Posted: August 13, 2010 in Uncategorized

Those aren't tonsils!

I once read there are two types of dudes in the world…dudes that masturbate to internet pornography and the dudes that LIE about not masturbating to internet pornography.

I’m in the first group. (PSSST, we ALL are).

Over the years I’ve noticed a strange phenomenon I want to share. If you’re easily offended and hate people speaking in a hilarious way about punching the clown:

a.) Why are you even reading this blog?

b.) Stop reading this blog.

Back in the day, your dad/brother/uncle’s stack of Playboy magazines were all there was for young men to discover the beauty and physiological effect of the female form. Today, we live in a different world. We now live in the age of the internet; our new born sons will never know a world where porn of every imaginable kind is more than a few clicks away. Boggles the mind. We created this amazing digital network linking all the people of the world and what is it primarily used for? The distribution and consumption of porn. This, my friends, is the only thing that inspires me about mankind.

So, the phenomenon I speak of is THE BEFORE/AFTER EFFECT. Before I do the deed, my interest level is beyond the high water mark. Its truly like giving a starving man a rifle and sending him into the forest. You might be hankering for venison but you’re so fucking hungry that you’d shoot and happily consume a wombat if one wiggled by. That’s me at the keyboard after everyone’s in bed. Sure, I like to kid myself that I have standards, but my standards are so low that its hard for me to call it a “standard”. More like a boundary that if I cross, I personally would consider myself ‘gross’ or ‘sick in the head’.

Strangely enough, that border line expands in direct relation to the duration from launch time. Closer I get to launch, the wider the boundary gets. Midget Clown Porn, at the moment I type this, sounds unappealing. 20 seconds from launch, I’m not sure I could make that same distinction. Such is the nature of the beast. That first bite of wombat for the starving man is always wicked awesome.

Now lets consider the situation a few seconds AFTER launch. All of a sudden you look down and say…”Jesus fuck, I just ate a wombat.”

That’s a moment unlike many others. If I hear a song that moves me, read a book that inspires me, eat a meal that is unforgettably delicious, or watch a movie that entertains me, I remember it. Porn for all intent and purposes, is expendable. Literally SECONDS after the clown has been thoroughly boxed, I can’t click the “close” icon in the corner of my browser fast enough.

In fact, I challenge any dude reading this to get his freak on to his usual fare, experience the sweet bliss of rapture, and then, just for funsies, watch a couple more clips from the same page your on. The first thing you’ll realize is that you are fucking DISGUSTING. Second thing you’ll realize is YOU HATE IT. I wager there is nothing less hot in the world than the very same porn you were flailing like a monkey to 10 seconds ago.

On one site I enjoy for its sheer volume and variety, they actually have “user comments” under the clips. WTF? Now, I understand the need for some kind of rating system to let the pornographic cream rise to the top but what dude in the world would BOTHER to take time out of his life to engage in an intellectual DISCOURSE over “Asian Hottie With Wine Bottle”. Sadly, there are comments on these things. Lots of them. We have a name for the dudes that would be on a lesbian porn site and actually waste time reading porn clip comments: we call them women.

I admit, I sure do a lot of things with porn but PONDERING IT would not be one of those things. I will aptly close with the one universal catch-all comment I could type at the bottom of every porn clip I’ve ever watched:

“You disgust me. P.S. I’m done”



Posted: July 28, 2010 in Uncategorized

Just so you people know I have heart…take a look at this video I produced to commemorate my daughter’s first year on the planet. Love that lil’ maniac! A touching portrait if I don’t say so myself.


Posted: July 27, 2010 in Uncategorized

I’m starting a new feature on Jenkovision called ‘WTF?”. This is going to be the day to day bullshit we all do that, upon closer inspection, appear to be fucked in the head. I’m beginning with the age old tradition of waving on boats.

