands and it actually went backward! The press sure had a good laugh at that one. I tried to laugh it off like I didn’t care and jogged over to where the ball had landed. But just as I went to pick the ball up, I noticed there was a bee on it. I screeched loudly and kicked the ball before running away, just like my mom taught me to do when encountering a bee. Well, if you thought people were laughing before, you should have seen them now. I told them all to shut up, but they just kept laughing. A 12 year-old girl in the stands even called me a name I don’t feel comfortable repeating.(It was ‘pussy.’)

After the laughing died down, the coaches suggested I just head home and I reluctantly agreed. But just as I was heading to the locker room to pick up my stuff, I thought I heard a bee behind me and I took off running. Unfortunately, I ran straight into a golf cart and banged my shin up pretty bad. So that’s why I wasn’t able to write yesterday. Go Bills.

Previous Bills Coverage

Ohmygodiamsopissed! I don’t know who’s in charge of that Central Park Zoo, but they owe me some money. Yesterday, I went to the zoo with some crippled children. (Yes, yes, I work with crippled children. Get over it, ladies.) Anyway, the animals at that zoo are simply incorrigible. Here is a list of my things, in no particular order, that were eaten/stolen by those damned animals. I’ve included the approximate price of those items so the zoo can reimburse me.

Fitted Yankees Hat - $25 (Stolen by a zebra.)
My Favorite Kite - $45 (Got stuck in giraffe’s mouth, giraffe then tore it to shreds.)
Pre-packed Bag Lunch - $9 (I dropped it in a puddle after being startled by a goat)
Crippled Child - I guess I’m supposed to say ‘priceless’ (Eaten by a tiger)
North Face Backpack $90 (Covered in poo thrown by monkeys.)
One Nike Shoe $65 (Gnawed by polar bear)

The way I see it, the zoo owes me 234 dollars. And a crippled child to said child’s family. I’m not really sure who I see about getting my money back. The guy I talked to yesterday was no help. He was all, “Why did you bring your kite to the zoo?” and “Who said that you could try to ride the zebras?” and “Did you say a tiger ate a child?!” Damn red tape!

That’s why I’m asking for your help, dear blogosphere. Please write letters or emails to the zoo and tell them to give me back my damn money! Thank you.

And have a good weekend.

Hey everyone. I’m outside the hottest spot in New York City right now! The Holland Tunnel! Oh, man, all the big names are here; police officers, traffic officers, cars, motorcycles, smog. It’s off the hook. I’ll be live blogging the Holland Tunnel all day long, so make sure you check back throughout the day or you might miss out on all the awesome action.

The newest updates will be at the bottom. Hope you can keep up!

9:56am Just got here! Man, the Holland Tunnel is smoking today. Litererally. With all the cars, buses, and bikes passing through, there’s quite a bit of smoke.

10:06am Oooh. A really cool bus just went into the tunnel.

10:30am Lots of cars going in and out.

10:45am I think I went to high school with the guy in that car.

11am I’m going to get a sandwich. This tunnel action is making me hungry.

11:11am I just made a wish!

11:23am Uh-oh! A traffic cop is yelling at someone. I wouldn’t like to be that guy. Or the traffic cop for that matter, as it seems like a pretty thankless job.

11:44am More cars coming through. Man, they never stop.

12pm Someone just threw an empty Starbucks cup at me from their moving vehicle. Not cool.

12:14pm I’m going to start abbreviating Holland Tunnel to HoTu. Let’s see if that catches on.

12:22pm I asked the traffic cop how long he’s been working at the HoTu and he told me to go fuck myself.

12:34pm I made another wish!

12:48pm I’m getting a little dizzy from these fumes.

1pm Lunch Break!

1:22pm Hey, a bird!

1:45pm Some guy with this squirt gun that blows bubbles keeps trying to sell me stuff. “I don’t want your bubble gun!” I yelled at him. Then he threw a hot dog at me. What a country!

