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Archive for July, 2011

Jase On: Grocery Shopping

July 23, 2011 2 comments

There is never a good time for grocery shopping.  In fact, it always happens at the worst possible time.  Sometimes it’s a harsh reminder that it’s back to work tomorrow.  Sometimes you get dragged there during the biggest football game of the year and you can’t really follow along because nobody in real life actually has that stupid NFL subscription that the phone companies always advertise.  Plus, who really wants to pay to watch a few dots move around on a Microsoft Paint-created “football field?”  Oh, Orange Blob 4 scored a touchdown?  Perfect!  He’s on my fantasy team!

Frequently, I get dragged to the grocery store when I’m either secretly drunk or secretly wish that I was drunk.  When I first step into the store, if I’m not drunk, the first thing I say is “fuck.  I wish I was drunk.”  The sad thing is, I know from experience that being drunk doesn’t make the shopping trip any better.  But a boy can always dream.  Just so you are aware, I have just now set the record for the most uses of the word ‘drunk’ in a single paragraph.

So what is it about grocery shopping that I hate so much?  Beside everything, let’s start with the general environment.  Grocery stores are purposely set up to be boring.  When the most exciting thing about a store is the Gatorade display on top of the lunch meat cooler, suicide is more exciting.  Everyone is always so bored in the grocery store.  You can see it in the way that they silently walk around, hunched over their carts like grocery store zombies that have been infected with the deadly disease Blah.  The weird thing about Blah, though, is that it’s curable either by grocery explosion or just leaving the grocery store.

Kill me.

The music is another aspect of the riveting environment that keeps me coming back for more.  I’m always able to stay entertained while shopping for peaches and shaving cream while listening to It Doesn’t Matter What My Name is I Suck sing the reassuring, timeless hymn “Rockabye” to me.  Ok, I’ve just been informed that the song isn’t actually called “Rockabye” (why does anyone know that?) but I don’t care.  I’m sure everyone knows the depression-inducing gem I’m referring to.  One song that comes on every single time that I’m trapped in the grocery store without fail is John Mayer’s “Your Body is a Wonderland.”  There’s nothing quite like watching the sixty-eight year old grandmother in the toilet paper aisle caress her shoulders and swivel her hips as John Mayer reassures her that her body is, in fact, a wonderland; just as she had suspected all along.  Now that I think about it, that same lady is there in the same aisle, during the same song every single time I go grocery shopping.  In fact, this has tempted me to write a romance novel.  I will title it “Your Bounty is a Wonderland” and the climax (I’m laughing because I’m immature.) will include Dotty DoublePly rolling around on the supermarket floor with Quilted Northern’s luscious rose-scented sex roll.

Other than writing a romance novel about the toilet paper aisle, there are very few ways to entertain yourself at the grocery store.  One way is hunting for products with ridiculous names.  As fun as this activity sounds, laughing at a store-brand cereal called Yellow Grahams is only possible once or twice.  Spotted Dick has a longer joke window because a.) I have no idea what it is and b.) it must be canned cheetah dick.  Another way you can entertain yourself is by writing and performing a musical as you go along through the store.  This is only done effectively if you go all out with the dance moves and dramatically jump on top of chip displays and the deli counter while singing at the top of your lungs.  While it’s loads of fun and can also guarantee your removal from the supermarket, it’s not as win-win as it sounds.  Unless you consider sitting in the police station while being given a psychological evaluation win-win.  Take it from the pro on this subject, it’s not as spiritually enlightening as one would think.

Am I the only one that thinks that kidz shouldn't be putting Gorilla Munch in their mouthz?

Another entertaining activity that can keep you busy is trying to pick up women.  Or men; whatever you’re looking for really.  Just no children.  The super market has always been described as a great place to find a significant other.  But how many couples do you know that actually met each other at the grocery store?  How do you even go about picking someone up at the grocery store?  Here are a couple of my ideas on how to do this.  You’re standing at the meat cooler feeling up a prime rib.  Up walks a fine female with some prime rib that you’d love to be feeling up.  While rubbing the tenderloin, look up at her and say “Wow!  This steak sure is bloody!”  Normally that sentence alone should get you a date.  If not, follow it up with “I love blood!  What about you?” Odds are you’ll be married in no time.  Another tactic that you could try also takes place at the romantic meat machine.  This time when your prospective date walks up, be sure to be grabbing some fat from a chicken breast.  Look up to her and say in an extremely loud voice “Wow!  This chicken has a lot of fat.  You don’t.  Come with me!”  You’re welcome for your engagement in advance.

