jackassworld

Wow, I’ve sure thrown up an awful lot of Chris lately, haven’t I? Wow, that sentence just came out really, really wrong. Make of that what you will, but I shall not. What I’m more curious about now is seeing how many keywords it takes to drive an advertising nail beneath this post. I mean, is it just me or is it not creepy how these ads are generated? Yeah, sure, there’s a lot more creepier things in this world to be concerned with, Operating Thetans, for one. And don’t get me started on Xenu and his cosmic space opera. Ah, don’t mind me. I’ve got way too many engrams piling up in the back of my reactive mind that I haven’t bothered to clear out yet. But have you ever noticed that with great celebrity comes an even greater degree of wackiness? Like if the Wildboyz were still rolling strong into their ninth season on MTV5 (we’d already slipped down to MTV2 following our second season, so I can only assume we would’ve kept knocking our chin down the network programming rungs), how eccentric do you think Chris and Steve-O would have become? Pet capybaras would be a good start, but exotic STDs would be an even better (and likelier) candidate for them to collect. Okay, now let’s see what all that nonsense netted us in terms of clickable ad fun…

(photo by Dimitry Elyashkevich; Brazil; 2004)

Whenever I draw a photo blank on what to dredge up from the past, I know I can always find something of merit in “The Puppet Show” folder from jackass number two. I don’t know how many stills I’ve spotlighted from that skit since we started these daily droppings, but me, I never tire of them. I’ll double-dip, triple-dip … I don’t give a punk fuck. I’m sure a lot can be said both philosophically and psychologically about this particular image—perhaps even religiously if you take the serpentine lore from the book of Genesis to heart—but none of those heady topics are my particular cup of tea. I mean, feel free to sip tea and mentally stroke your cerebral cortex until it’s good, hot, and hard. It’s just that me myself, I prefer a good stiff shot of laughter to get me through the day. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go sit in the corner and scratch my ass. Maybe I’ll smell my finger, maybe I won’t. That is half the sensory fun, though.

(photo by Sean Cliver; Orlando, FL; 2006)

After the three-toed amphiuma photo the other day, I wondered if there was anything else in the Wildboyz photo archive that surpassed its level of sex appeal. There’s a lot that comes close—real close—but for sheer sexy I’m not so sure that particular shot is topable. Toppable? Topabble? Toppababble? Fuck it, new word time: Topable, something incapable of being surpassed in its extreme level of intimacy no matter which way it is mounted. You can write that in the margin of your pocket Websters or Oxford dictionary later. Anyway, perhaps “top-offable” would be a more proper usage in this “Bend over, boy!” or “Fill ‘er up!” sense, but in rooting about I did run across this shot of the two all twixt up in a heated game of “Gator Twister”. In some way I suppose it is even more uncomfortable than the amphiuma examination, if only by the addition of teeth to the mix, but that’s just what makes the Wildboyz outstanding in their field. Where exactly that field is located, I still have no idea, but that’s generally how it goes with pioneers and tough love.

(photo by Dimitry Elyashkevich; Louisiana; 2004)