2:44pm I just woke up from a nap. I think I passed out from the exhaust fumes. And my hat with a fan on the brim is missing. Why would someone steal that? How am I supposed to keep my head cool now?

3pm Okay, I’ve taken the commenter’s bait. I am now in the tunnel. Ooh boy, it is dark. And loud. Well, I’ll just sit here on the edge of the tunnel along that little walkway. Hmm, this isn’t so bad.

3:03pm Okay, I’m really bored and I have to pee. I’m leaving.

3:04 Well, I made it 3 whole minutes. I’m pretty proud of myself. My pants got all sooty, though. I hate soot.

3:30 Will someone bring me something to drink? Maybe like a Vitamin Water or Gatorade or something. No biggie if you can’t.

4pm While this has nothing to do with the HoTu, I just found out that these animals actually exist. My head is spinning.

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, 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.

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!

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.

Even though Italy won the World Cup yesterday, the big story is that French captain Zinedine Zidane, playing in his final game before retirement, was ejected during extra-time for head-butting an Italian player. People are claiming that Zidane, at best, tarnished his legacy, and at worst, cost his team the championship. I don’t know what all the hullabaloo is about. Maybe head-butting is frowned upon where some people come from, but it’s how I solve all of my problems. In fact, I can’t think of a single social situation that cannot be solved by a well-placed, expertly-timed, running-start head-butt.

Situation One: At a Restaurant

ME: I’ll have the roast pork with the apple compote.

WAITER: I’m sorry, sir. Unfortunately, we are out of the roast pork tonight. May I recommend something else?

ME: What did you say to me?

WAITER: I’m sorry, but we just ran out of the roast pork, sir. It’s quite popular. I’d be happy to recommend the-Sir, why are you getting up? Um, where are you going? Sir, please do not run in the-Oh, God! You slammed your head into me! Why? Oh, that hurt! Good Lord, I am in pain. Fine, I’ll find you some pork. Just stop banging your head into me!

Situation Two: At the Office

BOSS: Jack, these reports are not at all what I asked for. Do you even know the first thing about Microsoft Excel?

ME: What did you say about my mother?

BOSS: What? I didn’t say anything about your mother. Hey, don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you. Get back over here. That’s more like it. Wait, slow down. Don’t run in the hallway-Oh, Jesus! Ouch! Oh, sweet Lord. I think you knocked my teeth out! You’ve certainly shown me the error of my ways.

ME: I’m taking the rest of the day off.

BOSS: Fine with me. Take the rest of the week off. When you come back, I’m giving you a raise.

Situation Three: Getting a Home Loan

BANKER: Good afternoon, how may I help you today?

ME: Racist!

BANKER: What? But I’m black. How could I be- Oh, my balls! You jumped off my desk and slammed your head right into my crotch. This is the most pain I have ever been in. Please, take all the money you need.

It’s that simple, people. Follow my lead and you’ll be head butting your way into the corner office before you know it.

I barely have time to write this because I want to beat the traffic to get out to my beach house. You all have beach houses, right? I certainly hope so. I would hate to think there are people reading my site who are so poor they can only afford one house. That would depress me to no end. Actually, my beach house isn’t so much a house as it is a compound, made up of 50 individual houses. See, I’m a real patriot, so I purchased 50 houses, moved them all onto the same piece of land by the beach, and then I named them after the 50 states. Then I hired 50 prostitutes to live in the houses, and I named the prostitutes after the state capitals. That way I can just say to my butler, “Fetch the golf cart, Buster. I feel like banging Des Moines, Iowa today.” And then it is so. See how patriotic I am? I make Toby Keith look like Osama bin Laden.

Anyhow, sometimes my neighbors get real jealous of me because I’m so rich. They say things like, “Get out of our neighborhood, you filthy pimp!” Or “One of your prostitutes is passed out on my lawn. Please come and get her.” I don’t let that mess bother me. Some people are just going to be jealous of my sweet, sweet lifestyle. That’s how it is.

