jackassworld

You don’t need Paris, unless you’re into bread and cheese. Who gives a fuck! Screw the Russians too, too full of culture. We’re not used to that in North America, which is all you really need. Lose your mind and head to South America if you like, but in the meantime, try this:

I don’t know where you are. Jackass is in LA. Not to say that this place is the greatest, but it is a good starting point for travels. I would know, but I have yet to lead myself on such a path described. (more…)

I have been known as “smart,” and “worthy,” but in this “discourse” I will touch briefly on the key things in the world that I know nothing about, and never hope to. Therefore I ask that you post no comments concerning this piece, and simply sink in pity for my lost self. (more…)

Black girls.

They’re growing on me. Dark boobs, neat. In the past I have swayed from the African Americans but after living in LA for a number of years I have changed my mind and soon wish to hook up with a black chick. My friend Dennis McGrath is really down: for a long time all he dated was black chicks, he loves ‘em.

Over the weekend I lit a black chick’s cigarette. She was wearing a bikini top and I glanced at her boobs. They were real nice ones, and this is right when I switched over to liking this kind of stuff, almost more than white chicks, which for a while was my mainstay. (more…)

I lived out of a backpack before I moved in here. Instead of buying one bar of soap, etc., it was my dream to have a place like this where I could stock up on all that stuff and now have half a drawer of soap. (more…)

Earl Parker is the legendary former editor and head writer on Big Brother magazine. In his earliest and most desperate days on the job in 1992, Jeff Tremaine was not only his boss but his sole benefactor. Every morning, Jeff would walk into the one room magazine office that doubled as Earl’s bedroom and toss him a package of pink Hostess snowballs and a bottle of Cherry Bomb blue drink for breakfast. It is still debated to this day whether or not this forced diet had an adverse affect upon Earl. (more…)

Their father they noticed was running through backyards as they watched. The kids changed the channel just in time; there were no more boobies: the boobie show had been turned off in the knick of time. This incident was not the first in America of its kind. It had been happening for a while: parents that were trying to raise unboobie children.

I was raised in the same respect. No boobie shows for you, just corn; not that damned Cinemax. But I wanted to be a boobie boy, and I managed to collect a cache of magazines, though the boobies did not move like on the TV or in the realm of real boobies.

I like to make collages of boobies and I like to look at boobies hidden by cloth at social events where I am a real winner. People sometimes think I am odd, but it is just because I don’t talk because I am thinking about boobies all the time. They come in lots of colors and someday I hope to put my face into orange ones. That would be a lucky day.

I have altered my path towards the boobies only to find out that I have a headache and that I should have sucked on those things a bit more. For now I will subscribe to your interests and reenact this American way of thinking where boobies are bad and I have been raised accordingly.

This Place

This place where you hang out is just this dumb little creation that even has a little moon so your dumb ass can see at night.

Fact 1: the dumber you are the more money you have. Dumb yourself down and find riches!

The moon is supposed to turn a shade of red when the dumb Jesus comes and it’s revelation time. By the way all the punctuation in the bible is incorrect.

Look at the neat little moon. Yes, it’s true this place is this cheap ass place where idiots reign fueled by this dumb big glowing ball that lights it all up and on sunny days you “go out and do somethin’.”

The world is all I’ve ever known. They (the gods) keep other planets at a distance, but we couldn’t make things happen there anyway because the earth is the perfect place for life to happen and the other planets are whacked for it.

Do you like my writing? That’s all fine and dandy, but when this big ball crashes into the sun you’re not gonna be like, “I like Earl’s writing, this isn’t happenin’.”

No. Pleasure is the chief good: known as hedonism is prevalent and does justice in these circumstances. What else do you have going for you? You gonna sit around in the country and stare at the little moon?

I first discovered a Russian doctor in my neighborhood because I needed help. All these crazy art people were fucking with me and there was no way out but become my own art scene, but first I needed medical help: coming to California had boosted my medical problems and I was now suffering. I had in-grown toenails, a distended prostate, and no agent.

It was crazy, everyone in the office was Russian and they all spoke in this crazy language, very international, LA muy bueno. My doctor helped with all my medical needs and a podiatrist dude came in one day and when he removed my fucked toenail I yelled “fuck” out loud in the office.

