StarFacts

A little known run of 128 celebrity trading cards was released in 2005. We've been collecting them via the eBay, and here are the cards we got in the first couple orders. I'll be posting more as they arrive.

Campaign 2008: Debates

Dennis Kucinich, what's the point? Are you going to do this every four years? You stay in the race too long, making the Democratic primary debates too crowded and chaotic, and making the 7 Dwarves analogy all too apt. Even if you could win the primary and general election, which clearly would require an unprecedented number of sex with farm animal scandals in your opponents' camps, how could you lead this country? It is a dangerous world, and our enemies would be emboldened once they realized how easy it would be to grab you, flip you upside down, and flush your head in a toilet. Do not make the office of the President synonymous with the swirly. I saw your latest poll numbers: 0% with an error of ±3%. Stand aside for my candidacy. I am also polling at 0%, but with an error of ±6%. I have twice the upside you do.


John McCain... You're kind of a badass. You frighten me. I won't say shit about you.

How Gilligan's Island Made Me a Nihilist

It's Friday again, time for an old article. Here's the first of a three-parter on how television shaped my psyche.

When I was a kid I used to watch old TV reruns all the time. Only recently have I discovered how deeply and profoundly they have affected my personal philosophy. Perhaps no show had more impact that simple little Gilligan's Island. Namely, it completely destroyed all faith I had in humanity. Granted, the show did this for a lot of people, but for me it wasn't the fact that people allowed it to run for four seasons, rather the messages subtly woven into each episode. So I thought I would share with you why I think this is the darkest show on syndication: Enjoy!

Gilligan alone could drive one to nihilism, or at the very least existentialism. As each fool-proof rescue plot is hatched and subsequently crushed by Gilligan, we learn that all endeavors are inherently doomed by the "Gilligan" within each of us. What kind of lesson is that for the youth of today? We may be young and stupid, but we're trying. And yet, no matter how hard we try, we're always going to stumble into the 10 kilowatt coconut radio tower and blow yet another chance at contacting the damn Coast Guard.

If it were just Gilligan on the island, perhaps it wouldn't be quite so dark. He would die of thirst within 48 hours, and we would be spared having to watch him fail every week for four years. Too inept to be rescued, too well cared for to die. The nameless authority figures Skipper and the Professor discipline and educate Gilligan, respectively, instead of staging an unfortunate "accident" out by the cliffs like they should have early on for the good of all. The three of them form the Freudian model of id, ego and superego. No matter how many times the Professor plans to have Gilligan cleaning algae off rocks in the lagoon when the bamboo rocket is going to be launched with the SOS message recorded on a coconut 8-track, no matter how many times the Skipper savagely beats Gilligan, the "little buddy" will thwart every chance of rescue. That nickname, combined with his unfortunately shaped hat, leads to the obvious conclusion that men are doomed to have every plan eventually negated by their own collective penis.

Women don't fare much better. Look at the duality of Mary Ann and Ginger. One of the timeless debates, the show stacked it in favor of Ginger. Ginger was the feminine ideal, from her countless array of gowns, stock issue mole, and complete and utter lack of anything resembling intelligence. Mary Ann for four years wore the same damn pair of shorts and had maybe two shirts. [But really, hasn't the wardrobe of Gilligan's Island been analyzed to death?] The Ginger preference is one of image over substance, one that showers disdain on those who would pine for a more wholesome life, preferring a skanky ditz to a simple and decent country girl with whom you could hold a conversation for longer than three minutes. Besides, Mary Ann is way hotter.

Which leaves us with Thurston Howell III and his wife "Lovey". They are so rich they even have stupid rich pet names for each other like "Lovey." Not even an upper middle class guy would come home to a wife named "Lovey." With a name like that they can't be anything but the capitalist exploiter class. Sure enough, once on the island, they immediately begin to exploit Gilligan, making him a little servant boy paid in cash that is obviously worthless if they never get back to civilization. Without even a pretense of legal tender, Gilligan is bought and sold like the crack whore that he is. And by that reasoning, the "Gilligan" within us all is a dirty little ho-bag.

