"Sweet Sainted Mother of Blanket Jackson!"

Jeff Kay on...

Stinky Ukraine, Angry Father:

"We see him at soccer games, just fully enraged, screaming and hollering through a blood-red mask of terror. He's nuts. In fact, I heard he was demoted at his job because of "anger issues." And based on field studies, I have no reason to doubt those reports."

Kid Birthday Parties of Yore:

"When I was seven we'd all just pile into somebody's kitchen, drink tumblers of Faygo and scarf down a big hunk of some lard-based dessert from the Kroger deli."

One Man's Indifference:

"And somehow I was Switzerland, the neutral party, and it became the goal of several of the players to woo me to their side. Needless to say, that was a fruitless exercise. It's hard to woo a man who couldn't give one tiny seahorse-shaped pooplet about any of it."


"Type in your PIN and press enter... would you like a receipt?... do you mind if we take two bucks out of your account, seeing how we have you by the balls and all?... do you want the money to come out of checking 1, checking 2, or checking 3? (??)... do you want your bills face-up or face-down, sharp or crinkly?... would you like to give one dollar for Lupus research, you self-centered prick?"

The Proper Mixing of Metaphors: A Meditation:

"Common sense tells us it’ll be hotter than an Operation Overlord scrotum again within a matter of days. And we’ll all be gasping for air and fanning ourselves like a nation of mother-in-laws."


”And I'm TV's Blossom.”
”And I'm Linda Lavin, TV's Alice.”
”And I'm TV's Mel Sharples.”
”Then I'm TV's Floyd Smoot.”

Things Equatorial:

“I bought a couple of 40's over the weekend, and I ain't talking about Schlitz Malt Liquor -- I'm talking pants.”

The Point at Which the Derivative Does Not Exist For a Given Function But Every Neighborhood of Which Contains Points for Which the Derivative Exists:

”I spit on my socks Saturday. I bet none of you can make that claim.”

The Dog What Knew Too Much:

"By now Andy was shaking like Janet Reno on a hayride, and prancing around on his tiptoes. I took a look at the chairs in that room, and most were covered, covered, in dog or cat hair, so I decided to just stand. Andy finally sat on my feet and shuddered visibly. I told him he’d better not open the bomb bay doors, or I’d auction him off on eBay."

Rips in the Fabric of Our American Dream (Blanket):

"One minute I was sleeping peacefully in my warm bed, and the next I was mopping the bathroom in the middle of the night, sporting a beard of puke and a sizable load in my pants -- my wife looking on in utter disgust. It was like an episode of The Lucy Show as written by Michael O'Donoghue."

Sody-free Chilluns:

"It’s one of the reasons they’re both slim and trim, I think, and not a couple of rosy-cheek Campbell’s Soup Kid riffle-puddins. A lot of their friends sit around sucking on bottles of Vanilla Coke all day, and many have breasts like Jessica Alba. Which would be fine, if they weren't nine year old boys."

Bulk Store Induced Deep-Thought (A Self-Portrait):

"It's so simple anyone can do it, she said, and it even has authentic "bits"...I was mildly offended by the fact she felt the need to play the even retards can do it card, but that wasn't what I was thinking about as I walked away. No, I was contemplating the repeated coupling of the words 'gravy' and 'gallon'."

The Death of the "Late Great Real Burrito":

"Once again, I've become addicted to a dish, and some corporate weasel sitting behind a desk somewhere has, for all intents and purposes, slapped it from my hand as I'm lifting it to my quivering lips. Incredible."

The Heretofore Unrealized Potential of First Ladies as Marketing Vehicles for the MySpace Generation:

"I was passing through a room yesterday morning, and one of Gerald Ford's many funerals was on TV. The camera focused on a woman sitting amongst the mourners, and I thought, "What the hell's Mary Kate Olsen doing there?!" Then I realized it was Nancy Reagan."


"I usually avoid that place like I would a street person wearing a derby of turds, but a Filet O Fish sandwich sounded damn good to me right then."


"I was helping the oldest Secret with his homework last night, and this was one of the questions in his math book: Jon draws 2 triangles. Could you tell if the triangles are similar to each other without looking at them? Explain why or why not.

What the hell does that mean?? Am I just a dotard here, or does that problem seem a tad abstract? I fully expected the next one to be: If Billy has three apples, and Suzy has a club foot, then who is the governor of New Hampshire?"