Another time there was all these art people that got all around me saying all this shit about stupid art at an art show and the next day I had an abscess on my butt. It was the most pain I had ever been through, but I had a doctor so I went to see her and she sent me to another doctor and with the help of a cute assistant, they drained the thing and then I went out and got laid.

Today I am fine. I went to my doctor yesterday and she said, “You haven’t had a blood test since 2005,” and I was like, “I don’t want to have anything to do with that shit.” I still have a tiny red mark on my arm where they made me do it. I’m not scared of those tests really, seriously, I am no pussy, but I think they’re disgusting. At any rate she gave me some water and I walked out with a cotton swab on my arm.

I will continue to use my doctor to get free condoms for having sex with girls and shit. And the lady told me about lubricant—it makes sex more fun, glides easier! The art people are long gone now and I am my own art scene cuz my doctor told me all those drug addicts are stupid and that I should get a place right by the doctor office so I can suffer, in peace.

Part 1. The Dawning of BB (improvement on Thrasher)

My favorite part about Big Brother is the “first issue.” This guy with a big afro that was a mastermind behind WI ads I guess, and Natas made this little high-profile zine thing. By the time I officially showed up in California, Natas was on his way out cuz the thing sucked, and I was in charge officially. Walter called the office once and was taken aback by my presence. The World Industry magazine was my first stab at the adult world. It showed me that competition is tough, and I eventually started hanging out with bums around the South Bay. “They suffer, like you,” Jeff Tremaine remarked. Anyway about the first issue: this I would consider valuable only because it had to be made in order for me to take over and become world famous. (more…)

As I walked through Hollywood, I overheard an idea being pitched. As you all know, it likely was a louse. Here at jackassworld we have all the good ideas—see, we are in business, evidently! And we get many girls, so the proof is in the pudding. We would never accept any “random” ideas from city dorks. They don’t have the proper imagination. Sorry, doing a lot of pot won’t help.

Some say that there are motion picture ideas a plenty “just sitting on the beach like conch shells.” Haven’t heard it? Try reading a screenwriting book, or checking out Wordplayer.com. Anyways, while you’re standing awkwardly at Hollywood and Vine, I’ll be busy giving the world free ideas, at only the price that you think I’m cool.

Idea 1
A freight train turns the town quarterback into a red puff. The whole town has to move on and they pick a new one that’s gay. The bleachers only lose a 20 percent population, and the quarterback’s old hot girlfriend becomes a greaser and it’s better anyhow. So the town changed for the better. Moral: sometimes bad things can be good.

Idea 2
A wastoid discovers fruit. For years it was just grilled food and a crap load of illegal drugs. Immediately his closest friends notice and begin to chide him. In act two he looks and feels great and befriends a hippie chick that teaches him the ways of Garcia. One night on the news they see Jerry dies and their hearts and lives separate. The wastoid pathetically tries to get his friends back and they welcome him and then they all blast off on drugs.

Idea 3
A young woman living in Los Angeles decides that the place is evil and moves to the east coast. After a year, she decides that the opposing coast is not the answer when she hears about those in the covered wagons that went to Oregon to start a new life. Over the course of a time-lapsed summer (act two), she traverses the states and then moves into a house, gets a dog and a job, and then ends up back in LA for the ending.

Idea 4
A spin off of this last one: (small ensemble cast) a chick and a dude are having a hard time keeping up with their rent on their NYC and LA apartments. They spend their days roaming the two cities basically just trying to amass currency. In a NYC diner the girl hears the song where they say, “We’re all slaves to money and then we die,” and she gets discouraged. Then we focus on a third character: LA girl, who decides to move to NYC, does so, and then shows up “randomly” at an LA bar one month later. The main characters meet on a flight and decide to settle down together and split the rent in the city where the plane happened to be going. (Art film, shows a slice of society in 2000’s.)

Idea 5
Two men who are at “odds with the world,” work diligently and play the lottery in order to “meet at an island in the South Pacific.” It’s supposed to be a team work show about suffering and prevalence, but it just turns out that they were both in the closet and they “go off” sexually for the majority of act three. Ending: you decide!