I worked hard to get where I am today and I’m not going to apologize for my affluent, hooker-driven lifestyle. Understand? No apologies. How did I get so wealthy? Well, it may interest you to know that I invented American flag balloon pants. You heard me! Before I came along, nobody had thought to put an American flag on balloon pants. Back then, balloon pants were just one solid color. I said, “Screw that mess! These pants can be just as patriotic as a hat or a windbreaker. Let’s put a flag on them.” The rest, as they say, is history.

Okay, I’ve got to get going if I want to beat the traffic. Larry the Cable Guy is coming over today for a barbecue. We’re going to drink real American beer and make fart noises with our mouths for the rest of the day. Shit, maybe we’ll record it and put it out on DVD. You’d watch that, right?

But before I go, here’s a little something to tide you over. This is Sacramento, California wearing a pair of my inventions.

Doesn’t she look hot? I took this picture on a beach in Maui. It might look like my poorly-lit basement, but I assure you it’s Hawaii. The Hawaiian sun looks a lot like a single 60 watt bulb when photographed.

Longtime readers of this site are no doubt familiar with Galoshes, my pet puma. If not, you can get up to speed by reading this. Man, Galoshes is the best. He’s like some kind of freaking super poontang magnet. If you thought a puppy was a good way to meet girls, then you should see how the ladies flock to a talking puma with a British accent.

Anyhow, the other day, Galoshes wanted to get some exercise, so I decided to take him to the park. We decided to play “Kitesbee,” which is cross between frisbee and kite-flying that I invented because I’m so goddamn whimsical. Seriously, if you want whimsy, then I’m your man. Sometimes I wear outfits that I knitted myself completely out of pony hair just for the hell of it. So yeah, I am great.

Anyway, while we were playing kitesbee, this smoking hot chick(yes, that’s exactly how I describe women) walks over and starts petting Galoshes. “Is this a cougar?” she asked. “Actually, I’m a puma,” Galoshes responded. The woman seemed a little startled that my puma could talk and she jumped back just a little. “Don’t worry,” Galoshes said. “I don’t bite…hard.” Oh, we all had a good laugh at that one. There’s nothing more appealing than a mountain cat using sexual innuendo on some woman he just met.

With Galoshes’ help, I got the woman to come back to my place. I poured us all a round of drinks while Galoshes rolled a huge joint. Ghostbusters II was on HBO so we started watching that. I thought I was at least going to make out with this girl, but I got really high and got too paranoid to make a move. So that’s how the night ended: Me, some girl, and my talking puma watching HBO, sitting on the couch, too stoned to move. Just like a fairy tale.

Previously: The H Is O, But My P Is S

Some of you may have noticed that I didn’t update this site yesterday until way late. Sorry. It’s been a rough couple of days. I don’t want to get into it too much, so let’s just say I wasn’t getting enough sleep. But that’s what happens when you’re out saving lives. Whoops.

Did I let that slip? Darn it. I didn’t mean to mention that in my spare time, I rescue baby animals from fires and other assorted dangers. Now it just seems like I’m bragging, doesn’t it? Shoot. Really, that’s not what I was trying to do. I wasn’t trying to casually mention that I do things defend baby ducks from coyotes or run into burning pet shops, a la Pee Wee Herman, to save the lives of defenseless, and adorable, baby animals.

Oh, listen to me ramble on. Next thing you know, I’ll be blabbing about my work with the elderly. Shit. I did it again. Seriously, I’m not trying to charity-drop here. In no way did I mean to tell you all about how I carry elderly people on my back to sensibly-priced restaurants, so that they can enjoy a meal at the Olive Garden. I don’t need your accolades. The look on an old person’s face as they cling to my back while I race through traffic is thanks enough. I’m just going to keep quiet now before I let another one of my good deeds slip.

Have a good weekend, everybody. I hope you’ll all get outside and enjoy the beautiful weather. Not me, though. I’ll be too busy teaching teaching the blind to paint and counseling depressed ponies. Ooops!