Transitioning from the Sleeping to Waking State:

"One minute you're at the ham-carving station at the Lingerie Buffet, and the next there's somebody hollering about refrigerators in your ear..."

Holiday Animals:

"It's a common occurrence at our house, this hurtful dismissal of my ideas. But I'd like to know: what's wrong with the Easter Horse?? If people can accept a bunny, for god's sake, they can sure as shit accept a horse. I will not be deterred. As long as I'm still around, the majestic egg-bearing Stallion will continue to gallop."

Waffle House Songs:

"While we were there somebody played a Waffle House birthday song on the jukebox, and it was one scary-ass affair; it sounded like it was being sung by some gas-huffing hillbilly with voices inside his head."

The Contemporary T-Shirt:

"Apparently there are people reading this right now with their feet resting on custom-made wooden risers, who require tiny tiny clothing. Maybe it stems from decades of being encased in an outsize flesh parka, but the idea of a size medium t-shirt just seems incredible to me, like a mermaid or an optimistic liberal. Maybe for a third-grader, but a full-grown adult? How could it be? But apparently it's true, because I got the emails about it. So, help me out, folks. I'm operating at a disadvantage here, from deep within the meat coat."

Too Loud Movies:

"Finally the lights dimmed and the first of about ten Coming Attractions trailers came on. Unbelievably loud. I wondered if there was some kind of equipment malfunction, and it was running wide-open? The shit was at the Cheap Trick setting! I looked around to see if anyone else was alarmed, but they were all just chomping away at their popcorn like it was the most natural thing in the world, this impossible volume. I hunkered down with a Gilbert Gottfried expression on my face, and waited for the assault to end. Or at the very least, for them to show a trailer for a chick flick, where skyscrapers aren't exploding and buses aren't being rammed. I was near tears by the end of it."

Animal Justice:

"I talked to my parents yesterday and they said their two dogs captured and killed a blue jay last week. And now other blue jays are swooping down at them while the hounds are out snorkeling around in the back yard(!). It's apparently becoming a big problem. One dive-bombed and hit Pepper full in the back, and a few have even come at my Dad(!!). These birds ain't half-steppin'; they're obviously bent on animal justice. And now my parents have a real-life Hitchcock movie on their hands. Shit, I'd be afraid to leave the house. At the very least I'd invest in a batting helmet or something. Freaky."

Michael Jackson Trial/Verdict News Coverage:

"In retrospect, I probably should've just turned the sound down, put on a Devo CD, and watched it that way. It would've been much more enjoyable, of course, and the commentary would've been just as relevant."

The Starbucks-Bowel Connection:

"I mentioned yesterday that my office at work is situated straight across the hall from the bathrooms, and that I am regularly treated to the soothing sounds of an exploding ass serenade. ...And now that I think about it, I don't believe it happened quite so frequently before Starbucks came to town."


"But, of course, Chuck Yeager I ain't. I mean, the task of backing a pop-up camper into position almost sends me over the edge, and I very nearly require a Nostrils-style "sick headache nap." It's not something I'm proud of, but I've long suspected that I don't, in fact, have the right stuff. There's no way in hell that I could perform even the simplest of tasks inside a freaking Space Shuttle, as my mind worked overtime conjuring up images of my jawbone (with teeth attached) coming to rest on top of a carport in Tampa somewhere, following the catastrophic explosion. Yeah, those guys have my utmost respect. And I wish them all the best -- from my desk chair in Scranton. Sirs, I raise this Kit Kat bar in your honor!"

Rock and Roll Radio:

"Man, it must be the least stressful job in the world to be a program director at a classic rock station, y'know? I mean, I'm pretty sure their playlists are printed on parchment. "OK people, I've put a lot of thought into this, and I've decided that during the next ratings period we're going to play the same fifty songs we've been playing since 1975... If you need me I'll be at Boston Market.""

Sticker-age in the U.S. of A.:

"Why do people put AAA stickers on their cars? Seriously. I was stuck in a rare Scranton traffic jam the other day, and saw several of these things glittering in the sun. Why?? Is it prestigious to be a member of the Auto Club? Does that announce to the world that you've arrived? I thought it cost, like, twelve dollars per year? And the same goes for the ones that advertise insurance companies. Why should I give one tiny ass-droplet that you're with State Farm? How is that information helpful to me? It is my opinion that if you mail the average American citizen a sticker, they will feel compelled to use it. Especially if it's sparkly. Am I wrong?"

