1. A few very important words

    Hey there everyone.  I hope you’re well.  

    I suppose this is more of a public service announcement than anything else.  I’ll keep it short.

    Two months ago, I had a pool party at my house, here in Los Angeles.


    As is often the case at pool parties, people sometimes drink and forget to lock the bathroom door as they’re changing in and out of their swimsuits.

    On this particular day, such an error in door-locking happened to my friend Brent Schmidt, seen below.


    I walked into the bathroom to grab some towels, and there he was, having just removed his trunks.  

    I was baffled at what I saw.  Perplexed.  I didn’t know whether I should run away in fear, or perhaps bow down and pray.

    This man, standing there, nude in my small bathroom, was adorned with what I can only describe as an elephant trunk between his legs.

    Despite his face, thin voice, as well as his slumped, insecure posture, Brent Schmidt has been hiding a secret.  He has the largest penis I’ve ever seen.

    Having just been swimming, since he was all wet, I can assume his flaccid member is larger than I had even seen.  Imagine a loaf of Subway bread.  A loaf that somehow has a vein going up the side.  And changes color at the end.  And is a cock.

    Having felt I’d discovered some sort of 8th wonder of the world, I took it upon myself to spread the word about this joyous organ of Brent’s.

    But alas, despite my frequent mentioning of it to people, as well as town-cryer style proclamations, Brent Schmidt has remained forever humble about this particular subject.

    Ladies and gentlemen, this is not about sex.  This is not about gender issues, or patriarchy.  This is simply about the truth.  

    As a fun surprise for Brent, I took it upon myself to print up some t-shirts, seen below.


    As you can see, Brent does not look happy.  He perhaps feels like an outcast.  A freak.  After-all, much like the story of Frankenstein, could his penis going public create angry mobs?  Will people burn his dick alive in a windmill for being so awe inspiring?  Time will tell.

    What I do know is this.  This man has a huge monster cock.  And that should not go unnoticed.  Last month I ordered 100 of the t-shirts, all of which have run out, and am now ordering 500 more.  When they arrived, I took several to a local Goodwill thrift store, and donated a few, as well as hung a few on clothing racks.  This movement must get momentum.  The public must be made aware.  Upon revisiting the Goodwill, several had sold!  The rest were distributed amongst people here in Los Angeles, at random.

    This August, I have rented 2 billboards in Hollywood which will let the public know of his massive phallus.  In the mean time, I have 500 of these shirts, which you can have for free, if you e-mail me (jessecasecomedy@gmail.com), and pay for shipping.  I encourage everyone to support him.  To let him know you know the truth.  The only way for Brent to feel less insecure is to constantly bombard him with this.  It’s a desensitization therapy technique.  You have to let him know, that you know, about his giant humongous cock. 


    Thank you for your time.  

  2. Some thoughts on guns

    First and foremost, thanks for reading this.  I really do appreciate your time.  If you want to share it via some outlet, that’s cool too.  Also, please forgive any grammatical or typographical errors.  I’m writing it a bit on the fly, as I’ll explain shortly.

    I’m going to talk a little about guns, and how to maybe help with the increasing gun violence problem in America.  

    The one thing I won’t do, however, is bring my political opinions into it, or thoughts on the political system in general.  I don’t have a platform or anything.  I’m not a politician, journalist or sociologist.  In the movie of “Earth”, I’m an extra.  I’m simply just wanting to throw some ideas out there and see if they stick.  I’m not trying to change the constitution or the ways we make laws.  Guns are here to stay.  I can work with that.

    Earlier today, a man drove around the UCSB campus and killed 6 people, before killing himself.  He was a deeply troubled individual, committing a hate crime.  My thoughts are with the families of the victims, as well as the family of the shooter.  It’s a tragic, awful situation that I can’t even imagine the personal pain of.  

