Dear Levi:

This is open letter number two to you and it will be my last. I can’t believe that the sad state of our country even allows me to know your name; but it does, and in turn, I must waste my words on you.

I do have to give you props in one respect. Never in a million years had I thought that someone could make the Kardashians seem interesting to me, but you my chode-tastic friend have done just that. I don’t even dislike you that much anymore . . . that’s how unremarkable you’ve proven to be. It’s pretty comical how you keep trying anything to extend your 15-minutes but nobody cares. You’ve shopped around reality show after reality show to no avail. You’ve tried so hard to make controversial comments only to have them fall on deaf ears. You’re even attempting to run for office in Wasilla, Alaska and people are so disinterested in you that Levi Johnston is now officially the lowest polling person that “Public Policy Polling” has recorded in any state. A record previously held by John Edwards, a guy who “Tiger Woods’d” his cancer stricken wife and actually admitted to hoping she’d kick the bucket so he wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore. Yeah, you’re lower than someone who cheered FOR cancer. It’s kind of ridiculous if you think about it, you don’t even show up on the radar of people in your home state of Alaska, a place that’s barely even a state. Cancer has a better shot of winning that election than you do. At least people know what cancer is and they don’t have to be reminded every time its name comes up. “Levi who?”, “He’s that one kid who got Bristol Palin pregnant.” “Oh yeah, whatever”.

I’m just going to offer you some advice if you hope to continue your publicity search. Become interesting! I know, it’s probably hard seeing as you have the personality of a mothball and the smarts of Trig Palin but if you have any hope of capturing the public’s attention you’ve got to do something other than remain as tragically average as you are. I get it; you don’t have and never will have a talent for anything other than hunting and nailing white-trash women. You’re Alaskan, that’s what you guys do! Do a show about that and quit acting like you’ve got something of value to offer society. You don’t. Just embrace you’re unintelligent, uninteresting, unexceptional existence and try to capitalize on that. Jerry Springer made millions off of appealing to the redneck, idiot sect of America. That’s your audience, focus less on trying to convince this country that the name Levi Johnston is synonymous with anything BUT unwanted pregnancy and guns and just go with it. You’re Levi Johnston, king of the trailer park. Crack open a tallboy High Gravity, get hammered and accidentally shoot your friend in the ass. God bless ‘Merica! We all know that the only think you’re good at is being bad at condoms, so quit the farce. Until then, continue to be the completely disinteresting vegetable we’ve grown to become insanely apathetic about.

Sincerely,

Jubal

P.S. I can’t even think of a clever “P.S.” because that’s how little care about you.

Dear Lindsay,

Orale you finally got locked up ay? Good for you homegirl, now you’re down! I hope you’re adjusting to life in pen, it’s pretty fun huh? I’ll always remember the first time I got locked up, it still brings a tear to my eye… mostly because that’s when I got my first teardrop tattoo. But anyways now that you’re down we gotta make sure that you get your respeto! Don’t let any of those big lesbian hynas push you around ay. If you show fear the next thing you know you’ll be crying yourself to sleep on some big sweaty chicas chest pillows ay. What I mean is your face is gonna be buried in her tits whether you like it or not homegirl! You don’t want to end up being somebody’s bitch. Trust me ay, my primo had his shit pushed in before and he’s never been the same. Don’t get me wrong, I know that when it comes to dining, you prefer eating out, but I’m just saying you gotta be the one to do the choosing ay.

Real quick I wanted to give you a couple tips on how to survive when you’re locked up.

1 – Sharpen your toothbrush. Serio girl start right away. Rub it on the ground until it becomes pointy. Now you have yourself a shank.

2 – Once you have made your toothbrush shank you need to practice this line (this should be easy for you since you are an actress. Well, kind of an actress. Well okay, a really bad actress. But still, try it anyway: “What are you lookeen at bitch, you don’t know me! I’ll shank you in the back ay!”. Practice, practice, practice. You’re gonna need to say that a lot for sure.

3 – Always eat with your arms real close to your sides ay. That way nobody can sneak up beside you and shank you in the side. Also when you’re eating and you spill some mash potatoes on your chin, don’t lick it off… it’ll give the other clam-munchers in there ideas ay.

4 – Get a tattoo homegirl. I know you have a few, but the ones you have are stupid ay. You need something gangster like a “smile now, cry later” on your chest. Or maybe a classic teardrop. Or a tattoo of the Virgin Mary stabbing some fool who was talking trash. Basically you need something to let people know you ain’t no punk ay.