Vegetarian Houseguest Waste:

"One day Nancy prepared her younglings a scrumptious lunch of cold tofu pups, slathered in mayonnaise, and wrapped in a tortilla. Mmmm! And a few hours later I heard a toilet flush, and seriously thought I could smell an electrical fire. I'm not joking, I was ready to gather everybody together, grab the photo albums, and climb out a window to safety. But then I realized that somebody had just taken another of their weird metallic dumps."


"I woke up a few days ago craving apple butter. And I don't know why. It's not like I eat the stuff, ever. I like it, but rarely think about it. Ya know? I mean, it's apple butter. And this is 2005. But it was a powerful hankering, and I figured I'd better not fight it. You go around fighting hankerings, son, and you're just asking for trouble. So I added it to the grocery list that hangs on the refrigerator, later assured Toney that it was not a joke (dammit), and the next day I was standing in the kitchen spreading some of the stuff across two slices of toast. And it was good. Oh, I've been flat-out eating it. Every morning I wake up and think, "Who am I? How did I get here?! ...Hey, we have apple butter!" And I'm off on another tangent. Within minutes I'm downstairs looking like the lead singer of The Cure, with the shit smeared all around my mouth. It's the strangest thing. How does something like this happen, out of the blue? How does a person just suddenly desire obscure country condiments?? I remember a similar situation years ago with graham crackers; my family nearly had to perform an intervention during that one."

Dental Appointments of Yore:

"This was the era before dentists started dressing in hazmat suits and motorcycle helmets. The guy would just waltz in there and drop his booger hooks right into my mouth. Sometimes I wondered if he might just be warming them? I'm sure he had poor circulation at his age.

"And one day I got an idea....

"After my torture session finally came to an end, I removed my bib-on-a-chain and wobbled back out to the waiting room. Then I pulled my brother aside and told him that the doc had gone into the bathroom while I was back there. And, I said, he'd opened the door a crack and asked the nurse for a new roll of toilet paper. I told him she had trouble finding a roll and he finally shouted, "Oh never mind, I'll just use this ONE LAST SQUARE!"

"I did a very nice job of selling this complete fabrication of events, and after the nurse called my brother's name, and he was heading back to The Chair, his eyes were bugged out like Marty Feldman's. Good stuff."

Medical Hoaxes:

"Sleep apnea. Ha! It's another of those fake ailments we make up for ourselves, to add drama to our lives. Like peanut allergies. When I was a kid everybody gobbled down peanut butter sandwiches as if the Russians were in Weston, and I can't remember them hauling away any body bags. Ya know? Not once did I witness one of my classmates bite into a peanut butter cracker, drop to the floor, and proceed to expand to twice his normal size. It would've been pretty cool, though."

Past Lives:

"Age Twenty-One: I'm exploring the exotic world of ludicrous facial hair: a wispy moustache, and perhaps a chemotherapyesque "beard." I'm dating Kelly now, my first girlfriend. I'm taking a year or two off from college (or so I claim), and working as a toll collector(!). I'm miserable and absolutely adrift: no idea what I'm doing, or where I'm going. I'm obsessed with alternative music, baseball, and drinking beer in cars with people who don't have my best interests at heart..."

Calls in the Wee:

"Last night around midnight our phone rang. All of us were asleep, and it was one of those things that send a tiny chill up your spine. If a person's calling that late at night, something must be wrong. Right? Visions of dead relatives danced through my head. Massive heart attacks, head-on collisions, hot water tank explosions... my mind cranked up in a hurry. Toney and I exchanged groggy looks of concern, and she lifted the receiver to her ear.

"It was Sunshine, wanting us to help her remember all five members of The Eagles. And if you think I'm joking you'd be wrong, terribly wrong.

"For the record, I could only come up with three. It's been my experience that a person needs to be wide awake before they're able to pull the names Don Felder and Timothy B. Schmit out of their ass. And it also helps if you're not repeatedly pantomiming the international symbol for what the fuck?! "

The Good Kind:

"Rough night last night. And not the good kind either, when you wake up wearing an Indian headdress and your underwear backwards."