    Perhaps the ultimate tragedy is how extremely preventable this always is.  Every time I see these stories, something sparks in me as to the pure absurdity of it all.  This shouldn’t have happened.  This should never happen.  This is a really easy fix.  It’s like a cosmic joke.  We can go to outer space, yet this stuff still happens?

    News like this seems more and more common.  There are statistics stating the contrary, of course.  The problem with this influx of news stories is that after each mass shooting, the shelf-life of our will to act is lessened.  It’s as if we’re just accepting these stories as our world.  It’s the tragedy du jour.  It inspires intense feelings that last a few days, or weeks, and eventually you just have to breathe and go get a burrito somewhere.  After all, it’s still really rare.  It won’t happen to us.  And last night, there were 6 completely random people that felt the exact same way on the subject as the rest of us.

    I suppose that’s why I’m writing this so quickly.  I know my own immense capacity to “move on”.  So let’s just do something about it.  Like, now.  Here’s a link to our various representatives here in the US.  (http://www.house.gov).   I’ve written mine.  Write yours.  And here are some ideas to offer some help.  If you want to just copy and paste some of this stuff, do it.

    Obviously, there are deep roots to why someone would commit mass murder.  After all, guns don’t kill people.  People kill people.  A gun, laying alone, in a vacuum, is harmless.  Anyone that would commit such an act is obviously in a lot of pain, and they lack the skills and help to focus that pain anywhere positive.  But when it comes to outlets for their troubles, and how they seek relief, it’s all too often that resorting to gun violence is an answer.  I can’t speak to their motives.  The problem is how easy of an outlet this is to achieve.  That needs to change.  

    With over 11,000 gun homocides in America per year (and countless suicides), guns are absolutely in the sphere of public health.  If a new virus were to cause that much death in America, everything would stop.  There would be teams of doctors working around the clock to come up with a cure.  We would be issued hazmat suits just to walk down the street.  So we’re actually a bit lucky we’re just discussing a mechanical object.  Solving the gun epidemic doesn’t even involve complicated chemistry or teams of doctors!  It’s something we can just do!  

    99.99% of gun owners are responsible.  The perpetrators of these terrible crimes give them a bad name, and gun owners dislike them just as much as anyone else.  These are isolated incidents, from isolated people.  But there are some facts that we simply can’t ignore.

    Guns have one purpose.  To inflict damage.  Now, sometimes inflicting damage is necessary.  It’s unfortunate, but true.  You should be able to defend yourself and your family from dangerous intruders, and sometimes the broadsword you bought at the Renaissance Faire just won’t hold up.  That gun you own just saved your life.  And I’m grateful that right exists.  But the purpose is inflicting damage, even if it is to someone wishing you harm.  Guns aren’t good at stirring coffee, nor changing the channel on your television (despite multiple tries by Elvis).  They’re super good at putting holes in things.  They’re probably the number one “hole-putter-inner”.

    So, when dealing with such an object, shouldn’t great care be taken in their distribution and availability?  The counter-argument usually comes back to our rights.  But what other rights don’t have caveats?  After all, if it’s the “people killing people”, and not the guns, let’s focus on the people.

    Think of it like driving.  Despite being told by multiple Driver’s Ed teachers that it’s just a “privilege”, you absolutely have the constitutional right to drive (Chicago Motor Coach v Chicago 169 NE 22/Thompson v Smith 154 SE 579).  But first you must take a classroom course, take a road test, get a permit, and should you own a vehicle, get insurance.  You have a right to drive, sure.  But not if you’re blind.  Not if you’re mentally ill, or drunk.  And we all accept those restrictions.  That’s obviously the logical way to do things.  If your right is restricted, you’re given due process, which you deserve, and everyone is happy.

    So why are guns (which don’t even cart you around on your errands) so easy to obtain?  Here are four ideas, which I’m confident will filter out over 99% of irresponsible gun owners, while causing minimum hassle or fuss for the responsible ones.  

