This is better than coffee (metaphorically speaking)

-Jonesy

"Worst Commute Ever."

Some old footage of us goofing around in Nebraska. Co-starring Brian Vogler. Original direction, cinematography, costume, wardrobe, craft service by Jeremy Kruse.

-J&W

Breaking News: Actual Footage from Jonesy's Failed Tryout for the U.S. Olympic "Dream Team"

-J&W

Seriously. I realize it's only July ... but I already know what I want for Christmas and it's this t-shirt...

I wear a Child's 5XL.

-Jonesy

Tales Of The West: Manzo Jerky

Courtesy of Felonland Films.

-J&W

Great company. Great product. Questionable casting. :-)

Most patient film crew ever. This only took me 87.5 takes.


-Jonesy

Waaaaait a minute ... no one ever told me Enya was HOT!!!

Perhaps it's because I've spent my entire life running away from her complete body of work. But I really had no idea she was this striking. So here is my open love letter to Enya:

Dear Enya,

Even though when I hear your music I suddenly feel like I am trapped for eternity inside a flaming elevator of terror filled with itchy wool sweaters as it plummets at a speed of Mach 2 down a shaft of razorblades and acid two-thousand floors through the Earth's crust, past the mantle, before splashing down in a boiling cauldron of Satan's urine the day after the Super Bowl....would you like to have dinner sometime?

Owner Of A Lonely Heart,

Jonesy

"Truth In Advertising"

A classic video. Submitted by my dad. :-)



-Jonesy

Suck it, King George III

Nice hat, ass.

Happy Birthday, America.


-J&W

I was just told that I was under-qualified to work at a fireworks stand.

Well, chalk up another strike-out for this batter. I was so confident that I had nailed that 2nd interview too. I suppose it’s my own fault. I wasn’t as prepared as I thought I was. I think my first mistake was when I accidentally addressed the interviewer as “Dave”. Turns out his name is “Dale” and I had written it down wrong in my notes. He said to me: “Mister Jones, I did not earn the title of Senior Vice President, Director of Human Resources here at Dixie’s Explosion Barn ... only to have people like yourself get my name wrong.”

I can’t say that I blame him. But I think he was going to at least let it slide. After all, he seemed to like my resume. I had no prior felonies. He was impressed that I knew Powerpoint. But then it happened. That one part of the interview that we all dread…

“Name THREE types of fireworks you would use to describe yourself and why."

Oh god.

I paused for a moment and answered with the following…

1) Whistling Bottle Rocket – “a typical day for me usually consists of a high-pitched ear-splitting shriek followed by a quick unsatisfying climax”

2) Smoke Bomb – “cheap, boring, and smells like egg farts”

3) Sparkler – “completely flaming and loved by four-year-olds”


So, I really don’t see where I could have messed up.

Oh well. There’s always next year I guess.

-Jonesy

Jonesy's 80s Music Video "Cliffs Notes" - Issue #1

Tom Petty - You Got Lucky

We open up in a fictional post-Apocalyptic setting that, oddly, looks a lot like Barstow, CA.

The producers spared no expense with the special effects budget as we see Petty and guitarist Mike Campbell pull to a stop on the side of a rural highway driving what appears to be... a bar of soap.

Soon after, the rest of the Heartbreakers arrive... riding a oddly phallic crotch-rocket w/ side car. Of course, they are all dressed in “futuristic” clothing which apparently in 1982 means … wearing Old West clothes that may or may not resemble 1986. Yeah, I’m confused too.

Anyway, jumping ahead... The gang enters a time capsule made from discarded trash bags where they discover an array of “relic” audio/video equipment. Did I mention there is a fully functional disco ball inside too?

Blah blah blah… someone wins at a slot machine… Petty plays Donkey Kong... then Campbell steals a guitar and the video is over.

Jonesy’s 80s Video Rating: 6.5 out of 10

Have you ever just had one of those days?

-Jonesy & Wayne

If you could bottle the feeling these soldiers had in their stomachs at :55 ...you'd have a good idea of how I feel for about 7 hours every day

-Jonesy

Under Seige 3: Old Country Buffet

"Are there any more cornbread muffins in the back .... punk?"


-Jonesy

Oh. My. God.

Summer of '87 was without a doubt the fashion tipping-point for the male siblings of the Jones family.

Behind that proud smile, my father is crying inside...fearful that his two sons would be forever scarred by their decision to choose their own wardrobe.

I don't quite recall the functional purpose of my lone black glove. Perhaps it was to grip a baseball bat in defense of the certain pummeling that would no doubt come to anyone wearing a bunny-rabbit-adorned purple tank-top and yellow shorts.

