jackassworld

Sure, I could’ve used these photos in that there Nitro Circus birthday cake post, but shit, why waste ‘em when I can kill two birds with one stone on a Sunday? It’s the day of rest, I’m plumb tired, so what the heck. Here you go: A sequential look at Jeff Tremaine’s bead on Rick Kosick’s face and the gullet he was fixin’ to plug. Ready… (more…)

Clyde Singleton has a longstanding history with us that first truly began on a Big Brother “Rocky Mountain” road trip that he accompanied us on in 1996. The tour lasted no more than a week, but in that time frame he went through no less than four pair of underwear (all lost to late night urination issues) and forever became “one of us.” We later tried to introduce him to the world at large when jackass went to television series on MTV in 2000, but I think he may have proved to be “too black” for a certain standards department? Or maybe it was just the scenario itself, “Ghetto Surfing”? I don’t know, but while digging through my old snapshots today, I ran across this outtake from the beach that just screamed Fourth of July (amongst other things). “Jeah!” to borrow a Clydism. (more…)

My memory is usually pretty solid—or so I like to think it is up until I see stuff like my new user ID photo that I found on Facebook and can’t even recall the f’ing thing ever being taken. What’s up with those tube socks, anyway? Was I trying to compensate for the short shorts? No wonder my mind excommunicated the episode from its congregation of fond memories. Anyway, once again I appear to have made a synaptic shit instead of a mental connection and I cannot for the life of me remember what preceded this photo that I ran across while pilfering random images from the jackass number two “Louisiana” folder. Clearly an argument has taken place between professional camerabros Rick Kosick and Dimitry Elyashkevich … one that was apparently so serious (and laughable, given Cordell Mansfield’s expression) that Kosick felt the need it be decided in the tried and true manner of fisticuffs. So please take this opportunity to put yourself in their argumentative place and give it the old creative captioning heave-ho: What could have possibly instigated this situation? (more…)

If you’ve been following Erik Roner and Andy Bell on “Tweeter” then you know darn well that they’re currently throwing, jumping, and slamming themselves all around the country for the upcoming second season* of Nitro Circus. While many of the crew’s high-flying antics and digestive hi-jinks are being kept under wraps for now, here’s a look at some of the more innocent backseat man-on-man action that goes on while driving between locations. What this does remind me of though, is a time long, long ago on a Big Brother tour, circa 1994, when Jeff Tremaine did this very same thing to Steve Berra (I want to say he also tried it out on Rick Kosick, but I don’t think it worked out too well due to some irreconcilable differences in size). Seeing as Tremaine was the one who snapped this particular photo it would certainly appear that the vaunted puppet master is still up to his old tricks and pulling strings behind the scenes. (more…)

In true Hollywood fashion, the fabled red carpet—or at least a very small remnant of which—was thrown out onto a sidewalk in Westwood, CA, for the west coast premiere of The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia at the Los Angeles Film Festival. Westwood, in case you don’t know, is a district of Los Angeles where all the UCLA-types are quarantined (and with good reason, as evidenced by the contents of a local pub we descended upon later that night), but that had no adverse effect upon the good ole time being had over at the Majestic Crest theater. A full video expose is coming just around yon bend, but for now here is an “as the crow flies” look at who was who in photos from the night to whet and familiarize your whistle. (more…)

Not to sound like Grandpa Simpson here, but time was back in the ’80s and early ’90s that you had to seriously work for your cult video clips, docs, and flicks. Those of the Interweb/IGS generation will no doubt fail to grasp how difficult this once was, what with the now omnipresent and ridiculous ease of a simple Google search, but for a kid in the hinterlands of the Midwest then you certainly had to do your due diligence to be an anti-social, non-conformist, art weirdo. It was not just a keystroke and click away. (more…)

A couple days back I spotlighted a photo from jackass number two of Bam sitting with a steel trap clamped about his wrist next to professional card-flicker Jim Karol and Chris Pontius. Today, let’s take a static look at what transpired next between an electric stool and the stooge we had sit on it: Wee-Man. But the thing is, we had no idea that Jim was even bringing this stool to New Orleans in the first place; the original “creative” simply called for high-speed card flinging with some hopeful lacerative fallout. Instead … well, words cannot do justice. (more…)

Shit mouth. I had to say it. I couldn’t help myself. I don’t even have Tourette’s, but by god I had to get those two words out of my mind and onto the keyboard before I could go on any further. And now that I have, well, to be quite honest I don’t feel like typing anything else. So if you feel like saying anything, go for it. My wordy day is done for now and I’m off to see The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia tonight! (more…)

Here is a photo of me and my little buddy Emerson Cliver. I know what you are thinking, my little buddy is getting ready to shoot me in the head with a slingshot. Well, he was and he did, but that’s okay. That’s the ticket that I bought. His mom Shari had invited me out to take some photos with Emerson for a portfolio she is putting together. She is a really good photographer, but honestly she is kind of a nut. Shari seems reasonably normal, but you’ve got to keep your eye on her. I remember once her and her husband Sleepy Sean Cliver walking into some formal event we were all attending—a wedding or premiere or something—and she was really decked out in a beautiful dress and heels with Sean sauntering a couple of steps behind her (always a couple of steps behind her). Anyway, she walks right up to me with a huge smile on her face and kicks me violently in the nuts. She didn’t even break stride. I said violently, but I meant viciously cuz she let me have it. Ever since then I keep eyes in the back of my head when she’s around, and judging from this photo I guess I need to do the same thing with her kid. (more…)

I know this looks like some abstract oil painting, but it’s not. It’s a picture of both my credit cards at the bottom of the Beverly Hills Hotel swimming pool. Why did they decide to go swimming, you ask? Well, they didn’t. They were drowned by my friend who we’ll call “Mr. Wang” to protect his identity. So “Mr. Wang” and I had just finished eating poolside at the same hotel where the book Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas started (me referencing Fear and Loathing was my feeble attempt at trying to make up for the fact that we were having lunch at a swanky hotel), when the waitress dropped off the check. Younger and quicker (and more handsome) I seized the bill and slid my credit card to the server. Demanding to pay, “Mr. Wang” seized it right back and sent my Mastercard sailing into the pool. (more…)