    1.  To receive a gun, I’m adamant that a gun safety class should be mandatory.  Again, like driving.  Some states already enforce this, and it does wonders.  Let’s just take this federal.  This course could literally last only a day.  Morning in the class-room/afternoon on the range/written exam.  And your instructor must actually pass you.  If the class is all suitable potential gun owners, but there’s the one guy in the back shaving with a buck knife muttering to himself, pointing at fellow classmates, then maybe his motives are worth questioning by the instructor.

    2.  A simple safety regulation (much like having to wear a seatbelt), is that your gun has to be in a safe if you have children.  It just has to.  Numerous stories come out every year of children playing with dad’s gun and killing themselves or someone else.  That, to me, is pure parental neglect, which is illegal in all its other forms.  It has to be in a secure place.  If you have a thing that only puts holes in things, keep it away from the kids.

    3.  Background checks, and good ones, need to happen.  Not state by state.  Nationally.  No loopholes.  National background checks, by the CDC (the beauty of which being that they actually have this information), with the FBI.  Again, this is a public health issue.    

    Background checks are currently done, of course, through various 3rd parties from the firearm vendor.  The ATF, for instance.  But it’s up to the states to individually submit their criminal and health data, many of which slack off on this severely.  Oklahoma has only submitted 25 mental health records since 1993, for instance.  This system must be made national.  Let’s just consolidate this.  It’s very simple and easy to do.  We have computers now.  Let’s get on it.

    If you have been admitted to a mental hospital, or are on anti-psychotic medication, or have been arrested for assault, domestic violence, animal abuse, or any other number of unstable acts, you can’t have a gun.  Gang membership is a no-go.  If I lose my sight, I can’t drive.  If you’re mentally ill (no biggie, just how you’re made, help is available), you don’t get a gun.  This is already the law, in theory.  So perhaps it’s time to find a system that works to actually make these laws into practice.  

    4.  Now, there are plenty of people out there who may have slipped through the cracks.  They may have an illness gone undiagnosed.  They may have committed a violent crime but it was a mistrial and no longer on paper.  They could easily get a firearm and still cause a great deal of damage to the public.  Here’s the kicker that we need.  REFERENCES.  That’s right, references, to get a gun.  You know what “crazy loners” don’t have?  References.

    To get a job you need them, to get insurance you list them, to get a gun, someone else needs to sign off.  I can’t stress enough how good of an idea this is.  I deserve several awards, which I will just assume are on their way.  Please forward all Nobel Prize money to my checking account.  

    To purchase a gun, you need a reference of a former guardian (mom and dad), an employer (the boss), a spouse (the wife or hubby), and if they won’t do, a healthcare professional (the doc).  Basically, if someone you know won’t sign off on a weapon (maybe they’re just against firearms, maybe you don’t have those people in your life), not to worry, you can go see a healthcare professional.  The healthcare professional wouldn’t legally be allowed to deny you (much like a hospital treatment) unless they had good reason (suspected of you of a previously undiagnosed mental illness, intent to harm others or yourself, etc), which they’d need to back up, and also have passed and checked by their own superiors.  

    How many guys have killed their wives with guns?  To answer your question, over 100,000.  How many of those would be prevented if the guy said “hey honey, still super mad at you, but need to buy a gun, can you sign off on this?”.  To answer your question, over 100,000.

    How many acts of work place violence would be prevented if your boss had to be your reference?  How many school shootings if the parents had to sign off?  It’s as easy as that.  References.

    Now, this might all sound a little heavy.  A little too infringing on your right to bear arms.  And that’s a fair argument.  It is a little infringing, in that it’s a hassle.  Getting a gun with all of these checkpoints along the way could be a huge pain.  Especially for the responsible gun owner.  Why should you have to suffer some inconveniences because of a few loose cannons?  Despite the fact that if you meet the criteria, you could be carrying your weapon within 3 or 4 days while employing these ideas, I totally get it.  I really do.  Let me relate to you on that, and I’ll do it by discussing cigarettes.