Thank you, Polaroid. You have both preserved my fondest memories and haunted me forever. :-)

-Jonesy

Where the heck are all the jackasses willing to hurl themselves over Niagra Falls inside a barrel when you really need one?

That’s the boost the world needs right now. Are there simply no more heroes? What happened to the go-getting American/Canadian daredevils from days of old? Where’s that North American pride? Alas, I suppose my heart will forever remain in 1985.

I'd do it but I'm kind of claustrophobic.


-Jonesy

Sh*tty Popsicles.

Man, leave it to me to return home from the store with the ONE brand of sh*tty Popsicles. How is this even possible? How do you screw up a Popsicle? There is only one thing easier to make than a Popsicle. And that's ice. Seriously. Right now there is some rogue manufacturing facility churning out thousands and thousands of cases a day of sh*tty Popsicles. Why are we letting this happen? I'm quite certain the Chinese are even more emboldened with their position as the world's superpower now that they have seen the Unites States' horrific Popsicle-making track record.

First of all, I'll admit... I truly had no idea there were that many choices for Popsicles. But there I was standing in front of the freezer-case at Grocery Barn staring a feet, nay, yards of popsicliness.

Perhaps my first mistake was choosing the brand that was on sale. Momma taught me well. But it's a Popsicle for crying out loud. There shouldn't even be a quality scale here. It should be a blind choice with a unanimous outcome ... yummy.

So, here I am trying choke down this thing. Aw, man, the paper wrapper won't come off! Yay, I just love the taste of lime and wood pulp. This is lime isn't it?

It can't be. It tastes like how my dentist's office smells.

Ugh.

And I can't just throw them away... ya know, because of the ants.

-Jonesy

Segways. So what the hell happened there?

There is absolutely nothing cool about this whatsoever.

-Jonesy

Summer Camp … grooming right-wing militia children for decades

I can remember that day vividly. It was an unseasonably mild Saturday in June of 1987. Sitting in the backseat of my father’s conversion van as we roared through the peaks and valleys of the Ozark Mountains. I was excited, focused, and petrified all at once. Seven miles away from my first experience at a religiously-sanctioned summer camp. Will my cabin be too humid at night? What kind of rations will be provided at chow time? Will any girls even talk to me? These are the usual questions that race through a young lad’s mind on his way to his first overnight adventure away from home.

But my situation was different.

Approximately three months earlier I had received a phone call at home. I remember it was late in the evening because we had just finished eating dinner and were gathering in front of the television to watch Falcon Crest. My parents felt it strange for a 10-year-old to receive a phone call so late in the evening. And I agreed. But I took the call.

“Can you find a safe room to talk in private?” the deep male voice asked on the other end. “Um, okay” I replied. Crouched inside the kitchen pantry with the phone up to my ear, I listened. The man went on to introduce himself as Colt “Bruce” McMasterson, a senior-level agent with the Bureau Of Alcohol, Tobacco, & Firearms.

I was being recruited. My country needed me. I have no idea to this day how they found me. I’m thinking it was probably that subscription for the Sweet Pickles book series I placed through school. Regardless, my name was pulled from the hat. I was drafted.

“We need you to go undercover and infiltrate the Blessed Rock Christian Bible Summer Camp. We have reason to believe they are conducting domestic terrorism training operations within their compound. The only way we can determine for sure is to put a man on the inside to gather intelligence. That’s why we need you.”

“Uhhh.” I replied.

“You will be deployed in June. We’ll fax you the dossier in the meantime.”

“Fax? What the hell is a fax?” I stammered.

“Good point. Okay we’ll mail it to you instead.” Bruce barked.

So, flash-forward back to that June day. I wave goodbye to my parents and immediately start prepping myself for the mission of a lifetime. The week I spent at the summer camp is pretty much a blur. The constant paranoia of being “outed” as spy created a steady flow of adrenaline that pretty much wiped out my memory. But thankfully my notes from which I compiled my report are still intact. I found them in a box up in my Mom’s attic along with my lone soccer trophy (Most Punctual Player).

Here’s the breakdown:

Day One: making friends within the “Buckaroos” cabin isn’t going to be easy. Most of the other kids are friendly, but I feel a power struggle building under the surface. Some kid’s mom packed him a few boxes of Fruit Roll-Ups. He’s going to be hard to take down. My bunk smells like vanilla milkshake and fart.

Day Two: my first real day of activity observation and the leaders wasted no time in jumping right into the heavy stuff. Two full hours on the archery range. There is definitely a decent level of talent here. One scrawny kid was in tears claiming that he wasn’t strong enough to pull the string back on the bow. But I think he’s hiding something.

