jackassworld

If you haven’t dropped by jackassworld in a while—ahem, CaityJane—then by god it must look like an entirely different monster. (more…)

Part One

Part Two

On this day, several, several, several years ago now, a cub was born unto mankind. His mother and father named him Greg, but once he started loping alongside the jackass pack he became the production beast known forever more as “Wolfie.” For eight long years Wolfie never ceased to amaze us, so much so that it almost felt like a crime to keep his magic all to ourselves. But with the DVD release of jackass 2.5, we were finally able to share our treasure with the world at large. Editor Mark Hansen put his heart and soul into the “Who is Greg Wolf?” biographical spotlight that was buried in the disc’s extra-features, yet it still met with mixed reviews, particularly this one by apparent know-nothing Danny Cox: “…good stuff, except for the bit on the marker-guy Wolfie, which is incredibly boring.” Well, there’s no accounting for taste, Danny, and it’s a shame you can’t appreciate all the wondrous trivialities life has to offer. I’d even go so far as to say, “Go fuck yourself,” but there’s really no sense in being a negatron on this joyous occasion. Happy birthday, Wolfie!

Once upon a time in America, the city of West Chester, PA, was a blissfully ignorant place. Bam Margera was not a household name, nor a frequent topic of discussion at the City Council board meetings. It was, as such, a haven for filming with a populace not yet savvy to the shocking, random, or just plain fucked-up scenarios that would soon beset them on a routine basis. This untainted “golden age” eventually came to an end in late 2000, probably not long after Bam and Brandon Dicamillo’s unorthodox hockey bout within the confines of a quaint corner cafe (the exact same locale of which would later be used in Bam’s first foray into film with Haggard). Incidentally, this post does conclude our unofficial two-day hockey theme. Canadians (and Canadanias) often get the short end of the North American stick, so I hope you’ve enjoyed this celebration of your country’s foremost contribution to the world. Next week’s half-ass theme will be about the male reproductive system and the gist of its jism.

It can be said, I suppose, that jackass is an informal Darwinian experiment of sorts, but on this particular day at a mushroom farm just outside of West Chester, PA, it looked—at least in photographic still form—that we were, for once, actually working our way up the evolutionary ladder as opposed to down. There appears to be some real “dawn of mankind” shit going on here with Steve-O, but the truth of the matter is that it really is just a big pile of shit that he’s scrambling out from under. Mushroom shit. No, not like poop that would come out of a tiny mushroom butt, but rather the fetid manure in which farmed mushrooms are grown and harvested. There were a few among us that day who weren’t aware of this dark side of the mushroom industry and I’m pretty sure they swore off consuming the fungi ever again.

(photo by Sean Cliver; Avondale, PA; 2006)

Since we’ve all been in such a punchy mood the last few days, here’s a solidly thrown moment from jackass days gone by. The time was 2001. The place was some random fighting romper room in Orange County. The main event was supposed to be Ryan Dunn getting his ass-whooped UFC-style by Nigel “The UK Hammer” Hudson, but since that scenario lasted only a few seconds at best Jeff Tremaine goaded Rick Kosick into taking a free shot in the belly. Now if you look at the size ratio here, Kosick clearly occupies more square feet in the world than Nigel (although, for comparison’s sake, not so great a difference as say the Great Khali to Johnny Knoxville), but that mattered not in the world of fighting physics. Nigel didn’t exactly get the nickname of the “The UK Hammer” because he could build a nice tea table, and he laid into Kosick’s tummy with such gusto that he actually left a bruised imprint of his knuckled fist. So while Rick was belly-aching, we were all belly-laughing. Good times!

Incidentally, this all reminds me of an earlier occasion in Gainesville, Florida, when Dimitry Elyashkevich and Kosick decided to swap belly blows after a few rounds of tequila shots on the final night of a Big Brother magazine road trip circa 1999. Granted, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum’s ability to aim a focused punch was a good deal less than that of Nigel’s, but they attempted to do so so many times that when they finally came to in the morning neither could recall why their stomachs were aching and so badly bruised. Good times!

(photo by Sean Cliver; Huntington Beach, CA; 2001)

Nearly four months ago now we hosted an art competition here on the site. Somewhere amid the rules and such I’d stated that the winner would receive a featured interview on the home page, but I didn’t exactly uphold this end of the bargain. My scruples come and go like the patrons of a Red Light District, but they finally managed to get the better of me so here’s the long lost spotlight on Anchy, the community member who took top arty honors. Granted, this whole thing is really fucking far from the point of any relevancy now, so perhaps it will instead be the start of a new half-ass, semi-recurring feature entitled “Who The Hell Are You?” where we learn more (or less) about randomly selected community members in no more than ten varied questions.

[Note: Anchy is from Croatia, which sounds like an era of time the dinosaurs may have walked upon the Earth, so her syntax is a bit skewed at times. While I did go in and correct a few misspellings, I've left the sentences "as is" to retain the distinct foreign flavor.]

Who are you, how old are you, and where are you from?

My name is Ana, nicknamed Anchy. My native country is Croatia, where my daddy begat me and my mother gave birth to me 28 years ago.

How did you find out about jackassworld in the first place?

I found out via bulletin, on a myspace site, and I’m glad I did. You made a very good thing happen! My compliments.