    I’m a smoker.  It’s really bad for me, and embarrassing, but it’s my right, and I do it.  (Don’t worry, trying to cut down).  I’m also a responsible smoker.  What I mean by that, is that I will not smoke around children, or large groups.  If a baby is around, or someone that’s pregnant, forget it, I’m not lighting up.  I don’t litter my cigarette butts.  I save them, and dispose of them properly later (much to the detriment of my pockets).  

    Because of my responsible smoking, when the smoking bans came into effect, I was furious.  After all, I have a right to smoke, and I’m not part of the “problem”.  I have a right to smoke on a patio, or in a bar should the bar want to allow it.  I have a right to enjoy a cigarette responsibly.  After all, cigarettes are sold freely, they’re not banned, so why put restrictions on this?  It’s my right!  And I still get to, but it’s such a hassle.  I have to be 25 feet from any given door to any business, often times forcing me to stand against the fence of some empty lot.  A few states aside, smoking indoors seems archaic at this point.

    But getting a little older, and gaining some well needed empathy, I’ve discovered that rights aren’t as binary as that.  Rights affect one another.  And the more harmless of the two parties deserves precedent.  Yes, I have a right to smoke.  But you, as a non-smoker, have a right to clean air.  You have a right to go enjoy a delicious saltwater taffy flavored margarita with your friends after work, and not have carcinogens forced down your lungs.  You have a right to hang out at the beach and not get cigarette butts stuck between your toes.  And you should have that right, and I’ll take a small hassle to give that to you.

    So yes, you have a right to bear arms.  Of course you do.  I would never want that taken from you.  But I have a right to sit in a movie theater without getting nervous.  I have a right to send my kids off to school and relax knowing that they’re safe.  I have a right to walk around a college campus and not jump if a car back fires.  And isn’t that a right you want me to have?  Isn’t that a world you want to live in?  Let’s make it happen, cool?  Cool.

  3. Jesse’s Local Beer Review #1

    Although known namely as a comedian and sex icon, I’m also an aficionado of fine beers.  


    Dusseldorf Bierhaus (Los Feliz neighborhood, Los Angeles)

      Upon entering this rustic establishment, I immediately feel transported to a little cobblestoned village, kept cool by the shade of a vast mountain, perhaps on the Germany/Austria border.

      The bar is hand-carved by axe, adding considerably to the atmosphere.  A pair of cross-country skis adorn the wall above the fireplace, certainly giving it an authentic, alpine flair.

      This cozy alehouse smells of the fine oak in which it’s built, and a friendly, knowledgable staff is all too eager to serve you a pint of your favorite beverage.  It features over 20 taps of fine ales, lagers, and ports, all brewed in house.  

    1.  Horse Creek Amber Ale

      As I sit at my barstool, I simply choose the closest tap, in this case a lovely Amber Ale.  Served in a wonderful hand-stamped pint glass, it feels surprisingly light.  The first sip just can not be overstated.  This is an outstanding product.  The foam hitting the upper lip as a springy array of flavor hits the palette is a combination that could refresh even the most cynical among us.  Very little hop aftertaste leaves a salty tinge on the roof of the mouth, begging for another sip.  I would recommend the Horse Creek Amber to anyone looking for a little cheer after a long day of work. 

    2.  Tiergarten Cask Port

      Reverting to a room temperature brew, I’m pleased that the bar features live music!  A lederhosened trio of accordionists takes the small stage, and the revelry begins!  

    The Tiergarten port is a great drink, served in a mason jar.  Rather thick, reminding me of Guinness, but with a bit of an almond aroma.  A borderline dessert drink, It balances well the acidity with the bitterness, and gives the feeling of comfort that only a port can proviide.  Provide.  Onward!