I don’t trust people as far as I can throw them. In fact, I have a borderline compulsion to avoid interaction with strangers. I won’t even order a fucking pizza on the phone because I don’t like the stress of communicating with someone I don’t know. This is quite sad, but very true.

My general distain for strangers lead to my first inescapable WTF moment this weekend. There I was boating across a beautiful lake with good friends, wife and babe. Suddenly we were confronted with our first boat of chubby kids and poorly dressed parents who were dislocating their arms waving to beat Jesus.

My initial reaction was “Hey, who are these fucks?” Perhaps a bit harsh, but not out of the ordinary for me when engaged by the general public.

That’s when it struck me. Why do I have to wave at every asshole that paddles by? If I was walking down the street, or passing in a car, or zipping by in a helicopter…hell even if I was drifting by in a fucking ZEPPELIN I would not feel compelled to wave to all who pass, yet the second you get in a boat you’re saluting each other like a brotherhood of fucking PIRATES.

Proximity is irrelevant too which also strikes me as a bit odd. In any other social situation I have to be fairly close to warrant a wave… but once I’m on the water, If I can SEE the fucking boat through a set of binoculars, somebody on that boat is waving at me.

I’m sure if science invents an even more powerful telescope than Hubble that can see all the way to surface of inhabited plants on the other side of the fucking galaxy there’s going to be ETs sitting together is some odd floatation device… waving like mad fools.

Oh and God FORBID if I don’t wave back. I might as well paddle over and punch these folks in the face. They would be LESS offended by a canon blast across the bow then me turning a nose up at away from a good ol’ fashioned waving.

Some might read this and be like “Dude… its really no biggie. Just wave at the nice people and let it go.” You’re probably right. Unfortunately, I’m me…and the more I think about being BULLIED into a wave by total strangers… the more I want to set their boat on fire.

I think we need to WTF this out of existence. Lets send this the way of the curtsy, or the tip of the tophat. Waving at strangers is dead. Pass it on!

Tattoos are popular.  Lots of people get them and for the most part they’re done with a lot of skill and artistic talent.  Then there’s these fucking sadsacks:

No, really, its Wolverine...

Believe it or not, an adult drew this.  It supposed to be Wolverine… which is fine… but considering there’s about 5 trillion images in existence that the artist could have used as reference… I gotta say SUCK ASS.

Wow, I’m kind of impressed.  Despite this being the simplest tattoo in history, the artist still managed to convey how horribly they fucking suck. So little can really say a lot.

I dont' care if your son drew sucks

I don’t care if your son scrawled this for mother’s day… or if one of the kids down at the battered wives shelter drew it for you as a gift… IT’S PERMANENT!  This belongs on a fucking FRIDGE, not your arm.

King Shit, Terd Island

You’re in need of two things my friend…a good ass wax and a new tattoo shop.  T-Rex is considered the King of the Dinosaurs… but this literal interpretation complete with crudely drawn crown is leaving me feeling a bit… hmmm… ok, ya got me,  its not the tattoo that offends me, its the hairy ass.

This sucks on about 5 levels.  I’ve decided to imagine that that the artist was actually a really cool badass who purposely botched this weak looking tattoo just to scar the fool who was willing to get it in the first place.

3 things this tattoo will never create

Truth is, even if it was awesome from a graphic standpoint, the nauseating, trite sentiment would make this suck.  Love, Loyalty Friendship…3 things this crock of shit tattoo will never create.  In fact, if you got this tattoo I would stop loving you and we would never be friends.  In fact, the first chance I’d get I’d betray you… because you suck at choosing tattoos and I can’t get behind a person like that.

God, and anyone with a grade 3 education

Only God will ‘juge’ you?  I don’t fucking think so Shecky.  Try anyone who graduated Grade 6.   This pic sorta looks photoshopped but I sure hope its real.  I hope this was the picture he took to the Tattoo guy and said “this is what I’ve designed” and the Tattoo guy just smiled and went “sure, I can do that”.