Oh sure, you could argue that the abundance of food, water, and semiconducting coconuts and bamboo implies a just and loving god that will take care of us. But that same god, acting as storm, wrecks the boat every opening credits and then finds a way for every one of the three million individual visitors to the island to leave without rescuing the castaways. I find it much more reminiscent of Sartre's No Exit, myself. That, or Waiting for Godot. Or Magnum, P.I.

As for crossover specials like The Harlem Globetrotters on Gilligan's Island, The Detroit Pistons on Gilligan's Island, and The Jetsons on Gilligan's Island, I think we should stick to episodes that stayed true to the initial artistic vision. That vision being one of despair and meaningless exile. If not for the courage of the fearless crew, the Minnow would be lost? The Minnow would be lost? The Minnow would have been better off lost, that's what the show teaches us.

So why am I bothering with this if I'm a nihilist? Well, I'm not actually a nihilist, the title of this piece was just a literary device. Actually I'm an agnostic existentialist, but that doesn't change the fact that this is one messed up television program. Save yourselves and save your children! Watch something like Punky Brewster instead.

Many apologies to Dawn Wells.

Thank you for your time.

Mythbusters as Ninjas are teh suck

I watched last night's episode of mythbusters, which was about ninja myths, and throughout the whole episode I kept thinking, "Really there's no one more qualified to test ninja myths than Adam and Jamie... NOT!" (thanks wayne's world!)

There's absolutely nothing ninja like about either of them. And just as a special note, there are at least two examples of working water walking apparatus on the interweb. The show is sucking balls and yet I can't stop watching it.

And now for some search terms which just illustrate the kind of people that come looking for jiggscasey.com:

what does it mean when a man poops red?
dog semen india
jizz on my jiggs
"yay for skanks"
sexy ladies feet

PeepLoaf!

More leftover peeps leads to more disgusting peep-centered activities. Like in this little video, we make peeploaf.

I just biked into work...

And boy is my gooch tired.

Heyo!

Another gem of a comment

Our youtube channel provides me with endless pleasure. It's a gift that keeps on giving, if you will. So please enjoy with me, this wonderful comment that was posted on our liquid nitrogen smash movie:

omg the fat stupid nerd on on the right, he needs to get laid i mean seriously "the mint does that because it sucks my balls" that guy is a fuck tard, he should get laid and die, wait not even get laid, he will never, and he is always trying to stick his huge head in the center of the fucking video, what a fucking nerd, i just wanna strangle him

I didn't realize that US Mint employees would take such offence to my offhand remark that the "US Mint sucks my balls."

Weekly Hate: Greedy Press Your Luck Contestant

What are you thinking? Pass your spins.

You're in the lead and have only 3 spins left. You're sitting on $17,823: $12,500 in cash, a snooker table, an exercise bike and a trip to Puerto Vallarta. The chick in second place has only $4000. She can't catch up to you. Give her your spins, she'll be forced to burn them up and you'll win. Or if she whammies you're as good as gold. This should not be that difficult.

Peter Tomarken just explained it to you. Slowly, like you would to a dog. Do you dare question Peter Tomarken?I know it's called "Press Your Luck," but that's what you did when you played with 4 spins left. Now you are playing "Whammy Death Wish."

You're really going to play, huh? You are dead to me. I liked you up until now, you were sharp in the question round, your "Big Bucks No Whammies" chant was short and sweet, but you have crossed the line into game show madness. This I cannot condone. I now openly hope for your downfall.

Ha. Stop... on a whammy. Oh look, he's breakdancing. That must hurt. You make a dumbass play, lose damn near 20 grand in cash and prizes, and you have to watch cheap animation breakdance while it happens.
That's what you get, Greedy Press Your Luck Contestant. That's what you get for your hubris.

Whatever happened to TV crossovers?

Remember the good old days when Urkel might show up on Full House or when Batman would show up and kick the crap out of Larry on Perfect Strangers? TV crossovers don't seem to happen much these days, but they totally should. Whenever the writers from two different mediocre shows combine, they form a Voltron of television awesomeness!