    3.  Screaming Peter’s Nut Ale

      Apparently a local faborite, I get this beer right away.  I learned of the regulars’ preference upon striking up a conversation with a friendly man next to me at the bar.  The Screaming Peter is served with a ring of a cowbell by the bartender, and a “Huzzah!” from the regulars.  I gladly take a sip and am so overcome with joy at the encouragement of the other patrons, that I seem to finnish it rather fast as fuck.  It really good.  Another one is certainly in order.  

    4.  Screaming Peter’s Round 2

      I know I came here to review different beers, but the Screaming Peter deserves another go.  I wasn’t concentrating enoug.  Plus the guy next to me is fucking awesome.  I buy him a round and we tap;k about stuff for a minute.  He comes here all the time.  After I buy him a round he tells me that every Thursday there’s a group that gets together hear and I should come.  He says it’s all about like getting back to 1930s German values.  I give him my emale and tell him I’ll be there.  I buy a round for the house.  Oh, the beer.  IT’s great.  It has this apple thing going on like somebody put a bunch of fucking apples in it.

    5.  Miller Lite

      Dude I can’t believe I bought a round for every1.  Shit.  I don’t have a lot of money.  They also have other bullshit stuff like Muller Lite so I’m getting one of those right now.  I hate dealing with money.  I Remember that Stephanie and I would always fight about money.  She was big on making lists all the time, so she was good with a budjet.  Every day I’d wake up to see a fucking list laying on the counter of shit to do.  I tell this to the guy next to me and he’s against lists and says some shit about Schindler loving cock.  Hahahaha.  Imagine.  Liam Neeson with a fick in his mouth.  Hilarious.

    6.  Mad Cow Winter Lager

      This fuckin beer is pretty good.  Dude I texted Stephanie.  You guys, I texted her.  “Bitch YOU suck at money.  Can we PLEASE be together again? fuck”  I probalbt won’t hear back.  She never rrights back.  This band is the shit.  These old fat guys know how to parti.  I need a smoke.  I’m gonna havre a smoke.

    7.  Mad Cow Winter Lager (outside)

      Aparentlee I can’t hav a bere outside.  Everybody calm the fuck down.  Just take it.  I have a cigarette and there’s a guy in a cowboy hat.  You know it’s cheesy but I get really sad when I See that.  I’m from Nashville, you know, and now I’m homesick as fuck.  I mean my best freidens were there.  And I started comedy there.  Fuclk.  Whatever happened to Zach?  That guy was my best friend for like 3 years.  He played bass in my band.  We were awful, but that guy was great.  We should’ve gotten an accordion like these old fat fgucks, and gotten a bar gig.  We just wanted to be Nurbvana basically.  But dude that guy was my best friend.  Like who the fuck in LA has seen me cry?  You know?!  Aside from Stephanide.  I really loved her too.  Like really.  It’s so weird how shit falls apart.  It always falls apart.  I need to get into Joy Division again.

    8.  I dunno

      Guy next to me bought me this shit and then showed me his tattoo.  Holy.  Fuck.  I gotta ghet outta here man.  Fuck.  That’s not cool.  Not a good tatttooo.  I’m too scarred of needles.  I’m such a fucking pussy.  Like I used to be the shit.  I’m Jesse fucking Case.  Jesse FUCKING CASE!  I was best of fest at fucking Montreal.  I’ve been on Last Comic Standing and killed.  I’ve gotten standing ovations in fucking theaters.  I make a fuckinfg LIVING doing this.  But now I had a fucking nervous breakdown last year and need to rebuilt my shit and fuckinfg Stephanie hurt my confidense so bad man fuck her.  Goddammit I loved her adjso muych.  

      I’m going back on the road.  I just need to tour again.  Fuck this.  Quit being a bitch, Case.  I’ll call my manager tomorrow and say book it or UR fired.  I fire YOUmotherfucker.  This bartemder’s titties are the fucking shit.  Jesus.

