An Extra Life
I know what you’re thinking. “Jesus already did that. What a poser!” Unfortunately, I’m not going to be able to tell you exactly how to figure this one out. It is my birthday, after all. But you could try picking up a coin every time you see one until you get a hundred or maybe killing your boss would work. That’s how they do it in video games, at least. I don’t really think they would just make something like that up.
The Color Orange
Do you know anyone else that owns a color? Stop, no you don’t. I’d be walking down the street and people would be like “yo dudes! It’s Jason, he’s that cat that owns orange!” I would probably be wearing a fuzzy orange Kangol jump suit and that might give it away. But whatever, I own orange now, that’s my job.
To be as Cool as Someone Named Derek
I knew this kid named Derek once that was so cool that he just stayed a kid forever. He even wore a backwards hat. I also heard this really cool rumor that all Dereks learn how to slam dunk a basketball when they’re five. I still have to sing a song to help me tie my shoes.
A Stick or Something
I don’t know, I’m kind of out of ideas.
A New Breath
Mine has been disgusting lately and it’s really starting to piss me off. The other night after I ate a Doritos and asparagus salad, I’m pretty sure I killed my grandma just by talking to her on the phone. I’d like my new breath to smell like something delightful, like a box of crayons or a new book. You know, something sexy but not too over the top.
There’s a reason to life. I knew that the second I saw it. Weaved somewhere into those beautiful patches of multi-colored yarn was a message from a very wise and powerful being. A source of knowledge and beauty so strong that it can only be rivaled by the angry guy across the street with the Cheeto-shaped bald spot who hates cats.
The almighty Jonathan, knower of all things. Keeper of all sewing needles. Talker of all words.
The majestic seagull, the Jesus of the sea, visits you in a dream. “There’s a reason to life,” he pecks into your ear drum in Morse code. Your ears start to bleed glittery, golden blood. You are the chosen one.
In his beak, he carries a scroll. You unroll it slowly, knowing what it will say all along. “Jonathan,” some kind of magical ghost whispers to you. Your body is suddenly shrouded in white robes. By robes I mean the white, grease-stained shirt from your family picnic and white male briefs, formerly size medium before being stretched into a large last Tuesday when your cousin Eric had to borrow them.
Come, run away with me. To a place where we can roll around in the flowers and pleasure ourselves with carpet all day. Please don’t bring your annoying comic books. We will be busy studying the words that have been tattooed onto our souls with a hammer and chisel made of chocolate. Happiness.
We’ll break free from the shackles of the English language. Nothing has to make sense. If Jonathan tells us that we will feast on garlic eyeball soup with our bare feet for breakfast , then let it be so!
Long life the almighty Jonathan! There’s a reason to life.
You have to pick your family up from the airport in half an hour. Nobody else can do it but you’re convinced that you have a really bad disease and this cool show about Bigfoot is about to start. A super awesome idea about making a double-decker peanut butter and jelly sandwich just popped into your head too. What do you do?
If you chose Bigfoot, you’re exactly like me. Well, at least how I used to be. Until I decided to become a better person. Ok, maybe I didn’t really decide that but, like, at least three people are really convinced that I did. Maybe you can do like I did and trick people into thinking that there’s a new and improved you. It’s at least worth a shot.
Here’s a few nice tips that I’ve used to brainwash people into thinking that I’m actually trustworthy and decent. They might be able to help you out, too.
GIVE PEOPLE STUFF
Nothing says “I care about you,” quite like a piece of chicken in her face. This Mother’s Day, give back to your mom for all that she’s given to you. Just make sure you don’t leave without sniffing her face for crumbs.
But don’t stop with the chicken for your mom! Actually, yeah. Stop there. It’s way too expensive to be going out and just picking shit up for your friends all the time.
DONATE AND SHIT
The next time a store asks you to donate a dollar to a great cause, do it. Just make sure your name is going up on the wall with the rest of the charity hall-of-famers. Sign your name as Showtime to be sure it sticks out. Then get wild in that bitch! Hang out by your sign and let everyone know who the fuck Showtime is! You just donated to a charity! You can do whatever the fuck you want!
Let people know what’s up. Leave a note at your work station or at home if you’re going to be away. The more honest, the better. Don’t be afraid to be descriptive. Draw pictures, estimate the time you’ll be away. Whatever helps the people around you think that you would actually care about keeping in touch with them.
You should always try to be there for your friends. But like everything else in life, being supportive has its limits. In this instance, that limit is funerals. Your friends can’t expect the world from you and you need to lay down the law in this scenario. “I’m sorry, but I can’t make it to the funeral. My chest actually hurts. A lot,” you explain in an email you send to their work account over the weekend. Your friend gets all mad but it’s one of those sad-mads so you know everything will be fine in a couple weeks.