So here's our chance to suggest tv crossovers that need to happen. I'll start us off with a couple possibilities:

Andy from the NBC sitcom "The Office" goes to Manhattan for a weekend bender and gets caught with an under-age hooker by the officers of Law and Order: SVU. Andy's anger problem resurfaces when he takes a swing at Stabler. Stabler proceeds to beat the crap out of him. The show takes a classic Law and Order twist when all charges are dropped because it turns out that Andy is only 16 years old and has that weird disease that makes him look way older.

House from the Fox show "House" finds Jack Bauer on an episode of 24. Bauer is bleeding to death on a street corner in Bahrain where House happens to be vacationing. House applies immediate medical attention, saving Bauer from bleeding out. Upon regaining consciousness, Bauer is extremely grateful for the help, but decides to beat the crap out of House when House's terrible American accent makes Bauer suspicious that House is a counter-agent.

What other crossovers would you like to see? What other tv characters should have the crap beat out of them by other, more violent tv characters?

Classic Jiggs: Movie Review

Still no sun here in the Northeast. Perhaps this weekend there will be sun. In the meantime, here's a movie review from the archives. First one, in fact. Chuck Norris, how you inspire us all to greater things.

Breaker! Breaker! (1977)
Starring Chuck Norris
Plot summary: Chuck Norris is a Zen trucker who must save his brother from a speed trap.

Breaker! Breaker! comes right out of the 1970s, embracing the era in all its decadent glory. And the glory of the 1970s was, of course, CB radio. Yes, cross country truckers were all the rage, their language capturing the American imagination even though it was clear from the start that they were making up every word of it as they went along. This movie brought that particular piece of Americana and mixed it in with the Zen martial arts of the great Chuck Norris in a rare beardless appearance. His first solo work after many years of being Bruce Lee's little cabana boy, this East meets West jewel starts out perfectly and never ceases to satisfy. Chuck Norris, Zen trucker John Dawes, sends his little brother Billy (played by a delightfully scampish Michael Augenstein) out on a short dry run. Billy is by the way a dirt bike enthusiast to make the period piece complete. Sadly, though, the youth falls into a speed trap, or a 10-73 if you speak trucker. This appears to be the main plot point, which is an odd status to award a speeding ticket. I'm pretty sure it symbolizes something.

The little podunk town of twenty called Texas City, California, is actually a vast corrupt crime syndicate run by the mayor, Judge Trimmings. George Murdock plays this character with the subtle mixture of one part Enrst Blofeld from James Bond villain fame and one part Boss Hogg from the Dukes of Hazzard series. After arguing with the judge, assaulting several police officers and jumping through a plate glass window to escape the trial, Billy is captured by the evil townies. He gets locked away somewhere, or so you have to assume since you don't actually get to see him until the last few minutes of the film, but don't think that this will get on your nerves or anything. Chuck Norris rolls into town in search of his brother, driving a big ass van with a golden eagle painted on the side of it. I mean, a giant golden eagle! Nothing screams "don't fuck with me" like a giant golden eagle. Incidentally, the van looks remarkably similar to the Mystery Machine of Scooby Doo fame. Chuck proceeds to investigate, and by investigating I mean kicking the crap out of everyone in the town consecutively and concurrently. Somehow interspersed in all of the asswhooping, the director finds time to add about twenty or so subplots to the film. This is possibly to distract from the fact that he all but ignores the little brother that Chuck is whooping all the ass over in the first place.

These subplots include the single mom waitress with a heart of gold that is wooed (nudge nudge) by Chuck and won over to his cause, her son who runs off into the Central Valley wilderness to escape the evil police force, a mildly retarded hick that is discernible from the merely brutally stupid hicks by virtue of a stutter, his caring brother who is the ruffian with a heart of gold, and a guy who randomly flies around in a helicopter a la Mad Max whose sole purpose in life is to justify a bunch of aerial shots of Chuck running around beating ass. You may want to take notes.