5 – Give up your stupid attempts at pop music, and start rapping. Now that you’ve got a ghetto pass you need to use it. Start spitting rhymes about how hard life is behind bars and how when you get out, all you’re gonna do is get high make it rain on them hoes.

6 – You should also learn from the other cholas in there ay and start doing your makeup differently. Shave off your eyebrows and start drawing them on, you know so you look surprised/angry all the time. It would also be a good idea to use an eyeliner pencil to draw your lips on so you look like a hood version of Betty Boop.

7 – Give yourself a gangster nickname. Something simple like “La Freckles”, “La Skanky”, “La Sometimes I like Chicks and Sometimes I Like Dudes “La Doesn’t Deserve To Be A Celebrity”, “La My Career Died After Herbie Fully Loaded”. You get it, something that represents yourself.

Well chica you keep your head up and sleep with one eye open okay. You’ll be alright and if you end up getting stabbed and going to that big whorehouse in the sky, don’t worry about it… you’ll be doing us all a favor anwyways.

Alrato,

Little Puppet

P.S. I hope you smuggled enough crack in your butt.

Dear Lindsay:

You’re no doubt hold up in a crack den somewhere right now frantically trying to chisel your SCRAM anklet off by taking hacks at it with one of your $3,000 designer stilettos, pausing only briefly to suck on that glass dick and exclaim to the world that your haters should just “let you live”. I get it my freckled strumpet, I get it. I used to put myself in that group of people that you’d refer to as a “hater”. I was one of those people who was always like “Lindsay needs to check herself because if she keeps partying like this she’s headed toward an early grave”… how naïve of me. I apologize. I realize now that you, your mom and your hangers-on are correct. You’re not in trouble; you’re just a normal A-list (wow, that’ may be the first time I’ve written something and legitimately ROFLed) twenty-something who’s just misunderstood. All you’re really doing on a nightly basis is blowing off steam from a stressful workday right? (Oh wow, make that real life ROFL number 2!).

I’m writing you this letter to inform you that I am done ridiculing you. That’s right, no more cracks about how I’d rather have sex with a box of razors than experience you carnally. No more jokes about you getting in scissor fights with Samantha Ronson. I’m retiring any reference to you and that cornucopia of STD’s that you call a vagina. I’m officially done ripping you. That’s right Lindsay; I’ve changed my tune. Now I just want to party with you. You see, I enjoy going out, getting belligerent and making bad decisions and, up until this point I thought I was a pro. Obviously I’ve been sadly mistaken and I want to learn from you, the Jedi mistress of crapulent malfeasance. Teach me how to take a budding movie career and flush it down the toilet like it were an empty coke baggy in a nightclub bathroom while laying the responsibility on everyone else. Taking ownership of one’s shortcomings is so last decade, let’s just do all the drugs and blame “US Weekly”! I want you to show me the ropes. My partying days although lengthy haven’t been nearly as exciting as yours. I’ve only been in two or three bloody hotel lobby brawls. I’ve NEVER had a good enough time to steal a car with three people inside of it and drunkenly chase down my assistant at speeds upwards of 100 miles per hour. There’s only been one occasion I can remember where I taunted and threw vodka glasses at my DJ ex-girlfriend’s dome. Teach me! I want to know it all, even that bowling ball through the water hose trick I’ve heard so much about. The best part about partying with you? I’ll NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER get in any trouble! I don’t know how you do it Linds, you’re BARELY a celebrity anymore, and have all the social graces of a schizophrenic homeless lady with a bad case of poop Tourette’s, but somehow the law is still so impressed with you that you’ll not in your life see the inside of a jail cell or a successful rehab clinic. It would be amazing to party without any repercussions. So yeah, give me a call because I need to party with you before you DO see the inside of a casket.

Love,
Jubal

P.S. Yes, I said poop Tourrette’s.

I’ve posted a couple things about it but haven’t officially devoted a blog to it. So, here it is… my new DVD “Parlor Tricks” is done and ready for sale (CLICK HERE). It’s 45 minutes of hilarity filmed at the Parlor Live in Bellevue, WA. I’m really proud of this and know that you’ll enjoy it. When you buy it and watch it, send me a review. I’m interested in your feedback, good or bad. Send me a note when you get it and I’ll sign it for you… who knows I might even throw in a pair of my used undies.

Here’s a short teaser for it:

Thanks to everyone who was involved in getting this DVD done: The Parlor Live, Joel Telling, the people who paid to see me and of course my dad for not pulling out.