After all, people die from chest pain every day. If anything, you were just protecting them from another tragedy. What a great friend you are!
These four tips helped me get back on my grandma’s Christmas money list. I can only hope they’ll work half as well for you.
(another genius contribution from @Freakarms)
Dear Capri Sun,
Science discovers outer space and invents robots. Magic is a thing. Yet, your Kangaroo juice pouch still has a shitty straw hole. How many times do I have to end lunch with a punctured juice sack and strawberry-kiwi scented nipple stains before this travesty comes to an end?
Look, I’ve never written a letter before. Honestly, I’ve never cared about anything enough to write a letter. But this is different. This is actually important. How many times do we as Americans have to suffer through the injustice of poking our straws all the way through your sack? We don’t want a Capri Sun shower. We have a Constitution that protects us from stuff like that.
I really don’t want to quit on you. Capri Sun has been with me through a lot of really memorable moments in my life. My first high school lunch, the first time I watched Power Rangers. Capri Sun is even what my friend Anthony and I were drinking when that porn with the guy who tried to oops his own uh-oh came on. Fucking memories, man. Your juice belongs in my mouth!
Capri Sun has always been the cool juice box and that’s why I’m hoping we can still hang out. Capri Sun is what my cousin who smoked cigarettes in second grade drank with his lunch everyday. I’ll bet astronauts and A.C. Slater drink it too. Trust me, I’m not asking for a huge box. We love your shiny sack of Space Age juice! But isn’t there something you can do about your hole?
How do I expect you to fix your hole? Maybe some kind of, like, cool ramp that has rainbows on it and stuff? That would probably work. But I’m no scientist. I’m just an average guy, drinking your juice in my underwear and watching Thundercats DVDs. And I want it to stay that way.
Some commercials create a jingle to help sell their product. Rarely does a commercial create a generation-defining anthem that changes music as we know it.
Take a guy singing the catchiest melody of all time in my first-thing-in-the-morning voice. Throw it over a sexual synthy bass and some other musicy shit and we’re ready for Jazzercise class. If you aren’t singing this song to yourself as you bathe your children and do your taxes, you’re probably one of those lame shitheads that “don’t listen to music.”
But it’s not just the music. This commercial has it all. Great product shots, men in bracelets, romance. A few of these scenes deserve a special look.
NBC’s The Voice is all like “he’s the man,” and the man is all like “I’m wearing bracelets!” But then the arrow was all like “this is cuter than puppies!”
You’re right, jugs would have been too much. Now let me slide all up on you as we reenact a tender real life moment over a couple bottles of wine. Mmmm my precious Chardonnay.
YOU’RE GONNA BUY YOUR FUCKIN LIQUOR AT ON THE ROX! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? NEITHER OF YOU LOOK AT ME! THERE’S NOTHING EVEN IN THAT BAG! FUCK!
Hopefully, if you’re musically inclined like Mozart and a couple of the Village People, you sang every word of this to the tune of the On the Rox jingle. If you plan on buying liquor again, I’ll see you at On the Rox.
Jason and fashion. Two words that go together so well, they kind of almost rhyme. When you’re a fashion icon, your choice of clothing influences a ton of people or some kind of bullshit like that. But when you’re an average slob like me, you can wear whatever the fuck you want. Even to work. Alright, maybe not work if you still want it to be a place that you go.
Let me model some beautiful shit for you. JASON FASHION TAKEOVER.
Are you a dude? Have you ever been on a boat? Well then you’re qualified to wear this shirt. Convince some stupid rich girl with a yacht that you’re her special little sailor boy and KABLOWJIE! You’re getting blown off shore every weekend!
Custom made and handcrafted from the hair fibers of extinct Ice Age mammals, this one of a kind sweater will wow people everywhere that wear clothes. An artist was specially commissioned to create a future vision of me, which you see on the left; smoking a pipe in teal sweatpants on a fishing trip. I’ve never smoked a pipe and I could give two fucks about fishing, but dreams come true in pants so tealy blue. I’m not sure what that means either.
Made from tiny bits of constellations, staring directly into the pants will cause erotic visions of shooting stars every time you close your eyes. A verified cousin of the Star Spangled Banner, the next time one of my pick up lines includes something about having a star spangled crotch, it won’t even be a lie. Only one t-shirt could ever accent pants so galactic and you see it here. If you want to dress like me, hopefully you’re not one of those pussies that’s afraid of clowns.
The finest in mens formal evening wear. This jacket was designed by someone who ate too much 1980s for breakfast and threw the decade up all over some flashy, electric blue fabric for lunch. The multi-colored tassels help give you that Macho Man-on-Ecstasy-at-the-Oscars vibe. If you ever needed proof that you can’t overdose on high class, this is it.
All garments featured here are available for worship by fashionistas around the world.