After Chuck works his way through beating down everyone a couple times, one of the resident hicks realizes that repeatedly rushing a master of the deadly arts is not quite as effective as pointing a rifle at him. Outsmarted at last, Chuck Norris winds up in jail. Now with the hero immobilized, you'd think the plot would slow down. Actually it kinda disappears for about fifteen minutes - don't worry. The subplots more than take up for the slack, and soon you've forgotten all about poor Chuck and his brother, and for that matter, why you're watching the flick in the first place. Then when you finally give up all hope of understanding what the hell is going on, the cavalry is called in. Yes, the CB lingo talking cross country truckers themselves. Their plan to save Chuck from jail is apparently a scorched earth policy consisting of driving their big rigs through every building in town, eventually freeing or flattening him. Either way really. As the cross country trucker cavalry is ripping shit up, all of the subplots converge. Not only that, but Chuck's kid brother Billy (Remember him? That's why Chuck is kicking the crap out of the town in the first place!) is found concealed in a barn and is reunited with his golden-haired ass-beating brother. Granted all of these subplots converge in the same minute and a half, so you may need to refer back to the copious notes you have taken throughout the film to have the slightest clue who the hell anyone is. The primary theme you will want to explore is economic freedom for the common man from corrupt government intervention, as symbolized by Chuck Norris delivering countless roundhouse kicks to the face of the local cops.

I would have to say that Breaker! Breaker! is the greatest movie I have ever seen.

We were bored and we had leftover peeps...

Have you ever played that game "chubby bunnies?" Well we basically did that, except with the peeps. Enjoy:

Alas, poor Andy

Andy Richter's new show Andy Barker, P.I., created by Conan O'Brien, featuring the adventures of an accountant/private detective, was canceled last week. From pilot episode to cancellation, the show lasted for 7 minutes and 43 seconds, a new record for shows I like, breaking the old record of 10:21 held by Andy Richter Controls the Universe.

Are you happy, America? You've hurt Andy again, and you've hurt me again. Enjoy your reality television and multiple-choice quiz shows. Come up with anything new and funny, and the viewing public will take a fat dump on it.

If anybody needs me, I'll be watching DVDs of good TV shows.

Jiggsinetics

In today’s hot fringe religion market, people ask me “Why Jiggsinetics? What does Jiggsinetcs have to offer me, the impressionable, spiritually empty fringe religion consumer?”

Jiggsinetics offers a sense of purpose in a frightening and ever-changing modern world, but what fringe religion doesn’t? We aim to take everything you expect of the fringe religion to the next level. To those ends we provide our worshippers with a full slate of straw men to blame their problems on. It’s more than just psychologists, or scientists, or secular humanists, or the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. It’s firemen, student loan officers, notaries public, hippies, or the checkout clerk at the Walmart.

Once we have centered your life by finding a suitable cast of faceless entities to assign your failings and shortcomings upon, there remains the fundamental question that everyone must ask of any religious philosophy: How will you improve my function in day-to-day life?

Jetpacks.

At the Jiggs Casey Institute we cover the major scientific disciplines, and some of our founders even have letters after their names. So you know we wouldn’t mess around with anything like this. I ask you, impressionable teenager in Oregon: Does Buddhism have jetpacks? Or you, Mormon in Salt Lake City: When you're sent on mission, do you get around with a jetpack, or on your feet like a sucker? And you, Muslim in London: Islam may be a religion of peace, but is it a religion of jetpacks?

We can be that religion. Salvation with jetpacks. Our top scientists have already designed a prototype, and are now perfecting an advanced model that doesn’t incinerate the operator’s ass.

The Don Imus Scandal: Our two cents

The thing that seems most preposterous about this whole Don Imus fiasco is the idea that people actually tune in to listen to Don Imus. Whoever heard him utter his career ending phrase must have accidentally left the radio on and then got trapped under a fallen bookshelf.

And also, what is wrong with his face? I'd put a picture of him up, but I wouldn't want to creep up the blog. Don Imus: Truly a face for the radio.

Campaign 2008: Debates

Barack Obama, you have betrayed your heritage. You don't speak the way your people do, nor do you carry on their customs and traditions. I am of course referring to your Hawaiian roots. You were born in Honolulu, and spent the majority of your childhood in Oahu. Yet you never speak with a local accent, nor do we ever hear the Pidgin dialect from you. Are you ashamed of being judged culturally backwards? Did you never embrace the local people? Do you look down on their culture? In short, sir, are you racist against ethnic Hawaiians and the caucasian-polynesian-asian-black-hispanic blend that is the local Hawaiian population? Well, sir, I do not see how you can hope to compete for the Presidency without those 4 electoral votes.