    9/10.  Miller Lights

      Man, this band is SO good.  I’m doing my dance.  I only have one dance and they better like it.  Stephanie didn’t answer but guck her anyway, I’m DANSING!  I’m checking her Facebook.  This si probably why you shouldn’t have a laptop when you drink.  “in a relationship”.  FUUUUCK.  with fucking what?!  WITH BREAKING SOULS?!

    calm down case.  dance it out.  just dance it out.  yes.  dance.  

    11.  Outside for some reason.

    Well you can’t smoke in there I Guess.  Also the bathrooms aren’t well marked.  Well fucking who cares if I see a girl shit, I’m not jerking off over it.  I need to get on stage somewhere.  I’m going back in there.  Fuck that band.  I’m doing a set.

    12.  Back outside.

    My nose REALLY hurts.  Fuck.  thaldskt fuckiong bouncer can suck my asshole.  I wanted to ENTERTAIN.  for FREE.  GIVE THE PEOPLE JOY.  fucvk this place.  fucvk you.  I’m going to stephs.  and if theres some fucking guy in there I’m gonna shit on his fucvking fase.  he deosn’t know love or pain.  I know pain.  I’m Jesse fucking Case.  I’m calling my mom.

  4. My letter to UNICEF

    I was recently taken for QUITE a ride by some company called “UNICEF”.  Here’s my letter to them.  Just a warning to anyone else out there that may get involved with their scam.


    Dear UNICEF,

        Sirs or madams, please cancel my payments to your organization immediately.  All further account charges on your behalf will be refuted, and legal action will be taken if necessary.  

        I have never, in all my 27 years, dealt with such a shoddy, immature group of businesspeople as yourself.  Your so-called “company” should be taken to court for fraud, and if I had the legal funding to do so, I would challenge you in this manner personally.  Unfortunately, your immoral “business model” has left me virtually penniless.  

        This all started 6 months ago, when I was leaving my local Starbucks, doing my “I just got a coffee” whistle melody, which I’m known for in my neighborhood.  It was a perfectly fine day, in a perfectly fine life, until I encountered one of your vile agents of evil just outside the coffee shop doors.

        With clipboard in hand, I was approached by “Susan” (if that’s her real name), and was asked how much I payed for my coffee.  The answer, being $1.79, was met with a knowing smile and I was then told that for the mere price of that cup of coffee every day I could be giving my money to a child in Kenya.

        Obviously, as a huge fan of Kenyan coffee, this excited me greatly.  Instead of buying a cup, I could get the beans wholesale, directly from the child-laborer.  I should have known this was too good to be true.  But stupidly, I signed up immediately, giving your terrible business my credit card information, and was on my way.

        I tore out my garage door, making a loading ramp for the truck of beans that would be arriving shortly.  I bought a forklift.  I invested in a 2-ton bean roaster.  I hired a foreman, and yet, 2 months later, I had not recieved a SINGLE coffee bean from your Kenyan workers.

        Then I received a letter from my new employee, “Untagu”, containing a photo, and what I assume was a shoddy resumé, although it was written in crayon.  His photo looked nice enough.  Small hands to pick the beans, and a thin, nimble body in which to work around the stalks.  

        Impressed, I wrote back and told him to begin in the fields immediately.  

        Another month of receiving NO product, and I received another letter from Untagu, thanking me for the funds and letting me know, thanks to me, that he was in school.  

        This is when it occurred to me that your company is a scam.  I was sick to my stomach!

        How many others, I wondered, had been taken, stabbed in the back, by this “Untagu”?  I was giving money specifically to keep him out of school.  I have an empty warehouse, and heating it alone has lead me to sell my car and take out another mortgage.  NOT to mention I can no longer get my morning coffee from Starbucks because I’m sending that money to you.

        I demand a full refund of all moneys paid to you, as well as 30 tons of Wholesale Kenyan beans (Sulawesi or Gold Coast is acceptable), in which to ease my troubles.

        You will be hearing from my lawyer shortly should you not comply.

                                                                            -Jesse Case

  5. Autocorrect Fails #2

    There was such a good response after my last group of autocorrect fails, that I thought I’d post some more that have happened since then!