Believe it or not, the worst part of the shopping trip is cashing out.  Standing in line and thinking about paying close to a hundred dollars on bullshit like q-tips and mangos is one of the worst moments of reflection you can have.  Sure, I’m big ballin’ baby baybay but I’d rather spend my skrillerz (did I use that right?) on jets and shit.  The only thing worse than standing in line and hating yourself for spending the money is having a lot of time to think about it.  This can happen to you if you get stuck behind someone that is convinced that they will soon be featured on the riveting docudrama Extreme Couponing.  As this person pulls out their sticky wad of newspaper clippings and make believe coupons drawn out on napkins, they start to talk out loud either to themselves or to the imaginary camera crew that’s following them around.  They remind everyone that they are such a great shopper and the store should be paying them to shop there.  They let the “viewers at home” know that they’re the only ones smart enough to prepare for Armageddon by stocking up on forty-five packages of paper plates.  Their two hundred pounds of canned deer meet will last them seven lifetimes!  Why are we all so stupid?  We don’t even deserve to survive!  Why aren’t we them?

This bored shopper took his musical act all the way outside of his favorite grocery store, Pirits of Al.

Once the extreme couponer finishes up, if you’re really lucky, you’ll get stuck with the cashier that tells her life story to everyone she meets.  Oh, what’s that?  You won Best Little Farmer at your county fair when you were six?  That’s great!  Tell me all about it!  I’ve only been here for two hours, no big deal!  Ooooooh Aunt Edna taught you how to cook broccoli at your summer home in the Adirondacks?  Brilliant!  Please, go on!  You once threw up ham all over yourself after playing tag with your cousins?  Yeah, actually I’m going to pass on the ham.  Yeah, I’m sure.  No, it’s fine just put the fucking ham away!  Get it away from me!

After beating the last level of the Chatty Cashier, you’ve finally completed the cruel game of grocery shopping.  As you leave, roll your shopping cart as hard as you can all the way across the parking lot as one last big fuck you to the man.  Just make sure you get out of there quick and never come back.  That’s easy these days now that every single store carries groceries.  Maybe next week, we can get our groceries at Radio Shack!

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The Zombie Shopper

July 18, 2011 8 comments

Jobs suck.  Working sucks.  Having to spend your time doing some bullshit that you’d never really want to spend your time doing is unfair.  In my book (in stores now), it’s classified as cruel and unusual punishment.  I’m not too sure why the government hasn’t looked into this more than they have but I’ve already sent about six letters to different congressman about it.  So don’t blame me when you think about how horrible your job has made your life.

Now, I’m not going to sit here and say some bullshit like “but sometimes, something happens at work that shows you why it’s all worth it.”  There is no situation where that could ever be true.  I don’t care if you just helped One Armed Sally find the perfect prom dress.  There are ten thousand better things you could’ve been doing at that second.  But there is some truth in the statement that being at work allows you to interact with some of the most ridiculous people you will ever come across.  Without being at work, you’d never be able to even dream up these people.  Which is normally the best thing that could ever happen to you.  But in this case…nevermind.  It would have been fine with me if I never had to meet this guy.

My day started out like any other day at my place of employment.  I’m not going to tell you where I worked for privacy reasons.  Ok, I lied.  I worked at a paint store.  Since it was a smaller store, I was usually the only employee there when I worked.  I was your typical hardworking employee.  I had been spending my day like I usually did; running laps around the store, playing basketball in the stock room with roller covers and dropping gallons of paint off of ladders and watching them explode all over the ground.

I cartwheeled out onto the sales floor to see if any customers had decided to stroll in when I noticed that the weather outside had gone to Hell.  It was raining.  It was windy.  Tumbleweeds were blowing across the parking lot.  There was thunder and lightning.  It was snowing.  It was fucking thundersnowing.  All of a sudden, everything around me turned to black and white.  The store’s front door swung open but I didn’t think anything of it.  The door was broken, it happened all the time.  I’m not an emotionless robot.  Suddenly, cheesy organ music started to play and a wavering voice that came out of nowhere announced “Jason in…THE ZOMBIE SHOPPER!”

The thundersnow fucked shit up.