Wot, brah, you no like talk da kine? You wen go stay on da mainland too long, forget how fo talk li dis, yeah? Brah, you just one haole.

I respectfully await your rebuttal in the comments section.

Meeting your needs... and exceeding them.

That is the slogan for sementanks.com. And the beauty of sementanks.com is how they can get you the right semen tank for the job, so to speak. You need a horse semen tank? They got em. You need a dog semen tank? They got those too! Hell, if you need cow, deer, horse, goat, sheep, dog, cat, pig or even human semen tanks, they got the semen tank for you.


Need to store or ship semen on your buck? Sementanks.com, for all your semen tank needs.

I'm secure

The other night we had some friends over and we were playing India Rails, which is a strategy game where the main appeal is that you get to draw train tracks in crayon on the board. I recommend it for anyone who likes strategy, trains, and/or crayons.

At any rate, I had an 80s playlist going, and one guy berated me for having a song by Cyndi Lauper. But dammit, Time After Time is a good song. I also enjoy When Harry Met Sally, as well as the occasional musical. Although the large, stupid breeds of dogs (retrievers, labs) appeal to me, I prefer cats. And yet, despite all of this evidence to the contrary, I like sleeping with women.

Don't judge me.

I'm so American...

that I poop red, white and blue! And although those colors don't run, sometimes my poop does. My poopshoot is so patriotic, that if some gay prostitute decides to enter it, he better have a pro-American wang, or else it will burn! BURN WITH THE FIERY HEAT OF A THOUSAND SUNS!!!

I should probably get that checked out...


Also, do you think blind people are offended by the phrase, "robbed them blind."

All I need to know, I learned from Bruce Willis!

Tasty and I saw Grindhouse on Friday, which is awesome, and it has Bruce Willis in it. Bruce Willis is also in a weird suspense movie with Halle Berry, and he's also doing a new Die Hard flick. So I thought this would be a good time to trot out a classic jiggscasey.com piece: All I need to know, I learned from Bruce Willis.

Weekend game

Okay, I can't think of anything clever, so let's play a game today. What is the weirdest apartment you've ever seen?

I'll go first. Here in Boston we looked at a 1 bdrm apartment with a walk-through bathroom. The only way to get into the kitchen was through the bathroom.

Wisdom teeth: the upside

Amera is going under the knife today to lose those wisdom teeth. Let's all wish her the best.

I remember when I had my wisdom teeth out my senior year of high school (don't worry, I won't get graphic). I was young so the procedure could be done by my dentist under local anesthetic. They put me on some laughing gas (ironically, much of my thesis revolved around the production of laughing gas, or N2O) and shot me full of novocaine. By a loose estimate, I think I got 32 shots of it. You lose track of numbers when you have that much novocaine in your head though. It was very unpleasant for the first tooth, but to be honest, I was getting bored for the last half of the procedure. 32 shots of novocaine will do that. My only distinct memory was that they had to tell me to turn my head four times before I could process the information and actually move my head.

Dentist: "Slappy, turn your head."
Me: {thinking} Wait, what?
Dentist: "Slappy, turn your head, we need to work on the other side."
Me: {thinking} Hmm. I think they're talking to me.
Dentist: "Slappy, turn your head."
Me: {thinking} How the hell do I do that?
Dentist: "Slappy, turn your head."
Me: "Oh." {turns head}

After that they sent me home, I had some Oxycontin and watched some hockey. Ha! See? It always comes back to hockey. Unless it's football season.

Campaign 2008: Debates

Mitt Romney, you are a Mormon. That's cool and all, but when you ran for governor of Massachusetts you abandoned your conservative upbringing to favor gay rights, gun control, the right to choose, and other liberal touchstone issues. Now you run for the GOP nomination, and you have abandoned those policies for the conservative party line on family values. If you were offered the Green Party nomination I'm sure you'd start walking around in hemp clothing playing hackey sack. You are running not so much as a Mormon, but as a douchebag. We've had too long a run of douchebag presidents. That's what I have to offer this country: I am not a douchebag.

I respectfully await your rebuttal in the comments section.

