jackassworld

So you know the book Where’s Waldo where you have to find Waldo on every page? Well, today’s photo of the day is kinda like that except instead of locating Waldo you have to find the “big sissy” in this picture. One hint, it’s not the gorgeous guy holding the sign. I don’t want to help you any more than that, though, because I know our jackassworld members love a challenge. I love a challenge as well. It’s just too bad I won’t have one this Monday night on Raw.

Sincerely,

The South Knoxville Strong Boy

So here is me arriving on the scene of this horrible (but true) act of delinquency. Rick Kosick informed me that the hooligan who did this fled the scene stinking of booze, clutching his back, and shouting anti-Khali propaganda to all within earshot. Too bad I will never get to meet this man to shake his hand, slap his back, and offer to get him into some remedial spelling program. (Yes, it seems our comrade not only misspelled the Great Khali’s name but also “wee wee.”) Oh well, guts and brains don’t always go hand in hand. If you want to see video footage of our hero in action go here. Woo-hoo! —Johnny Knoxvilleee

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)

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)

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

Not long after leaving the Grey Wolf Cellars winery in Paso Robles, CA, we pulled off the southbound 101 at a random cave that Mike Kassak and Chris Pontius remembered from their youthful days of growing up in San Luis Obispo. The moment we set our eyes on the wildery little cave, visions of Garbage Man began dancing in our heads so JxPx Blackmon ran back to the van to get some black duct tape that Pontius specifically requested. I only mention this, because in years past he’d always used black “gaffers” tape, which is a much more “low-tack” tape, as opposed to the “high-tack” properties of duct tape. Soon after stripping down and applying the tape to Garbage Man’s junk, Chris realized something was terribly amiss as the tape gripped him in ways that it had never gripped before. While doing so, though, a considerably fermented Loomis Fall popped his head between Pontius’s legs in a surprising tea bag position. Grapes—friend or foe? You be the judge.

(photo by Sean Cliver; San Luis Obispo, CA; 2008)

Dimitry Elyashkevich pretty much left his career as a skateboard photographer in the dust soon after he picked up the video camera for jackass in late 2000, but for old time’s sake he’d packed up his flashes for this road trip. Despite the years taken off behind the lens he still hasn’t lost his touch, and were Big Brother magazine still around in print format this surely would’ve been the cover shot. But where did the tree come from, you ask? A little backyard ramp artistry saw fit to leave the tree in place and simply build the ramp around it for an unconventional yet shady obstacle.

(photo by Dimitry Elyashkevich; San Jose, CA; 2008)

While paused at the train trestle to watch a naturally occurring Lost Boy, a/k/a gutterpunk, pick out a Norwegian-themed song of his own creation on an old acoustic guitar, Loomis Fall disappeared from our pack only to reappear on top of the trestle in true vampiric fashion. However, while he did make a very conscious effort to make sure his smokes were in a secure pocket, Loomis’s iPod slipped out while he was hanging from the rung of a ladder. Down it plummeted, 45-feet or so to its watery demise below the trestle where we could still see it faintly glinting in the sunlight. Loomis was, understandably, quite devastated by the lost pod. Not only because he loves music like none other I know, but he now no longer had the comfort of subtly tuning out Ehren in the van.

(photo by Sean Cliver; Santa Cruz, CA; 2008)

I have to admit there are certain perks to traveling in the company of “celebrities.” Case in point, on the second day of our road trip we stopped at a legendary Central Coast skate spot in Morro Bay known as “Giant Food,” a long semi-transitioned bank with a semi-transitioned curbish-lip on top. The bank has long succumbed to the effects of time and erosion, but that didn’t stop Mike Kassak and Dave England from whipping out a number of tricks. Nor, for that matter, did the police officer who rolled up mid-session. We all expected to be getting the traditional boot, but instead the officer just hopped out to watch for a while. I’ve said it before (at a strip club in Las Vegas for Greg Wolf’s bachelor party, specifically) and I’ll say it again: It certainly does help to have the “Golden Midget” in your back pocket to bridge any and all potentially troublesome encounters.

(photo by Sean Cliver; Morro Bay, CA; 2008)