Day Three: horseback riding. I find strange some of the names of these horses: “Buttercup”, “Thunder”, “Falwell”, “Crossburn”, and “Incest.”

Day Four: during our regular post-dinner assembly, the camp leaders instruct us to repeat and series a melodic chants over and over again. A form of brainwashing no doubt. I’m fairly certain that John Jacob Jingleheimer-Schmidt is someone they want us to kill.

Day Five: marksmanship. Now they are just being brazen about their intentions. The talent level again is off the charts. I’m fairly certain the Pope is going to be assassinated by barrage of pellet fire.

Day Six: I had wicked diarrhea today. Never left cabin. Nothing to report.

Day Seven: it rained today, so the entire camp participated in arts & crafts … or Bomb-making 101, as I like to call it. Like a factory full of sweatshop workers we were instructed on the multiple uses for sharp objects and chemical adhesives.

Day Eight: my last full day of activities before camp ends. Those of us who have earned the trust of the leaders were trained in a most lucrative skill. Bumper boats. I’m pretty sure this is how the world is going to end. For two solid hours we learned how to operate and effectively ram each other with motorized inner tubes. The bumper boats created potential lethal killing machines in all of us. It’s possible these devices will be dispersed throughout the globe strapped with explosives with the goal of destroying anything in their path. I fear for the safety of our sailors.

The next morning my parents arrived to pick me up. I looked back over my shoulder as we departed the camp. I was relieved that my mission was over and that I somehow survived. I was proud of my patriotism, and scared for the future.

I never did figure out what caused that diarrhea.

-Jonesy

Jonesy ponders his "Bacon Threshold".

Quite often when I’m passing the time with friends and neighbors, the chit-chatty small-talk almost always finds its way to the subject of The End Of The World or The Destruction Of Mankind As We Know It. I mean, what can I say? I’m definitely a glass half-full kind of guy … but that glass is usually half-full of hobo urine.

There is usually a point during these conversations where I find myself rolling my eyes in disdain as I’m listening to someone go on and on about “what they would do if they only had one day left to live … one single day left on this planet.” Believe me, I’ve heard it all. How you would have sex with as many supermodels in 24 hours as you possibly could. Sure. Let me know how that works out for you. Will you be wearing that same flip-flops/white socks combo when you woo these ladies? Or here’s another one I love… “I would seek forgiveness from those who I’ve wronged and tell everyone I know that I love them. That way I can perish in peace.” Blow me, Gandhi.

What would I do if I only had one single day left of my life before it was all gone? For me, the answer is quite simple.

I would finally determine my bacon threshold.

Let me explain. I love bacon. That’s certainly not unheard of. It is quite tasty. But I really love bacon. So much so that at times I have wondered just how much bacon I could consume in one sitting. Believe me, I’ve been tempted. But of course the same variables always hold me back. Too much of anything can’t be good for you, right? Maybe I will get violently sick? Maybe I would go into immediate cardiac arrest? Sure, perhaps. But at exactly what point would all of this occur? This is a question I have pondered since my first BLT. Three pounds? Ten pounds?

I imagine a scenario playing out like this…

The streets are on fire. A wall of chaos and hysteria is raining down upon the Earth. People running everywhere. Looting. Rioting. Total Armageddon.

And there I will stand in my kitchen gazing peacefully out the window as the world ends. Wearing my favorite “May The Forks Be With You” apron. Before me on the table sits a Matterhorn-sized pile of pork bellies. I will stretch, take a few deep breathes and I will eat. And smile. And then I will eat some more. And when I am finished I will kneel gently down on the floor. And I will pray ... that Hell does indeed have indoor plumbing.

-Jonesy

I feel no shame in taking a 3-year-old's money.

My niece wanted to get in on a little NCAA tournament pool action. I was happy to oblige. Easiest twenty bucks I've ever made. Here's her bracket. I'm totally going to smoke her ass.

-Jonesy

"20 Questions"

This is quite possibly the dumbest game ever. Whoever invented it is stupid and I hate their stupid face.

-Jonesy

So, apparently we're NOT doing Hands Across America today???