What Satan Craves:

"I clipped my toenails last night, and as I tossed the handful of corn chip nastiness into the trash I remembered about the devil worshipers. I read somewhere, years ago, that you're supposed to burn your nail clippings, so Satanists won't dig them out of your trash and use them in bizarre rituals. Same goes for the hair your barber cuts off. According to the piece you should request that it be bagged up for you, so you can take it home. Next time I get a haircut I'm going to ask about that.... Wonder if anyone really does it? I'd like to know. But in the meantime, if any of you want to make a Jeff Kay voodoo doll, or a gang of fat clones or something, now's your chance. Because there's enough material in the trashcan at the end of our driveway to go around. My big toes were like fucking bayonets."

End Times:

"And now people are shooting guns and raping and murdering.... It's all breaking down. And, of course, the reporters are contorting themselves into pretzels, trying to justify all the looting and whatnot. "These are just desperate people trying to survive," they tell us, over and over. Then we're shown footage of an Ike Turner lookalike stumbling out of a Circuit City with his arms full of computer scanners. Yeah, I hear those are great with a cold glass of milk...."

Snot Search and Rescue:

"The other day I was in the grips of one of those powerful sneezing jags, and was pretty sure something flew out. I try to keep it all contained, but things can get pretty wild. After I was able to start breathing regularly again, I went in search of it; I didn't want Toney to come walking through with a boiling hot cup of coffee, slip on a slick spot on the floor, and end up in the burn unit wearing a vest of gauze."

Mixed Media:

"One thing, though... Why do auto parts stores always sell cashews? Have you ever noticed this? You can go in there and buy wiper blades, floor mats, a fuel filter, and nuts. What's that all about? I remember this from when I was a kid too; those places always sell big tubs of salted cashews. And I still don't get it. Why not just go all-out and put in a full-blown produce section, over by the transmission fluid?"

The Demonization of the Holiday of the Underworld by Callous, Opportunistic, Merchants of Pain:

"...Rubber pitchforks and crawling Frankenstein hands have now officially been replaced by heads on meat hooks and diseased, rotting corpses."

"Too bad the Secrets won't be returning there. Ever. Yeah, I'm sure they'll feel a little out-of-it with their friends, but that's too bad. I just don't feel, deep in my deep, deep gut, that Dahmer-Mart, with their new Union Carbide Bhopal Fall Collection is exactly appropriate at this point, or at any point in the future. Ya know?"


I'm no fan of July and August, but I could go for a little May right about now. Perhaps a nice slice of deep-dish May with a basket of late September, and a big pitcher of ice-cold March Lite? Yeah, that's the ticket."

Accountin' fer Taste:

"Dennis Kucinich picks The White Album, which, unfortunately, isn't very mockable. He also likes to attend concerts by the Rolling Stones and/or Liza Minnelli. Hey, I much prefer a little pandering to gay men than to the European Union. He lists Ani DiFranco as one of his favorite artists, which is kinda interesting. Not too bad for a man who will win the exact same number of delegates as me and Pat Harrington Jr., TV's Dwayne Schneider."

What They Would Rather You Not Know Had They Their Way:

"Sarah Jessica Parker has two of the nastiest looking feet I believe I've ever seen. During the red carpet portion of the show they panned the camera up and down her body, to show her dress, and Toney and I physically recoiled when they got to her feet. Shockingly veiny."

The Insidious Nature of Zzz's:

"...Slobbertolemus, the goddess of slumber is going to get those hours, one way or the other. Oh, you can count on that. Sleep! It's my mortal enemy. It's my own personal Plankton. Curses! Bloody curses on you, sleep!!"

Occupational Radiation:

"I'm concerned that I'm on the verge of right hand cancer...(longish description follows)...I'll just hope for the best and if my shit starts changing shape, I'll invest in a lead glove and maybe enroll in a right hand cancer support group."

Certain Hitler Biopics:

"My only complaint: nothing about the uni-ball."

Le Monde Animal:

"...ten minutes later I heard Andy barking, and Poppa Half-Shirt hollering profanities...(exchange)...He just shook his head and went back to waxing his patio grout..."


"As I approach the chair she always asks me for my "numbers," and I say two and four. Then she says, "Really? I would've taken you for a two and three man." Then we laugh and she starts in with the radical hair removal."

Exceeded Expectations:

"And just as I thought I was settling in for another interesting Ken Burns examination of American history, suddenly there was an enormous schlong on my TV, pretty much spanning the entire 27-inch screen."

The Obvious:

"Now, of course, I realize that the only really strange people in this world are the Belgians. Try as I might, I just can't get my arms around the Belgians. Strange, strange people."