Before I could even ask the voice what it was talking about, I looked toward the front door that was still swinging in the wind.  To my surprise, there was a man walking through the door and toward me.  Actually, Frankensteining is the proper term.  He was Frankensteining toward me.  Very slowly.  In his extended arms, he carried at least ten plastic shopping bags.  By the time he reached the counter where I was standing, at least five minutes had passed.  He was dripping wet from the thundersnow and appeared to be drooling.  He started to talk.  I think.

“Gasuh muh muh aaah amuh muh bags.  Noajuh meah bbmbm back.  Bauh uhh muooh.”

“Excuse me sir?” I asked.  I was the most darling, polite employee you could ever dream of.

“Bags,” was all he said.  He set his bags on the counter and turned back toward the door.  He started to Frankenzombie again.  I called out to him, telling him that he had left his bags on the counter.  He completely ignored me.  If I wanted to, I could have chased him down and found out what the hell was going on.  I knew I would never understand what he said though.  Five minutes passed and he had finally made his way back out of the store.  I stood there in shock.  Was he drunk?  Was he a zombie?  Was he an unexplained creature that rode to earth on a lightning bolt in the thundersnow?  The only thing that I really knew was that I had to see what was inside those bags.

For some reason, I tip-toed toward the bags.  I guess I didn’t want the paint cans to hear me.  As I reached to open the bags, what sounded like an angel’s voice started to sing.

“Aaaaaaaaaaah,” sang the high-pitched voice as the bag and it’s contents suddenly turned to color.  Remember, everything else was black and white.  As I peered inside, I couldn’t believe my eyes.  No seriously, who the hell would carry this shit around with them?  Inside the bags there were a few mystery items, at least six Wayne’s World VHS tapes and ten to fifteen ceramic figurines, most of them of clowns.  The voice kept on singing.

What is that? Why is it covered in drool?

“Oh my god, it’s fucking Wayne’s World video tapes!  SHUT UP!” I screamed at the voice.  The singing stopped immediately and the bags turned back to black and white.  Probably a darker shade than they had been before they turned to color.

A couple of hours had passed.  I had spent the time doing back flips off of the counter and making prank phone calls from the store phone.  As I was doing a log roll down the middle of the sales floor, I heard the door swing open again.  I did a somersault and sprung to my feet.  I wasn’t surprised when I saw the male version of Rob Zombie’s Living Dead Girl walking toward me again.  I prepared myself in a karate stance just in case he was coming back to devour my soul.  But after a few minutes, my legs started to hurt and I readjusted to the classical athletic position.

The zombie customer actually started to browse the store.  He eventually made his way over to the discount paint brushes, picked one up and came to the counter.  As he inched closer, I was nearly blinded by the light that was emanating off of the beads of drool that were swaying from his chin.  He set the paint brush down on the counter and pulled out his check book.  For a two dollar paint brush.  He started to write the check as my worst nightmare unfolded.  Slowly from his lip, a fresh string of drool descended toward the check.  Just as he finished writing it, the drool splashed onto the check, covering half of it with zombie slobber.  “Oopfths!,” he said as more drool sprayed from his mouth. He handed the check to me and I maneuvered so that I could barely pinch the corners and grab it, avoiding the toxic ooze. The name on the check was Tauhughuh Muahakuh.  I gagged as I asked him for a phone number that I could use for the check.

Oopfths!!

“Eeh seah soouh fwouggh mieeeeyy nahnahnono seposoewo,” apparently he had his own hotline.

“Was that 861-8757?” I asked, completely making up each number.

“Yahwugugh,” he answered and picked up his magical treasures that he had left behind earlier. He lumbered toward the door until he was out of sight, never to be seen again.  Until the next week.  But seriously, after that second time I never saw him again.

Ask Jason: Pro Wrestling Is Real

July 17, 2011 5 comments

Can you hear my voice when you read this? What does Jason’s voice sound like to you? How did you know that? Do I know you? Will you please stop that? I’m sure you would love to ask me one of these questions. Go ahead. SERIOUSLY, JUST COPY ONE OF THEM AND SEND IT TO ME.

Welcome to the answer of the most important question you’ve ever asked. This week, I’ll answer the only respectable three word question, subliminally mimic Daniel Tosh in the intro, and answer the question of my dreams.

Yeah! Wait, what? No? Why?