Ha. Freakin’. Ha. Verrrry funny, everyone. I was standing out there in the middle of the street … in the bitter cold … for about two hours with my arms slightly elevated to my sides … and NO ONE ELSE SHOWED UP. Thanks a lot! And on my lunch hour too! Maybe you get a good chuckle out of taking advantage of people like me. People who give and give and are always willing to lend …yes, a f*ckin HAND so that we may link ourselves across this great nation of ours in the name of some charity or whatever. But now? Now, I am going to think long and hard before getting involved. I’m learning that there are some who are quick to mock my generosity and gullibility. First, it was WEAR BIKE-SHORTS TO WORK DAY in support of breast cancer research, which I quickly and painfully realized is a tradition that does not exist. Nor does PUNCH-A-COP FOR BOSNIA. Maybe I’m to blame here. Maybe I just care too much and refuse to believe that anyone would joke and prank when it comes to being a good philanthropist. I hope you are all happy. I hope you had your laughs and snickers and guffaws at my expense. But it will take a lot more than that to keep me down!

-Jonesy

P.S. – At this point I don’t know if this weekend’s STREAK-ACROSS-O’HARE-RUNWAY for Autism Research is legit or not. But I will be there. As promised.

Jonesy's Top 5 Favorite Songs Written To Raise Money For A Cause And That Were Sung By A Bunch Of Celebrities

Global Warming. Whales. Ethiopians.

There have been many great causes during my lifetime. And for me personally there hasn't been any better way to voice one's concerns and bring people's attention to an issue than a good ol' rootin' tootin' gathering of miscellaneous singers and celebrities to record a song that Quincy Jones probably had written while taking his morning constitution. So here now are my Top 5 All Time Picks for Best Songs Written To Raise Money For A Cause And That Were Sung By A Bunch Of Celebrities...including title of song and cast list of singers...


#5 "USA for Canada"
(Moby, Mike Meyers, Willie Nelson, Eddie Vedder, Los Lobos, Lebron James, Kermit The Frog, Keenan Ivory Wayans)

#4 "Free The Duluth Twelve"
(Pointer Sisters, Sting, Slash, Andy Dick, Regis Philbin, Moby, Cher, Ted Danson, David Allan Coe)

#3 "Lemon Aid"
(Moby)

#2 "Mmmuhmuhmmuhmuhmusicians Against Stuttering"
(Jason Priestly, Hall, Tito Jackson, Waylon Jennings, Oates, Bob Geldof, Phil Collins)

#1 "Fuck Tibet"
(Run DMC, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Vince Neil, Steve Perry, Kenny G, Charo, Moby's uncle)

Maybe someone will listen next time...

Can we finally admit that the "Cavemen" idea was never funny to begin with? The GEICO commercials sucked, so therefore, it's quite obviously that any franchise raping of this lame character is going to be equally awful. Whether it be a sitcom, feature film, pop album. Whatever. It all sucks. Let's admit the failure and allow it to disappear from our lives. Thank you.

-Jonesy

P.S. - I mean can't we light Michael Jackson's hair on fire again? Now that was good advertising.

What The World Needs Now Is Another Celebrity To Get Hit In The Face By A Bird.

This was the greatest day of my life.

-Jonesy

Jonesy's Saint Valentine's Day Massacre...

Two things are quite evident.

1) I have problems.

2) I need a good woman to straighten me out now more than ever.

Unfortunately, Florence Henderson still won't return my calls.

What Are We Going To Do About John Stamos?

"Ode To Noah"

I was rifling through some old files the other day and I came across a poem I had written for English class back in the Fall of '94. I didn't have many friends back then.

Beep beep blips the heart rate machine.

Much like my own heart pines for thee.

Rejoice! The wonder that is must see Thursday.

Wyle is the Noah, Wiley is the coyote.

Stat! Stat!

Bring hither the Ccs!

Morphine for my soul that longs to meet the man, the hair, the Carter.

Rejoice! Thy emmy awaits, reach out and taketh.

-Jonesy

The Rubber Chicken Of Inspiration

Someone at work didn't think I would create this Powerpoint presentation and then present it to the entire company during one of our meetings.  They were wrong.

-Jonesy

Wow. My Netflix queue is quite awesome and terrible.

I really wish I could remember my state of mind when this chunk of inspiration was created. Must have been out of meds that day. WTF???

-Jonesy

Everyone keeps telling me that retro-fashion is “in”. So, last night I wore my head gear from 3rd grade out to the bar...

And I gotta tell ya... I really felt like one of those catwalk supermodels they way everyone was staring at me slack-jawed. All eyes on me. What can I say? It felt good.

But, ya know, I'm sure it's going to get really lame when EVERYONE starts wearing their head gears. Before you know it... retainers, spit-guards, and any other orthodontic appliance you can think of is going to be flying off the shelf of every hipster thrift store in the U.S. And then probably Latin America a few years from now when they catch up to our trends.

But at least I can say I was there. Where it all started.

-Jonesy