How This Is The End. My Only Friend, The End:

"And when I got home I didn't even feel like partaking of the traditional three fingers of Maker's Mark."

Fucking With Sense Memory:

"For a couple of seconds I thought that Yankee Candle should maybe start offering a White Bean scent. But that would be crueler than cruel, to have your house smelling of beans without any actual beans on-hand. Ya know? Who would want that? It would be like an armless man renting porn. Or something."

"The Elite Few":

"These people are as hard to find as a good bald eagle taco."

Why It's Important To Occasionally Let The Channel-Changing Thumb Rest (as even the lord did) Upon Reaching One's Local PBS Station:

"Are there regional accents in England? Do people there make fun of different areas of their country the way we do?"

Pairing the Corporeal with the Spiritual:

"[Iced Tea Refill-Neglect] offends me, both as a fat man and a hillbilly."


"Yesterday, in a fit of desperation, I bought an unfamiliar candy bar from the vending machine at work. When it comes to such matters, I generally stick with the classics, and view any bar that was introduced after World War II with high skepticism."

Weekend Doppelgängers:

"He's not a real Jeff, he's the anti-Jeff! And I was starting to suspect that he was confusing matters on purpose, in an attempt to flirt with the pizza chick...(witticisms, etc. )...I wish there was a way to revoke his Jeffness."

Dick Clark's Autumnal Maw:

"It's a little jarring (not to mention depressing) to go from Bon Jovi, to a man who sounds like a Norwegian chimneysweep eating oats. Ya know?"

Ugliness, or, Reverse Chrysalis, or, #1 Best Seller "The Leif Garrett Code"

"Yes, it was all good fun. But it was not to last. By the following year I looked like Joey Ramone's ugly brother, and the party invitations dried up for some reason. I got into baseball cards instead."

Reconsidering the Papist Hordes

"Plus, they drink(!) and apparently have actual fun. Who knew? The local priests that I see on TV news often look like Paulie Walnuts and Salvatore "Big Pussy" Bonpensiero. It's a whole different vibe..."

The Contemplative Lull of the Road:

"As I drove I reflected on the evening, and realized that I only liked the stuff that tasted like beef and chicken. So why not just stick with beef and chicken?"

What Carped His Diem:

"It all bottomed out for me over the weekend, when I traded almost two hours of my precious time here on Earth for the privilege of watching a chunk of cinematic yard biscuit called Just Friends...This thing was purportedly a comedy, but was about as funny as a cluster of tumors."

Home Experimentation in Lieu of Enrolling One's Nameless Offspring in a Westinghouse Program:

"And when we got home Toney cut the youngest Secret's fingernails, we put them in a paper cup full of water, and watched with great anticipation. Care to guess the outcome?"

Those Who May Fail to Recognize the Difficulty in Making an RV Seaworthy:

"...people (the British) often call up (Clive Bull) and cite some statistic about Americans, and the number of us who have never had a passport...It's easy to criticize when you can drop your doughy white-fish ass in a train seat, and be in Paris or Brussels in three hours. If I traveled for three hours I'd be in Maryland."

This Terrible State o' Chassis:

"There's a lot going on in the world right now: a war in Iraq, renewed trouble between Israel and the Palestinians, starvation and disease in Africa, local flooding.... So, I feel a bit guilty that I'm going to dedicate today's update to a lengthy discussion about farting."

Astronauts, Pt. II (Oh Peggy, my Peggy Sue):

"I know it's not fair, but I associate those Reagan-era space ships with catastrophic explosions, not the dozens of successful missions they've accomplished. It's like when I get on an airplane, and start humming Buddy Holly tunes without even realizing it. It's sick."

Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité (Mais Non: Le Metro Damné!):

"Call me a radical, but I believe a well-prepared sandwich should be a collection of different tastes and textures all working together to achieve a common goal: deliciousness. One should not dominate the others, like a fixin' Nazi...But I'm convinced that America is in love with spreads and dressings, and that's why I can't get a fair shake at Subway...(flashback sequence: when I unwrapped my tube-lunch there was mustard slung everywhere; it looked like O.J. had caught Nicole chatting with a condiment.)...So there you go. Now I guess you're all going to tell me that I'm the weird one, simply because I don't want to end a meal with tarter sauce bleeding through the waistband of my underwear?"

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