Ask Jason is blowing up! I’ve been asked questions from all corners of the world this time around and have had more questions asked than ever before! That’s right, we have FOUR!! Ok, maybe I didn’t really get questions from all corners of the earth. But I did get one from Argentina! Ok, that’s not true either. But for the first time ever, the Jasonites from Twitter and WordPress want in on the act. Ultimate excitement. I can’t contain myself. I can’t even imagine what you feel like. I’m sorry to keep you waiting, I know you’re busy.

Q: Man, that was awesome. Ralph was such a dick. WTF?

Answer me right now or else, Maxim’s Madness

A: Our old buddy Ralph. You know, I can’t tell you why Ralph is such a dick. I’ve known him for such a long time and every time I see him, he’s almost kind of friendly. But then when he gets on the internet, and on my blog in particular, he becomes a demonic figure. He feels invincible. He’s reckless. He thinks he can say whatever he wants. He thinks he could kill a small child just by flicking them in the ear. He does have some pretty fat fingers though. So maybe it really isn’t that unrealistic. I think he’s jealous of my blog and my life. I think he’s jealous of the Jasonites. I think he’s jealous that if he had a group of followers or fans, he couldn’t call them the Ralphites because it just sounds stupid. Like, why would you want to confuse your fans with mechanical pencil refills? No, I just meant that it sounded like graphite, sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you, Ralph fans. But Maxim, if I were you, I’d be prepared. Knowing Ralph, he isn’t going to like the fact that you called him a dick. I hope he doesn’t offend you. If we do hear from him again, and I’m about ninety-four percent sure that we will, I will take care of him. Proms.

Ralph in the van

Ralph didn't write to us this week because he was too busy selling junk out of his van on the side of the road. We miss you?

Q: Jason-do you believe in cake?

I Love You, Dew Nestry

A: YES! Of course I do. When you like to eat as much as I do, cake is like a foreign delicacy that has been hand delivered from the East Indies after a three year voyage over extremely rough seas. I do like certain cakes more than others though. For example, by far my favorite kind of cake, and this may sound strange to those of you that are into the ultra-competitive, breakneck, suicidal reality series Cupcake Fuck or whatever it’s called, is Funfetti. Yes, I prefer homemade cakes to store bought or gourmet cakes. But you can’t overload the frosting, that really destroys the cake. Once, a co-worker baked me a cake for my birthday but loaded it with gross amounts of frosting. It was impossible to eat. I brought a piece of it to her, slammed it down on her desk and screamed “you try and eat this shit! Why the fuck would you ever put so much frosting on this? Learn how to bake a cake next time before you drown another innocent victim in frosting! ” I went to thank her for the cake later in the day but she was crying and wouldn’t look at me. I really don’t know why, I was just trying to give her some advice.

Breakfast. Note the Funfetti cake mix.


Q: Rugby or Water? Pancakes or Prostititis?

Submitted on Twitter by @Attackofthe

A: When I first met my ex-girlfriend, the first thing I said to her was “I haven’t brushed my teeth today.” I actually haven’t brushed my teeth today either. When I initially saw the first of the two questions, I was definitely leaning toward water. But it’s turning out that I may not be as into water as I once thought I was. There was also that time when I almost drowned in the Lazy River at that amusement park. I’ve been scared to death of inner tubes ever since. Rugby wins by default. Now the second question is much easier. At first, I read the second choice as prostitutes. If that was the case, this would be one of the hardest decisions that I’ve ever had to make. Unfortunately, there is no prostitute option this time. I’m not too sure what prostititis is, but it reminds me of the word prostate which in turn reminds me of a prostate exam which brings to mind the words “trauma” and “nightmare.”   My decision here is definitely pancakes.

Rugby's North American cousin Football likes to stick big yellow poles in his butt.

Q: Is pro wrestling real?