Jim the Telemarketer gives his side of the story

Take a look at Booty’s post below. When I read it I thought the telemarketer sounded familiar. So I called him up and it turns out he was the Jim I remembered. I should probably flesh out this premise a little. Uh, I guess we went to high school together. Yes. Jim and I went to high school together, he was voted Most Likely to Become a Telemarketer, and he shared the answers he made up on behalf of Booty while he chatted up his answering machine. Here’s the transcript he submitted to his supervisor. Now that’s a good premise.

Hello, is this Mr. Booty J Patrol?

Yes, that is totally my real name.

Great, how are you today?

I can’t lie to you, I’m feeling a little bloated.

My name is Jim, and I’m calling on behalf of the San Francisco 49ers, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?

Ordinarily, I’d mumble something about having to leave or cook dinner, but what the hell, I’ll answer your questions. I’m just so lonely. I think I need a hug.

Great! Are you a sports fan?

What do you mean by that? What, you think I’m gay or something? I love sports! I love sports, and beer, and having sex with large-breasted women!

Excellent! How do you feel about the 49ers this year?

Well, they might sneak into a wild card but I doubt it, there’s just too much rebuilding that needs to take place - especially on defense. Even as weak as the NFC is, they probably won’t make the playoffs for another couple years. See? I’m a sports-lovin’ man’s man.

I ALMOST feel bad for telemarketers

The other day I came home to my apartment, and there was a message on the machine. Since no one ever uses that phone except tele-marketers and bill collectors, I knew I wasn’t interested in what the message said, but I decided to listen, just for shits and giggles. Here is a transcript:

“Hello, is this Mr. Booty J Patrol?”
[pause]
“Great, how are you today?”
[pause]
“My name is Jim, and I’m calling on behalf of the San Francisco 49ers, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
[pause]
“Great! Are you a sports fan?”
[pause]
“Excellent! How do you feel about the 49ers this year?”

This went on for about 10 minutes. I got worse and worse. Clearly the niners are desperate for fans, based on the questions, and clearly this guy knew that he was not being monitored. He was probably being paid by the hour, and not the call. I just wonder what answers he was writing down for me…

More genius level observations

I bet Wendy had square nipples. And that her nipples were the inspiration for the square patties at Wendy's*. It just makes too much sense.

Also, I don't trust ducks. They hang out in the water. They hang out in the air. CHOOSE A SIDE YOU WAFFLING BASTARDS!

*I'm the first person to ever think of this.

I bought 30 peeps

Marshmallow and colored sugar in the form of a chick... What could go wrong?

Like communism, peeps are one of those things that seem good in theory, but the reality is always a let down. I mean, you excitedly open the package and take a big bite, only to end up in a Siberian gulag, trading sexual favors for coffee and tobacco.

Seriously though, I bought 30 peeps. And now I'm trying to figure out what to do with them. Someone suggested that Tasty and I have a contest to see how many each of us could fit in our mouths. But that might be a bit too vomitory.

What do you think we should do with all the peeps?

A gambling story

I’m spending this weekend in Lake Tahoe, NV. Since I don’t ski, the only thing I have to do here is gamble. This evening I had such an awesome story that I just had to share.

I cashed in with $500, and I was playing $25 a hand. I was pretty close to even the whole time, until a new dealer came in and took me all the way down to $50 in chips. Then the old dealer came back in and I was slowly getting back up to even.

Everyone had left the table, and I was still down $125. Then I got the best blackjack hand in my life. I was dealt two 7’s against the dealer’s 6. I split, and got another 7. I split again and got another 7. Then I got a 2, which is a double down hand, so I doubled. I don’t remember what came next, but then I got an A on the next 7, which is also a doubling hand. Again I doubled. Then I got a 6 to go with the next 7, and on the last 7, I got another 2, and doubled again.

So at this point, I had $175 on the table against the 6. The dealer turned over his 6, and he had a 5 underneath. My heart sank. Then he pulled out a 2. An 8 or less and I was screwed. The dealer pulls a 9. He has 22, and I just won $175, putting me up $50.

I gave the dealer a big tip, and then got up and left, quite happy with my huge win, and then went across the street for a lobster dinner.