    Here’s my dad again.  Why is he so bad at phones?  lol 

    My boss at the deli is still always messing up with txting.  lmao

    My GF is my everything.  But sometimes technology still gets the best of her.  Sorry boo!  lol

    My roommate went to school for computers.  Why can’t he figure this out?!  haha

    My mom’s the worst!  Ugggghhh.  Watch your thumbs, mom! :P

    I hope you enjoyed these autocorrect fails.  If my friends and family stay so dumb maybe I’ll have more for you guys.  LOLZ.

  6. Top 5 Autocorrect Fails!

    I’m seeing a lot of funny iPhone autocorrect fails online lately, so I thought I’d add some from text convos I’ve had with people.  Hilarious!

    First off, my dad.  He’s hopeless at texting!

    Next up, my boss at the deli.  Old people are so bad at technology!  lol!

    Even tho my gf is my age, she still messes up sometimes.  <3

    My roommate is like a bff but sometimes the phone gets the best of him!  lmao!


    Last up, my mom.  She’s just doesn’t get technology at all!

    I hope you liked these autocorrect fails.  Boy, did they ever make ME laugh when I got them!

  7. True Story

    I’ve had a million non-comedy jobs, but never a real one.  All the jobs I’ve had just required an application.  There was never any sort of degree or resumé involved.  

    At the tender age of 16 I was working at a Subway and looking for a change.  I was burned out on sandwich artistry, and looking to expand to other types of food art.  Potato sculpting maybe.  So I sought out an application elsewhere.

    I wandered up the street into Wild Oats, which was a grocery store that would’ve had a great name if it was a sewing store.  A few years ago it merged with another grocery store and it became ‘Whole Foods’.  Before that it was called ‘Partial Foods’.  Just half oranges and bread crust laying everywhere.  It was a mess.  

    This was maybe 2002?  Before the yoga craze.  Back when 3 people shopped at grocery stores like that, all of which were Madonna in different disguises.  It seemed like a super easy job.  You just stood around all day and watched Madonna shop.

    The application was three pages long, and super hippiesh.  On the last page there was a big blank square, under which it said “draw your most fantastic dream”.  

    I filled it out and turned it in.  

    A few weeks later I got a call from a girl named “Siddartha” or some other Whole Foodsy name, and they brought me in for an interview.  

    We sat there at a table in the deli talking about the importance of good grocery stores and how this place was a real team effort.  You had to be part of the team.  

    Siddartha was flipping through my application and on the last page, she saw that I’d left the square blank instead of drawing something.  

    She said “Jesse, why did you leave this blank?  You’re supposed to draw your most fantastic dream.”.

    I said “oh, I live in a constant nightmare” and laughed.

    She silently got up and walked away, I assumed to get a supervisor to come give me my apron and discuss benefits.

    She just never came back though.

    I just sat there for like an hour watching Madonna squeeze avocados.

    Then I left and worked at Subway for two more years.

  8. Making it Normal

    Hey there everybody.  Hope all’s well.  

      I’ve been procrastinating for a while on how to turn this defunct haiku blog into a page where I just post anything I want.  I don’t want to build a new page or anything.  Seems like a nightmare, plus I like the name.  I just need to transition it.  Maybe a big announcement.  Sky-writing?  Graffiti a billboard?  Build a pirate radio station and transmit it?  Or perhaps, slowly and carefully, I should pull my giant sweaty caveman head out of my ass and just do it.

      So that’s what I’m doing.  I’m sitting here breathing fresh (albeit smelly) air with my un-assed head and I’ll be posting things normally from now on.  The gaping asshole I’m left with is another issue.

  9. 35

    "Look man, Neil Armstrong,

         Never landed on the moon!”

              - all of my dad’s friends

  10. 34

    Groundhogs Day is dumb.

       Just see whether it’s cloudy.

            Let the rodent sleep.