jackassworld

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)

I’m watching The Rocket right now. It’s the Maurice Richard story. It’s actually really good so far. I haven’t finished watching it because Tania came home last night before the movie was over. I had to turn it off. Watching a movie about hockey is like watching porn. She won’t stand for it. Although she was the one that Netflixed it for me. God bless her. (Can we make “Netflix” a verb?) Despite my hatred of the Montreal Canadians and my racism towards Quebecois, I found myself liking Maurice. I even got a little misty eyed at times. But I was laughing my ass off during the hockey fights in the movie. Great stuff. The best one is Maurice vs. some goon on the Rangers. The goon, coincidentally, was played by present NHL pest Sean Avery. The second coincidence being that Avery actually was a Ranger for awhile. So anyway Avery goes for Richard and every one is all scared that their star player, the fragile Richard, is going to get hurt. Instead, he decks Avery with one punch. (I can’t believe I was rooting for a Hab here.) Avery gets up and comes at him again. Again Richard decks him with one punch. His coach smiles. Richard tries to get into the penalty box figuring the fighting business is over, but Avery comes at him again and Richard proceeds to pummel him in the box. Yes there’s nothing like a hockey fight, even if it is staged.

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)

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)

I’m not so sure this will be construed as the best possible tribute paid to the passing of Paul Newman, but it’s all we really have to work with and it was one of those pieces that helped launched jackass in some critically abhorred form or another. The “50 Egg Challenge” was, as many should know by now, inspired by a scene from the movie Cool Hand Luke, starring Paul Newman long before he became a salad dressing magnate. This segment was “filmed” in early summer 2000, prior to our being staffed with the formal production crew spearheaded by Trip Taylor (look for former pilot production supervisor Greg Wolf manning the boom in the background), but here’s the original treatment that was written and submitted for MTV approval once we were all squared away on the legal books in July:

“Borrowing the general idea from the movie Cool Hand Luke, Johnny Knoxville hosts the ‘50 Egg Challenge,’ where he puts Luke’s theory to the test that ‘no man can eat 50 eggs in one hour.’ Three brave contestants have stepped up to the ovo-challenge, the first being Chris Nieratko, a darkhorse candidate to win with his formidable techniques of eating and puking. Next up is Preston Lacy, a large lad who proudly touts that ‘size matters,’ which, given the critical success of the movie that bore the very same tag line—the North American iguanodon-ish Godzilla (1998)—Preston’s chances are feeble at best. The final contestant, Stephanie Hodge, puts an alternate theory to the test, where a man may not be able to eat 50 eggs in one hour but perhaps a woman can. If nothing else, Stephanie at least makes the proceedings a bit more palatable to the eye given the visual ‘unappeal’ of both Chris and Preston and the whole damn contest in general. Each contestant will be given an aluminum tray heaping with 50 shucked, hard-boiled eggs. The only other food items allowed on the table will be liquid refreshments and condiments; vomiting is not only legal but encouraged. The person who has eaten the most eggs at the end of one hour will be awarded a measly cash prize, perhaps enough to cover the cost of getting their stomach pumped at the hospital.”

(photo by Sean Cliver; Los Angeles, CA; 2000)

I’ve wondered aloud before how it was possible for two near angelic parents to conceive a near hell spawn, but it certainly has made for an eventful life and times in the Margera household. So in celebration of Bam’s birth on earth here’s a montage of moments spanning the last ten years of his life on CKY and jackass. Take it away, Seth, you birthday-cutting bastard!

All right, so it’s no real secret that on the first season of jackass we’d pilfered a number of random moments and quickies—soon to be dubbed “transitions”—from Bam Margera’s first two CKY videos. Most of these were used as padding to fill the spaces between segments, or provide a quick “what, huh?” breather after a particularly long or thought-provoking piece. However, most of these never made it onto the later jackass DVD releases, hence the appearance of them here and now under the alluring title of “jackass not on DVD,” which may, in the near future, need to be changed to something else. I’ll let you fill in the marketing blanks from there, but goddamn, don’t you just admire Ryan Dunn’s style when it comes to taking a second story drop? Flawless.

When it comes to celebrating goofy days of the week or showing some kind of team spirit, count me the fuck out. Yes, that’s right, I’m one of those noncompliant jerks that purposely goes out of his way not to wear green on St. Patrick’s Day, even though I have a wee bit o’ the Irish going on with my first name (but not in my liver). Most of this stems from my formative days in school, I suspect, back when they had those designated days where everyone wore a certain color or costume for god knows what assimilatory reason. What’d they call them, pep rallies? Sorry, reindeer games are gay. Anyway, I may be a real stick in the mudchute when it comes to this stuff, but that’s no reason the site can’t play along with the theme de jour. So here you go, talk like a pirate on September 19th. Argh. Matey. Ahoy. Blow me down. Pass me the pegboy. Grrrr…

Now I know this is going to aurally blow for most anyone that remembers the original music on this jolly ole segment (“Panic,” by The Smiths), but in the infamous words of Rick Kosick, “You can suck it!” Better yet, “Go fuck yourself!” No, I’m actually quite pissed about this, too. I mean, it’s a real pisser that the tube stop for Mudchute does not have a bit of Morrissey to accompany it. That’s like Mianus without a Jack Russell terrier in it. Or a Def Leppard tribute band with a two-armed drummer. But Chris Pontius is still the most lovable chap you could find on Union Jacked wheels in London, so if you happen to feel the psychotic urge to hang somebody while listening to the replacement track and ripping your knickers, please, do not make it the DJ. Instead, how about that cheap bloke who didn’t see fit to pony up the pound sterling to properly license the original music for DVD use in the first place? Someone should have panicked over that decision back in 2002, but too bad we just couldn’t be arsed to do it while trying to finish up jackass the movie.