Love, The Jasonites

A: Dream question! I really can’t believe it took this long for a pro wrestling question to be asked. I even had to set it up as clearly the best question on the poll and it still almost lost. But I assure you, you will be pleased with your selection. Is it real? Does this look fake to you!? Yeah, like the title of the video says, he killed him! Pro wrestling is so real that forty-five year old men have dedicated their entire lives to it. They tune in to every single program, cancel plans to watch it, and follow their favorite wrestlers around at the supermarket while screaming “wooooooo” at them. I don’t think they’d waste their lives like that on something fake. Some people complain that wrestling is too much like a soap opera. They argue that there’s too much drama and if they really wanted to beat each other up so badly, they would just do it instead of talking about it and putting on a show. This, to them, is proof that wrestling has to be fake. But guess what. Soap operas are super fucking realistic. Don’t tell me that you’ve never come into contact with an alien that was trying to rescue a crystal from your planet…or something. Just like I do with rap music, I have actual firsthand experience with professional wrestling. That’s right, you’re talking to an expert on the subject. I was a professional backyard/living room wrestler for at least five years of my life (yes, I do put that on my resume). I challenge you to go out and get smashed over the head repeatedly with a steel street sign and then have to hide it from your opponent under a “ring” made out of garbage picked mattresses and box springs because you are in so much pain that it is starting to burn all throughout your body for some reason. Or get body slammed onto crushed up CD cases that are made to look like glass and then have to pour fake blood all over your face. Ouch! Fake blood stings! Sounds pretty real to me.

Ric Flair's hair bled in every single match that he wrestled in. Has your hair ever bled? REAL.

That will do it for another fine edition of America’s favorite answer column.  If this edition sucked, the blame can be placed solely on myself.  I was provided with more questions than I’ve ever dreamed of.  That being said, keep it up!  You can get questions to me by commenting on this post, tweeting at me @YourPalJason, email me at JasonNotImaginary@gmail.com, or come up with something creative like sending me a singing telegram.  If you could make the singing telegram guy swear in his song it would be even better.  Like usual, I will leave you with an extremely important poll.  The winning question will be addressed in the next Ask Jason.

Jase On: Lil Wayne

July 13, 2011 5 comments

(Editors Note:  I’m still the editor and these opinions still belong to me and nobody else.  Love, Jason.)

The “who’s the best rapper of all time?” debate has been around as long as hip-hop itself.  Several rappers have been included in this argument over the years.  All of the greats like Biggie, Tupac, Jay-Z and Nas and even lesser-known geniuses like Mos Def and Talib Kweli.  But there’s been a disturbing trend that I’ve overheard in this conversation recently.  A name has been brought into this conversation that doesn’t even belong in the argument of “who’s the best rapper to use auto-tune and say waaaoooowaaaoooo?”  How did you guess? It’s Lil Wayne.

Now, maybe I’m not qualified to have this conversation.  I don’t know anything about rap music these days.  I don’t know who The Wizard Khalifo is and have no idea what people are talking about when they recite their two favorite colors over and over again (green and aqua, green and aqua, green and aqua, green and aqua).  But I do know that I’ve heard this before:

A Lil Wayne song is playing in the background.  He makes some noises while his voice is in auto-tune and then does his signature, obnoxious laugh that he does right before every single verse.  What could be that funny?  Really?  Every verse?  I think it’s a joke that I have to hear this song too but it’s not a funny ha-ha joke.  The most irritating voice in the history of music then begins to rap:

“Yo I’m hot like tha sun
You know I’m numba one
I’m also hot like a gun
Cuz you know guns are fun”

“Oh my god!  Listen to those SIMILES!!” -“hardcore gangster rapper” Milton K. Percy Esq. seconds before laying down a track in “the lab” a.k.a. on the computer in the third floor, spare bedroom of his parents’ twenty-five thousand square foot house.

Your Pal Jason: featuring the Sikhest similes!

Yeah, I was in “the lab.”  That will be explained later.  But let’s get back to Mr. Wayne.  Those are not rhymes that make you the best rapper of all time.  I think even my grandma would be aware of that and the only thing that she has ever said about rap music was “oh boy!  That McHammer (she thought he was Irish) has some shiny pants!”   My three year-old cousin actually wrote the same exact poem in kindergarten (he’s advanced) without even knowing that rap music existed.  Sure, he got suspended for talking about guns.  But apparently he’s on the fast-track to becoming the greatest rapper of all time in the eyes of the clueless.

I’ve always been extremely confused about his name.  Lil Wayne?  The only other Lil I know was from Rugrats (or should I say Angelica’s acid dreams?).  Her name was short for Lillian.  Is it then safe to assume that Mr. Wayne’s full, given birth name is Lillian Wayne?  I vote yes.  Weird, I always thought that he looked like a female from certain angles!  Lilian also has the most outrageous nickname I’ve ever heard.  Weezy F’s Babies!?!  Why??  How is he allowed to say that!?  I’m so confused!  And who the hell is Tha Carter and why does Lily keep naming his albums after him?  There have been at least sixteen of them that have come out over the last couple years.  Tha Carter XMCXL just came out last year (I spent hours researching before writing this).  Is Tha short for Thad? Don’t you hate when people give you a “nickname” but all they’re really doing is leaving out the last letter or syllable of your real name? Thad hates it too, Lillian, so stop the bullshit.