P.S. Chase Roper, a writer for punchlinemagazine.com and a very funny guy himself will be reviewing it at some point (basically when I get off my lazy ass and send it to him.) Be on the lookout for that, unless the review sucks then I won’t mention anything about it.

I Love You,

Jubal

Here’s the newest episode of the Big Nutz Show with myself and Nate Jackson! Become a friend of ours on Podomatic.com!

Here’s the newest episode of the Big Nutz Show with myself and Nate Jackson! Become a friend of ours on Podomatic.com!

SURE FIRE PICK-UP LINE

So the other day I came up with a great pick-up line. It is sure to get me the ladies, here’s how it will go:

INT NEIGHBORHOOD BAR – NIGHT

JUBAL, walks up to hot girl waiting to order a drink.

JUBAL: Hey, I bet I can read your lips.

HOT GIRL: Oh really?

JUBAL: Yup, I’ll bet you a drink.

HOT GIRL: Okay.

JUBAL: Oh, I forgot to mention that I only read Braille.

JUBAL, stares her in the eye while plopping a finger between her legs and rubbing it back and forth.

JUBAL: AND, I didn’t specify lips. Want to go back to my place?

HOT GIRL: Absolutely you sweet talker you, absolutely.

See what I mean! Ladies, if you’re reading this I know you’re turned on. Don’t worry, if I spot you at the bar this weekend I’ll be sure to use it on you.

YOUTUBE HAS RUINED PARENTS

Normally I’m not the one to bash technology and the Internet (hell you’re reading my blog). I do have one problem with Youtube though. It has made parents DICKS! I remember back when I was a young boy and I’d be upset about something my mother would comfort me… no matter how ridiculous my fit was. If I was scared and in tears because I thought something was under my bed, my sweet mother would tell me “everything is going to be okay”. If I was in distress and disoriented because I’d had my teeth pulled my father would simply try to squash my incoherent ramblings by getting me back to sleep. Nowadays though when a kid freaks out, what’s the first thing a parent does? They don’t offer help, they give no shoulder to cry on, THEY GRAB THEIR VIDEO CAMERA! Exploiting your children for Youtube views… the real way to show you care. I don’t know how many videos I’ve seen of some kid freaking out and the mom and dad are heard chuckling in the background. “Look at that little bitch cry, he’s gonna get at least 100,000 hits!”. If I were a parent these days I’d just start punching my kid in the jaw and then rolling tape. Why? Because NOTHING is more important than receiving a few fleeting moments of attention on the Webernet. Good job Mr./Mrs. Parent of 2010. You are A-holes.

CRACKHEADS & DEMONS

I was at the comedy club a while back. I was at the bar with some friends after the show. We were enjoying a few cocktails and some laughs when all of a sudden this haggard woman plopped down beside us. She stayed slumped for a minute then turned to us and said, “I’m drunk” (except it sounded more like I jjjjjroooonks). We looked and laughed, but kept on with our conversation. She then added “I’m also on crack and the POlice just took my crack pipe”… okay, now THAT deserved a response. I asked her to explain. She went on to regale us with a story that made absolutely no sense. From what I could surmise, the POlice pulled her over, asked her to get out of the car and then stole her car and her crack pipe (what do you want from me, she was high and apparently cops like to take crack pipes). Something was clearly off in her story. I have a sneaking suspicion that if you were drunk and high on crack when getting pulled over, you’d be going to jail. Her story, albeit entertaining is not the point I want to discuss. What I do want to say is that DON’T EVER ENGAGE IN A CONVERSATION WITH A CRACKHEAD! They are the poltergeists of the drug world. Once you invite them in, they never, never, never leave. The only difference between a poltergeist and a crackhead (other than functioning organs and a human body)? At least you can exercise a demon. Crackheads on the other hand will stay around you until you’re forced to either leave the bar or break into a dead sprint… crackies don’t run very fast. It was fun at first, but she wouldn’t leave. She kept talking about stuff; I still have no idea what, just stuff. Eventually we all had to get up and leave. The crackhead stayed behind and as we left I could see her walking back and forth looking for another conversation to haunt. Scarrrry.

HOLY JESUS GOD IN HEAVEN PANTS, CIARA IS HOT

I put this on my Facebook account earlier this week, but WOW. All I can say is WOW. Watch it, I don’t care if you’re a woman… this will give you a boner. DO, WANT!

RUSSELL 2.0??