You won the jackassworld art competition. Are you an artist?

I couldn’t say that I am an artist, because you need to have something more for that. I believe that this “something” I still don’t have. I just love taking photos, shape them using Photoshop, and simply enjoy doing it. I am interested in any given topic concerning reshaping photographs, so naturally your contest intrigued me. My photos can be found on my jackassworld and myspace sites, mostly motifs of nature, clouds, sunsets. These kind of motifs are eternal and never ending.

What’s the most fucked up food that Croatians eat?

According to me that would be fried lard crumpets. Particularly the hardcore version where you eat them half-processed and sometimes even raw only a few minutes after the slaughter. Try that and then add a drink of homemade honey-based brandy.

What are some good Croation cuss words?

There are so many. The interesting ones are:
kurac = cock
sise = tits, boobs
prdnut = fart
odjebi = fuck off

If Romania has vampires, what does Croatia have?

Croatia has got me. Anyway, isn’t it enough that the vampires come on their holiday to our Croatian coast? Still, we do have the Caveman of Krapina and proteus lizard.

If I needed to smuggle a sperm whale into Croatia, how would I go about doing it?

That’s easy. Either use original wrapping or Chris Pontius knows a good way—just shut your mouth and don’t swallow.

If I needed to smuggle a bottle of absinthe out of Croatia, how would I go about doing it?

You really want to get me fired from my job, smuggling sperm whales and absinthe. We do have some nice absinthe here, but for the really good booze you need to go to the Czech Republic or France. Maybe I can organize the forwarding of the stuff and add the lard crumpets to the shipment.

Do you have any words of advice for Greg Wolf?

Make sure he maintains the love rug on his chest. A good shampoo and conditioner will do wonders for him.

Describe Dave England in exactly 25 words.

I would say, please send him over to me and in one month you will have a lovely essay about him, so help me God!

So with all this jawing going back and forth—and that really is quite the formidable jaw on the Great Khali—let’s take a look back at one of Johnny Knoxville’s former fighting moments from jackass the movie with Butterbean. Knoxville wasn’t kidding around when he mentioned not being so hot in the ring, but, come to think of it, he wasn’t so hot outside of it either—particularly on this little department store bout. One look at this photo tells you that Knoxville’s bell was rung so goddamn hard that it might still be ringing to this very day…which, come to think of it, just may actually explain a lot.

(photo by Sean Cliver; Van Nuys, CA; 2002)

Here’s another post Gumball Rally moment from 2001, when the guys were living large in the cultural mecca of Paris and peeing and pooping all over the place. Warning: There is a certain frenetic Blair Witch video quality to contend with here, so do proceed with caution if you’re currently taking any mood-altering substances or get easily upset when the boat rocks. But amid the wacky camera movements, see if you can figure out who exactly is tinkling in such an uncomfortably close and confined public manner. It’s like “Where’s Waldo?” with a penis!

If you enjoyed this urinary moment or just like pee-pee in general, check out these:

• Bam Margera pees in New York City during the week leading up to the 24-hour takeover:

http://www.jackassworld.com/blog/2008/03/10/bam-drinks-pee/

• Steve-O gets a deluxe golden shower from an Indian elephant:

http://www.jackassworld.com/videos/1581755/210348

• Johnny Knoxville gives Jeff Tremaine a wet wake-up call:

http://www.jackassworld.com/blog/2008/09/04/jackass-kinda-sorta-unseen-%E2%80%93-knoxville-peeing-on-tremaine/

It has often been mentioned in the past how our crew is just a bunch of friends that “grew up” working together here in Los Angeles, but the truth is that’s only a very core selection of us. So whenever we “ramp up” into a big Hollywood production we generally have to flesh the staff out with a whole lot more responsible types, like people we’ve never met before. Fortunately, those who handle the interview process know the irreverent environment in which we work and play—the gist of which doesn’t always jive with the politically correct ways of some professional types—and screen accordingly. But when Mark Swenson applied for the position of Unit Manager on jackass number two, he was more than fine with these working conditions; in fact, you could even say it allowed him to be that much more liberated around us with his extra-curricular drag-like activities. So much so that Mark even requested his parting production gift of a personalized jackass sweater be stitched with the word “faggot.” Anyway, the long and the short of this is that Mark just got married today down at the West Hollywood courthouse and we all wanted to say, “Congratulations, faggot!”

“celebrate diversity, y’all!”
—mark swenson, newlywed

What’s new in the redundant world of jackassworld? Fleas. Yes, apparently it’s not bad enough that we have to breathe asbestos-laced air from a bipolar air conditioning system in a windowless sub-basement warren; we now have to deal with an infestation of bloodsucking vermin as well. Earl Parker was the first to point out the influx of fleas—in the office he shares with Chris Pontius, of all places, although as of yet this factual information has no concrete bearing on anything whatsoever—but they’ve since spread to all other solitary confinement boxes in the office. So who knows, maybe there is a god after all and he’s only now just caught wind of us. Sure took him long enough. Anyway, now we’re just waiting on the locust cloud to move in and wipe out our meager batch of craft service offerings. C’est la vie, as the French-Canadians would say, which I think is a fancy way of saying, “Suck it,” and if it’s not, well then it goddamn should be. (more…)