Here's a mannequin with a beard. It has absolutely nothing to do with Lil Wayne but they both wear their hair in a ponytail sometimes.

Now, this shouldn’t be viewed as an anti-hip hop rant.  It’s quite the opposite.  I have always loved rap music.  Almost as much as I love Harriet Winslow.  In fact, I’m listening to the 1108 Thugz right now. I even told myself that I was a rapper at one point and recorded some hot trax that you’ll never get your hands on.  For those keeping score at home, that’s when I was in “the lab.”  I was a much better rapper than Milton, though.

I have made fun of plenty of “musicians” here.  This is no exclusive club.  Lady Blahblah, Sticky Ménage, NKOTBSBNSYNC5IVE, Justin Baby, they’re all on that list.  But it’s different when you write about a rapper.  You see, most rappers are sensitive and insecure.  They usually don’t understand jokes or constructive criticism.  You’re accused of starting beef with them and they record a song where they diss you and threaten your life.  I am fully expecting this from Lillian and have prepared my battle rap response.  Since Mr. Wayne has yet to record his future diss, I’m sure that this will be completely misunderstood as me challenging him to a rap battle.  It’s self defense people.  Oh, and every line in my rap will rhyme with Jason.  And it will still be better than anything that Weezy F’s Babies has put out in the last eight years.  Yo DJ Mean Person, drop the beat!

Uhhhhhhhhhh, yes!, what? (that doesn’t count as a rhyme, it’s just the intro.)
DJ DJ DJ Mean Mean Mean Person Person Person (ok, that definitely doesn’t count. I didn’t even say that, it was just that part of the track where the DJ says his name over the beat.)                                                                                                                                                                           Uhhh!  Uh huh, yee, yeeah yeee, uh huh (still doesn’t count.)
There was once a television program called Perry Mason
Either he solved crimes or it was my imagination
I have no idea what he did after cancellation
But hopefully he went out on a very long vacation
And with our luck, he probably got stuck at immigration
Held at the border, ten years incarceration
In football they throw a flag for excessive celebration
And this rhyme has fallen victim to my procrastination
Set the paper I wrote it on on fire incineration
But my flow is mad sick FUCKING EGO MASTURBATION
Chasin’, replacin’, erasin’, caucasian raisin
Do these words that end with -shun really rhyme with Jason?

BOOM! What’s up now? Get this, I didn’t even rap that in a voice that sounded like  a nasally congested baby!  I’m expecting hate mail from thousands of Wayniacs because of this.  Wait a second, Lil Wayne’s fans don’t call themselves Wayniacs?  Who’s in charge of his marketing!?  Suddenly, I’ve had a change of heart.  Please give me a call Mr. Wayne, I think I could do wonders for your career.  I promise not to call you Lillian.

Ask Jason: Seriously, where the f*@% is Waldo?!

July 5, 2011 8 comments

Hello again.  Is it that time of the month?  Are your dreams at night 3 sizes too big?  Have you ever loved a Doug?  Does any of this make sense to you?  It doesn’t?  Oh?  These are all examples of questions that I’d be happy to answer for you.  Yes, even “Oh?”  Remember, you can ask me anything and I will answer it.  This edition of Ask Jason features a question on renting vs. buying, the age old Where’s Waldo debate and our buddy least favorite person in the entire world Ralph pays us another visit.  Sit back and enjoy the only answer column that gives you the answers you’re looking for.

Q:  Dear Jason- After years of renting, I have been considering buying a house of my own.  Do you think I should take the plunge and become a home owner?  

Signed, Svetlana

A:  Well here are some questions I’d like to ask you to help you determine if you are ready to become a home owner.  Do you have to store your clothes up in the attic?  Is your landlord a complete idiot?  Does he tell you things and forget them within seconds?  Did he promise to drop off homemade wine for you at least twenty times, forget to do it, ask you how the wine was and yell at you when you told him he never dropped it off?  Does he start conversations with you by screaming the second you pick up the phone over something you had nothing to do with?  Is he in cahoots with your insane downstairs neighbor?  Does your downstairs neighbor send you texts at five in the morning that read something like this:  “thou shalt not walk upon thine own floor with shoes secured around thy ankles once the clock strikes eleven?”  If you answered yes to any of these questions, I think it’s time to buy a house.  Just be prepared to spend all of your free time doing random shit like cutting weeds around your house with scissors and sweeping your driveway.