Worst cat face in history!

If your intention was to make it look like a 5 year old drew “a scary cat face”… in pencil crayon… in the dark… you’ve succeeded.  If that was not the intention you need to think about litigation.  I’m assuming it was supposed to look ferocious?!  I’ve seen scarier pictures of Fozzy The Bear:

Scary shit, yo!


Ugly has a new definition!

You can’t be fucking serious.  If I was a tattoo artist, and mutilated someone with this abomination I would pack up my shit and go home.  This poor individual now has to carry around a PHOTO of their child just to convince people the tattoo isn’t Golem from Lord Of The Rings.  Personally, I think we’re being a little unfair to Golem… the pigtail would be beneath him.

My Best (and clearly most embarrassing) Shit Story Ever!

Posted: July 15, 2010 in Uncategorized

It was 1990. I was a boy of 16 years old then. I was down at the local basketball courts about 2km from my home, shooting hoops with a good friend of mine who lived near the courts. As our game was winding down I was suddenly struck with I like to call “the grippers”. That feeling like a ghost has reached inside your bowels and has started squeezing your large intestine with one, and only one, goal in mind: Make you shit yourself.

I quickly decided it was time to go. I bid my friend goodbye and started heading to the bus stop. My home was in a neighbourhood at the top of a large hill about 2 km away, but a bus came frequently that would take me up the hill and bring me within steps of my door. I needed to get to that bus…IMMEDIATELY.

As I started making my way, I was hit by the second wave.

All shits come knocking. Sometimes they ‘tap tap tap’ at your door with a little message that says “hey, dude…just a heads up, you may want to think about heading home and emptying your bowels in the next 30 minutes or so”. Then there’s those awkward times when a poop literally kicks down the door of your colon and screams “TIME’S UP BITCH!?!”

I quickly determined that there was little question IF I was going to shit myself…it was merely a matter of where, and when.

Having little choice, I spied a small area of dense trees and bushes a few yards away and ran into the thick of them, hoping to find an acceptable place to drop my load. This is not a decision I made lightly. If there’s one thing I hate its a shit squat. That horrid sensation of moving my bowels in the open air is enough to make me ill! But I had no choice, it was here, or my pants.

Once my nike shorts were dropped and I was in the squat position, I let her fly. What ensued could only be described as ‘primordial’. It made any shit I ever took in a rotten old outhouse seem like a day at a Swiss Spa. I’m pretty sure I started a new ecosystem in the bramble that day. A new sub class of creature was born. I fear it still haunts the hills of my home town to this day.

When the deed was done I was struck by a horrific realization: I had nothing with which to wipe my ass. I quickly began scanning the surrounding foliage for something to use. Sadly, I wasn’t in the Brazilian Rain Forest and no palm leaves were available. Instead I was surrounded by what I would describe as tiny shrubs with miniature leaves the size of fresh basil in every direction.

I quickly begin pulling HUNDREDS of these tiny fuckers and building what looked like a makeshift bird’s nest in my hand. One leaf layered over another and another until my hand was covered in this tiny leaf pile. With a deep breath, I sent them back around to the epicenter…what HAZMAT officials would later call ‘ground zero’.

NO GOOD! It didn’t even make a dent in the toxic event. NOT A DENT!

By this point I was mentally broken. I knew I had to accept my fate, pull up my shorts, and DEAL with whatever uncomfortable situation was left behind until I could catch the bus, get home, and bidet myself in the shower for 30-45 minutes.

So I begin my “DEAD MAN WALKING” trudge to the bus stop. The 50 yards or so gave me a great deal of insight on just HOW BAD the situation was south of the border. I pretty much could have saved myself the stress and just shit my shorts. It would have made very little difference to the current state of affairs in my underpants.

So there I was, standing in broad day light, a near grown man, soiled like a nursing home reject. All I could think about was the hot shower I was about to have the second I walked through the door. I figured I would sequester myself deep into an unoccupied area of the bus and stand up all the way home.

Suddenly, a car honk. My heart stops. I slowly turn around praying I see no one.

There, parked before me, is my good buddy Paul who lived around the corner. He had spotted me as he drove up the hill, and like he had a hundred times before, stopped to offer me a ride.

“Hey Daryl, what’s up?!” he said, ” Hop in!”

I broke out in a cold sweat. If I could have willed my own death at that moment you would not be reading this now.

“Uh…No thanks!” I scream, with a look and a tone so odd and inappropriate that it even surprised me. Paul cocked his head, confused.

“What are you talking about? Shut up dude, and get in. Let’s go!”

I was left with no choice. I had to play this out to the bitter end. It was destiny.

“Ok, thanks…”

I gingerly get in the car and try to hover on the seat by pressing my back so hard into the rear of the seat I thought it would snap. As we drove up the hill, Paul made small talk, and I just stared into the distance, my eyes dead. Only one thought kept crashing through my mind again…and again. “How in God’s name can he NOT SMELL THAT?”

At one point Paul grew quiet. It was then I knew. I had just lived through the most embarrassing moment of my life. He dropped me off, and I’m assuming drove directly to his dealership to have his car detailed. I had nothing to say. Maybe a congenial “Sorry I made your car smell like the run off from a meat plant” would have been appropriate, but I was emotionally devastated.

Years later I still remember every moment of that fateful day. A day that lives in the pantheon of all embarrassing moments.

Experiences like this change people. If you wonder where my germiphobia comes from, wonder no longer. Peace.

If you know me…activist is not a word that jumps to mind.  I agree with our old friend George Carlin who thinks the planet is going to be just fine…its humans that are fucked and our days are numbered.  He even suggests that the planet’s only use for humans was to create plastic. Now that mother earth has plastic…it can get rid of us.

For example, the giant pile of discarded plastic occupying the middle of the Pacific ocean that experts say is TWICE THE SIZE OF TEXAS?!!  I want to to see the same litter nazi’s who get up in your face if you drop a banana peel to wade out to the center of it and scream “HEY AMERICA, YOU DROPPED THIS!?!”   Until now, I thought no one is coming. Turns out they are. A lot of people. Enviro-nerds from around the world will unite to live and work together to green the oceans again! How utopian.

Like a really douche-y Australia in the middle of the Pacific. Check it out:


Posted: July 13, 2010 in Uncategorized

I’m surprised it took America this long.  I give you: Canwiches!

Next stop...DIABETES!

Wow.  Leave it to a venture capitalist from UTAH to create arguably the most gag-enducing thing I’ve seen since… well… the average woman from Utah.  These delectable little treats were supposed to be filling vending machines everywhere.  Personally I think they’d make ideal stocking stuffers if you have a really fat kid, or a skinny one that you would LIKE to fatten up a bit before you sell the child to Gypsies.

For some reason the ‘Canwich’, sadly, is not taking off?!?!  What’s wrong America… this is right up your artery?!  Well, if canwiches can’t get your mouth watering, here’s something you fat bastards will sink your teeth into… and its EUROPEAN so it must be good.  I give you, the Lasagna Sandwich!!

The caloric equivalent of 2 McDonald's Cheese Burgers

The Italian colours are a nice touch.  Real authentic, like mamma use to make!  Coming to us all the way from jolly ol’ England and the Tesco Supermarket chain, this abomination carries the nutritional equivalent of 2 McDonald’s Cheese Burgers.  At 570 Calories and 27.5g of fat per serving, the only thing convenient about this convenience food is how efficiently they’ve managed to pack a solid case of Type 2 Diabetes in a single container, sealed for freshness!

Looks like I’m gettin’ me a case of the SUGAH!!!

You want a crash diet? Print this article and put it on your fridge.  It’ll put you in the salad mood guaranteed.