Here’s a picture of Russell Brand and me. Two things; 1- When a very small guy takes a picture with a very tall guy it’s confusing for where the small guy should put his arm… obviously the shoulder isn’t an option. In this picture I chose the awkward hip grip, it felt really strange grabbing another man this way. What was even stranger was the erection I got. 2 – All day people kept saying we look alike (me, a lot smaller obviously), what do you think? I don’ see it. Also, if we DO look alike then I’ve got another great Hollywood remake idea. Russell and I remake the 1988 classic Twins starring Arnold Scwharzenegger and Danny DeVito. Well, I guess the irony in that movie was the two looked nothing alike. How about this; someone write a movie where Russell and I play brothers… of any sort… or coworkers… or baseball players… basically I just want to be in a movie. It doesn’t even matter if it Russell’s involved.

I think that’s it for this week. Have a great weekend,

–Jubal

Dear Snooki:

Sorry to hear that you broke up with your boyfriend. How he could want to cheat on a gem like you escapes me. I’ve enjoyed watching you bounce about the Jersey Shore for a while now and wanted to express that if you need a shoulder, (or more appropriately due to your size, a thigh) to cry on I’m here. Obviously that dude was a douche-magoosh… because, let’s face it, what other kind of guy would you date? In hopes of catching your beady little eye I’ve started pumping iron, went tanning and have done hella laundry (all of which was Ed Hardy by the way).

Why do I want to date you so badly? Well, there are a few reasons. First, I’m short. A teensy little guy, but next to you I’d look enormous. If we hooked up it would be the first time I felt like a man! You see, because of my size I’ve toyed around with dating someone who is even more vertically challenged than myself but midgets just don’t turn me on. I could definitely make an acceptation in your case though. That brings me to my second attraction for you, cheap fame. I, much like your last meathead boyfriend am an attention whore (hey, at least I’m not trying to hide it). I’d love to exploit your newly founded fame for my own personal gain! I could hang around on the set and hit every MTV executive up for my own reality show; it would be awesome. Although if they gave it to me I’d probably dump you for a WNBA player. If I didn’t get a television program I could simply follow you around and be featured on sites such as TMZ and Perezhilton.com. That would be fine; as long as I was enjoying some sort of spotlight I’d be happy.

The third and most important reason why I want to be your man is the following. Since watching Avatar I’ve been looking for a woman of color. Not a Hispanic or an African American, been there, done that. No, I want a real woman of color, a sweet lady with a hue of green, blue or in your case orange. That’s right, I love orange bitches (they’re second only to gigantic aqua colored hotties like Neytiri). My affinity for itsy-bitsy orange chicks stems from childhood. This might be an over share, but Garfield has always made me extremely horny and you are a LOT like Garfield. Think about it, you’re short, orange, rebellious and Italian, which means you LOVE lasagna. To recap, Garfield is a little orange pussy and I’d love to get my hands on yours. I could be the John Arbuckle to your Garfield. You’re already very good at being lazy and lying around the house and I’m a hard worker. I could leave for my job very early, after baking a fresh batch of lasagna of course and you could spend all day plotting a way to scale the oven in order to snag a piece. You’d eventually be successful and eat the whole pan (which, judging from your FUPA shouldn’t be a problem) and when I got home from a long day to discover you lounging in the empty dish I’d punish you. Yes, I’m talking about in the bedroom. We’d make passionate love while I scolded you for eating all the pasta, if you’re lucky I’ll even let Odie watch. Think about it and give me a call, or just tap me on the shin someday and say hi. Until then my tangerine-esque sweet; I’ll continue reading “An Idiot’s Guide to Being a D-Bag” while perfecting my lasagna recipe.

Love,
Jubal
P.S. You also resemble an Oompa Loompa, a little “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” role playing might be in order too. Gym, tan, laundry.

***CONGRATS TO NATE, WINNER OF THE 24TH ANNUAL BAY AREA BLACK COMEDY COMPETITION***

Here’s the newest episode of the Big Nutz Show with myself and Nate Jackson! These go up every Sunday. You really should subscribe so you can get it as soon as it goes up, I’m lame. Hit it up on Podomatic each Sunday to get it right away.

Here’s a picture of a 10-foot-tall crucifix that is hung (literally and figuratively) at a Catholic church in Oklahoma. There’s always been the debate that Jesus was actually Middle-Eastern or black, THIS depiction proves that he was definitely a black man. That thing is HUUUUGE! No wonder he had so many people screaming “Oh God”! Ch-ch-checkit.

–Jubal