If this is a regular scene at your apartment building, GET OUT!

Q:  Jason, we have spent a good twenty-seven years of our collective lives searching for that bastard Waldo.  We need your help.  You need to solve this mystery for us.  Where’s Waldo!?

Love, The Jasonites

A:  First of all, thank you to all of the Jasonites that voted in the latest poll, I was hoping you’d pick “Where’s Waldo?” because I have a lot to say about this topic.  Why are we always searching so hard for Waldo and why is it so hard to find him?  You would think a guy that hasn’t changed his clothes in twenty-plus years would be easy to locate based on smell alone.  Speaking of those clothes, have you ever noticed how much of a hipster Waldo is?  Those glasses, that beanie, the tight jeans and the striped shirt?  All he was missing was a mustache.  This guy was the ultimate hipster influence.  You would think he would’ve checked in on FourSquare by now and helped us all out.  But seriously, why can’t we find this guy?  Is he a fugitive or a homeless junkie?  Those are the only two groups of people that I know of that are this impossible to locate.  Has anyone tried to page him?  That might work.  What about just asking him?  Oh, right, you’d have to find him first.  If all of this talk has you pissed off about not being able to find Waldo, you should play his NES video game.  All you kids out there that whine about games like Final Fantasy being soooooo hard, why don’t you check out Where’s Waldo?  But I have no idea where this douchebag could be.  When I do find him, and trust me I will, I am going to hurt him.

How the hell am I supposed to know?

Oh goodie!  Our dear friend Ralph is back!

To Whom it May Concern;

Sorry for the grammatical errors, not everyone can have their mom proofread their stupid blog. Here is a question for you, why? Why do you write this garbage about your life? No one cares. Is it because you have no friends in real life? Perhaps scarring childhood experiences that left you in a bad place mentally, and you feel that you need to do this as therapy. Please explain.

Ralph

P.S. Moustaches are for pussies.

Oh Ralph,

I don’t care if you’re allowed to start a letter like that or not, I’m doing it.  Speaking of having no friends in real life, didn’t I just see you the other day?  Oh yeah, that’s right, you walked up to me and tried to pat me on the shoulder while saying hello.  Luckily, I dodged your shoulder tap but I pretended I was doing the limbo just so I wouldn’t hurt your feelings.  See!  I’m a good person!  Why do I write this garbage about my life?  Good question Ralph.  THAT’S A GREAT QUESTION RALPH!  YOU ASSHOLE!  I’M SCREAMING AT THE COMPUTER SCREEN RIGHT NOW AS I WRITE THIS BECAUSE I HATE YOU!  AND I AUTOMATICALLY WIN THIS ARGUMENT FOR TODAY BECAUSE I’M TYPING LOUDER!!1!!!1  MAYBE I DON’T HAVE ANY FRIENDS IN “REAL” LIFE!  BUT IN IMAGINARY LIFE, EVERYONE THAT COMES HERE IS MY FRIEND!  I SHOULD CHALLENGE YOU TO A RAP BATTLE (foreshadowing) YOU NO GOOD BOZO!  Actually, you know what Ralph?  I’m not even mad.  You could never make me mad.  You can’t beat me.  Not even at checkers, backgammon (which I’ve never even played) or Dominos (not sure if I’ve played that either).  You definitely can’t beat me in an argument.  Can’t wait to hear from you again!

Jason

P.S. If I had a mustache, it could kick your ass.  Who’s the pussy now?

I caught Ralph sleeping at a thrift store. Real class act, this Ralph guy.

This concludes another fine edition of the only answer column that matters.  Did you think that this edition sucked?  Well that’s your own fault!  Submit your questions!  You can get them to me either by commenting on this post, sending an e-mail to JasonNotImaginary@gmail.com or by tweeting me @YourPalJason.  There are several other ways that you can get a question to me that I’m sure you can figure out.  Remember, you can ask anything.

Now, please take time out of your important life to answer this poll.  Once again, the winning question will be addressed in the next Ask Jason: