jackassworld

Whenever I draw a photo blank on what to dredge up from the past, I know I can always find something of merit in “The Puppet Show” folder from jackass number two. I don’t know how many stills I’ve spotlighted from that skit since we started these daily droppings, but me, I never tire of them. I’ll double-dip, triple-dip … I don’t give a punk fuck. I’m sure a lot can be said both philosophically and psychologically about this particular image—perhaps even religiously if you take the serpentine lore from the book of Genesis to heart—but none of those heady topics are my particular cup of tea. I mean, feel free to sip tea and mentally stroke your cerebral cortex until it’s good, hot, and hard. It’s just that me myself, I prefer a good stiff shot of laughter to get me through the day. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go sit in the corner and scratch my ass. Maybe I’ll smell my finger, maybe I won’t. That is half the sensory fun, though.

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Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it every girl’s fantasy to be hosed down by a hunky fireman? Oddly enough, it just so happened to be Johnny Knoxville’s too. Must be a 1-in-10 thing. So what we did to aid Johnny in this dream was to situate him in an alleyway along with his fatal attraction du jour: a fire truck housing some thousand-odd gallons of discolored, non-potable water. Our rent-a-fireman was more than happy to spray Knoxville down like he was an uppity rioter, blasted him into a wall and pinning him up against it with a ridiculously powerful stream of water. And even after he was sufficiently soaked, battered, and fish-faced, Knoxville came back for more and attempted to ride a bike and relax in an office chair, letting the fireman have further watery way with him. But the real bonus of the day was having Jeff Tremaine bullied into this skit when he was told to ride a skateboard directly toward the fire hose (basically under the ruse that there’s no way in hell Knoxville could stand on a skateboard for the final stunt). Jeff begrudgingly complied and was subsequently FUCKED. Sorry about that blaring expletive there, but I feel it’s entirely justified. I mean, I think he literally did get aqua-raped, and no doubt gave birth to a number of illegitimate water babies in the days to follow. It’s hilarious—a real four-alarm-pee-your-pants-and-start-crying humdinger—and I can assure you that this last bit alone was entirely worth the rental cost of the fire truck and grossly frivolous water waste. Frankly, I’m surprised Tremaine was able to reproduce following this stunt, because I’m pretty sure there are still little bits and pieces of his wiener wedged into the cracks of that back alley way to this day.

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After the three-toed amphiuma photo the other day, I wondered if there was anything else in the Wildboyz photo archive that surpassed its level of sex appeal. There’s a lot that comes close—real close—but for sheer sexy I’m not so sure that particular shot is topable. Toppable? Topabble? Toppababble? Fuck it, new word time: Topable, something incapable of being surpassed in its extreme level of intimacy no matter which way it is mounted. You can write that in the margin of your pocket Websters or Oxford dictionary later. Anyway, perhaps “top-offable” would be a more proper usage in this “Bend over, boy!” or “Fill ‘er up!” sense, but in rooting about I did run across this shot of the two all twixt up in a heated game of “Gator Twister”. In some way I suppose it is even more uncomfortable than the amphiuma examination, if only by the addition of teeth to the mix, but that’s just what makes the Wildboyz outstanding in their field. Where exactly that field is located, I still have no idea, but that’s generally how it goes with pioneers and tough love.

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I snapped this photo of Ms. Shanna Zablow sitting in her “big girl” seat at Dickhouse Entertainment. It kind of reminds me of Jack and the Beanstalk when the little boy climbed up in the giant’s chair. His little feet couldn’t touch the ground either. I took this one night in the office when Shanna ordered a bunch of beer and we all watched the World Series. Notice her Yankees cap barely peeking over the computer and the sweet Sarah Green pictures behind her on the wall.

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Life can be compared to a rainbow in many ways, and the pot of gold to be found at the end of jackass action figure creator Nate Merritt’s rainbow involved a lunch date with Johnny Knoxville (and me, by default) in Los Angeles today. Apparently, Nate had never flown on an airplane before—he’s a 19-year-old hailing from Rochester, NY—so I guess this was a nice way to kick off his brief stay in L.A., as he hand-delivered the entire collection of figures to Knoxville. Lunch was swell, by the way. Knoxville had a plate of grilled chicken, cooked spinach, and corn-on-the-cob, Nate had a traditional BLT, and I opted for the grilled tandoori salmon sandwich (knowing that Knoxville was picking up the bill), and we chewed it all up while chatting about Heath Ledger, Handsome Jack, Slim Pickens, Slimmer Rick Kosick, Fat Jeff Tremaine, and the various sights to be seen around the vicinity of the hotel he was staying at. Nate’s “Hollywood” experience was further enhanced by the spotting of some real celebrities that were also consuming food in the very same restaurant, like Tony Shalhoub and some guy from Dawson’s Creek that we couldn’t remember his name at the time (Joshua Jackson, thanks Interweb). Anyway, hope you enjoyed the lunch, Nate, it was nice meeting you. On the way over to your hotel Knoxville and I had briefly entertained the idea of driving you out to the desert and fucking you, but that probably would’ve been a bit much for you to take on your first time out to the big city of L.A. Maybe next time!

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The majority of the core production crew on jackass—Jeff Tremaine, Spike Jonze, Dimitry Elyashkevich, Rick Kosick, and myself—all have roots in skateboarding. Johnny Knoxville … not so much. Perhaps the only semblance of a toehold he may have on it is the fact that he once wrote articles for Big Brother skateboard magazine and performed feats of idiocy for its videos, one of which did in fact involve a skateboard. Other than that he can’t roll more than a few feet before twinkle-toes loses it. To Knoxville’s credit though, this bumbling inability didn’t deter him in the least from attempting the one true rite of passage that all skateboarders must eventually face one day: dropping in on a vert ramp. The result wasn’t pretty—it’s not much different than someone attempting to jump off a 12-foot high roof and hooking a foot in the process—but really damn funny. He almost bounces! What’s lesser known about this stunt, though, is that it was first filmed in 1999 for the Big Brother skateboard video boob and following Knoxville’s drop-in, which was sure to end in tragedy, Dave Carnie was to walk up with a taser and zap him while he’s rolling around in pain. Carnie did just that, but didn’t fully grasp the instructional beforehand and fired one of the darts straight into Knoxville’s throat. Whoops! Boy, was Knoxville sure pissed about that one…

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All that bayou talk this weekend reminded me of the little peckins that Marc McKee and I first met via the informal “skater chatline” we used to host at World Industries, circa 1992. This was years before “chat rooms” became the predatory norm on the Interweb, and it was something that Marc and I used to run over the company phone system. World Industries had this 1-800 number then, so kids would call up all hours of the day. And since Marc and I worked all hours of the day, but mostly at night long after everyone else had gone home to their lives, we would answer the phone and hook the kiddies up conference-style on speaker phone. We could do up to three callers at a time, and whenever one sucked or got on our nerves we would simply hang up on them and patched in some other “lucky” caller.

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One of the fun things about Spike Jonze sightings is that you can usually tell exactly where he is in a project by his degree of unkempt facial hair. Here, at his book signing for Heads Off and We Shoot at the Family store in Los Angeles last night, you can clearly see he has been relaxed of late and free to attend to his grooming. I think it may have been during the filming of Adaptation (or perhaps when he was neck deep in his own private Idaho with production on Where The Wild Things Are) that his sense of style could’ve been termed “homeless person chic”. Now, however, with WTWTA far behind him, he’s more on par with your dapper New York detective that just walked out of the late ’70s and into the early ’80s with his mustache still intact. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to need a bit more description about this boy that attempted to eat you. Was he wearing anything out of the ordinary … a wolf costume, perhaps?” Incidentally, when Rick Kosick commented in the news post mentioning the book signing that he “might just have to walk over and check this out” he wasn’t kidding! I was standing in line next to a French-Canadian when he walked right by us, briefly shot a curious look into the store, and continued on his merry way down Fairfax Blvd. It was a true L.A. moment.

On the previous post toasting the adventurous memory of the late Steve Irwin, I mentioned that the Wildboyz were undoubtedly inspired by his wacky and wonderful actions down under. Well, this wasn’t one of those occasions. This was all them, as Wildboyz as it gets. Except for that thing on Steve-O’s back. That’s a three-toed amphiuma, just one of the many mysteries of the Louisiana bayou. Say, that reminds me … what’s the old saying? What happens in the bayou stays in the bayou? Especially if it squeals like a pig? Man, that’s one cinematic moment in history I could have done without seeing in my lifetime. I don’t know how Ned Beatty did it and I sincerely hope they gave him an Oscar for doing to the Cajun bayou what Jaws did for the ocean. Anyway, I often wonder if this should have been one of those backwater incidents that remained far upstream under the mangrove tree, but as you can see from the Louisiana blooper reel I’m sure glad it didn’t. In fact, I don’t think Chris has ever been so tongue-tied, twisted, and excited over an animal before.

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Whenever I think of the late Steve Irwin what immediately springs to mind is a grown man in uncomfortably short khaki shorts chasing after a crocodile, leaping atop it, and wrestling it into submission, all the while providing a running, huffing, and occasionally grunting commentary peppered with “Crikeys!” Irwin revolutionized nature programming—well, at least up until the Wildboyz came along, that is, but even then the inspiration was more than apparent in whatever absurd form it took—and made it excitingly fun and accessible for kids again, not just bird nerds like Jeff Tremaine. Anyway, this freshie’s for you, Steve, but should you ever find your way back to Earth via the Hindu beliefs of reincarnation I hope it is as a monster saltie. You earned it.

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