A List of my Various Accomplishments

As my time draws near, I have come to see just how proud all of you should be of me. Over the past few years I have done incredible good for the world. From the plaque of me outside the Burger King on Fulton Street in Brooklyn (Who said I couldn’t eat Jackie Gleason’s weight in ketchup packets?) to the small village on the outskirts of Timbuktu that bears the name “Jason City: A Division of the CHUD Group” I have inspired and conspired against a lot of people. In the spirit of the New Year I am here to list my top 10 accomplishments so far.

10. Building a house made completely out of cardboard in Spokane,WA.
09. That brief six month period where I could control the size of Barbara Walters’ hair with my mind. Had my new found ability not run its course she was to be signed on for the lead role in the smash remake of “Hair Spray”
08. Shaving advertisements into my chest hair. My nipples bled to the point where hospitalization was needed after I tried to shave the theatrical poster for “The Mummy:Tomb of the Dragon Emperor” into my chest.
07. Saving a group of nuns from a burning bus and replacing them with gasoline soaked criminals.
06. That variety hour I did with Carol Burnett that aired on Al-Jazeera. The headlines the next day read “TV Legend Beaten To Death For Showing Ankle; Serafino Does It Again”
05. My impromptu sword fight with Dan Rather.
04. Discovering America’s long lost 51st state, “Maine II”
03. Making a pair of pants made out of recycled garbage for the homeless as a part of my charity, “Lets fuck around with hobos”
02. Going back in time and pushing Abe Lincoln in front of John Wilkes Booth’s bullet that was meant for the actor on stage that was sleeping with his wife.
01. Creating a new sport, “Ragball” The sport where I ball up ether soaked rags and throw them at female joggers down by Overpeck Park.

The Shallow End

Some people call me shallow. Perhaps it is because I broke up with a girl because she used phrase “It is what it is” or the time I left a girl at the movies after her stomach made a gurgling noise that was very similar to what Muddy Waters would sound like if a Volkswagen Passat had just run over his foot. In my defense, that isn’t being shallow. That’s being smart.

Women with tiny imperfections are one thing. But, fundamental flaws can’t be tolerated in a mate. Do you really want to date a woman that clogs up your Tivo with “Grey’s Anatomy” reruns or considers Jenifer Aniston a good actress? No. Even cavemen were picky (You know what they say about a woman with a thick brow.)

Think of it this way, no man goes to a Honda dealership and picks the car two flat tires, broken windows and bad breath. Men want the car with a sexy CD player, voluptuous rims and, of course, a tight tailpipe. So why would hardworking men date the first staggering hag that stumbles into their bed? Practice. If we use that logic for cars then why not for women too?

The truth of the matter is this: there are no shallow men just smart consumers. In fact, most men shop for women with the same vigilance that most people use to shop for produce (they always check to make sure the melons aren’t too soft.)

Have you ever noticed that gorgeous women never complain about shallow guys? It always happens to be the She-Ogres (those women who eat their weight in breadsticks at dinner and then proceed to quote “10 Things I Hate About You” all night) who get stuck with the “shallow” guys. The only man who should ever put a ring on their hooves is Frodo. So they can disappear.

Listen, I’m not here to be the bad guy. I’m simply here to say that just because a man dumps a girl because she sprouted some lip fuzz doesn’t make him shallow. It makes him normal. Do you think that girls haven’t done the same to me? A receding hairline, salty demeanor and the feint odor of Honey Smacks that permeates my body doesn’t exactly leave me with many dating options on a Friday night.

So basically dating boils down to this: repeated rejections from better looking people until you latch onto a partner for insurance benefits. Dating: you start at the top and slowly work your way towards the bottom to find success.

“It is what it is”

The Immortal Jason Serafino

Friends, family, well wishers and those who secretly hate me: I have some very good news for you. I am never going to die. Now I know what you may be thinking, “Jason. You eat a child’s weight in fried food every day and then wash it down with a liter of malt liquor. What makes you believe that you are immortal?”

That’s the thing. I’m an awful person. Just plain awful. If I had a German accent I would be a perfect villain for a future “Die Hard” sequel (Titled “Die Hard 5: Bruce Wills’ Alimony Payments Just Went Up”)

But just like hair metal trail-blazer Jon Bon Jovi once said, “Only the good die young.” That means I get off scot-free. All of the time I spent mocking the blind, literally stealing candy from babies and encouraging war between neighboring South American villages has finally paid off.

See in this deliciously ironic world that we live in you’re better off being completely malicious than trying to help your fellow man. Why? Because terrible people live well into their twilight years. Why do you think all old men are crotchety old cooks? They are the survivors. They are the people who have been nasty their whole life and are now living it up well into their 80s (Lengendary actor and soon to be centenarian Mickey Rooney actually used to feed poisoned pudding to orphans. When asked why he did it Mickey just smiled and said, “I’m Mickey Rooney.”)

Take Ozzy Osbourne for example. He lived for decades on a healthy diet of alcohol, designer drugs and sex with farm animals and/or women that looked like farm animals. Where is he now after a lifetime of hedonism and debauchery? Fucking sitting on a humongous couch with his feet up watching daytime TV and driving around in a car that is fueled off of hundred dollar bills.

Where are all of the nice people? Dead. Six feet under. And the better you are it seems like the earlier you go. Have you ever heard of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome? That is the world’s twisted way of getting rid of future humanitarians and saints.

The people who actually do wind up living long enough to become saints and charity workers are probably hiding something dark and nefarious. Maybe they voted for Jimmy Carter (twice) or perhaps they have the decomposing body of a local Pigmy short order cook stuffed inside of an oil drum in the trunk of their car. Who knows?

I just read a story about a woman who worked at a soup kitchen for 20 years. She had no kids and her husband died fighting in the Gulf War. Everyday she went to the local soup kitchen and fed disgusting bums soup that was equally as disgusting (Side Note: The cream of celery soup wasn’t that bad but masquerading as a bum just to get it was a little annoying.) As she was walking home from work through a dark alley she was mauled by a bear and killed. A woman who spent her whole life feeding others offered up one last meal: herself.

So, I for one, am glad that I sell handicapped people wheelchairs made out of marzipan and wear jackets made out of beloved TV animals (I can’t live without my Alf shawl) I’m not selfish. I’m just investing in my future.

American not American’t

We really are living in a paradise if you think about it. Back in the day (basically whatever sepia toned time period that “Bonnie and Clyde” took place during) people would travel to the local town square just to use the bathroom (The long waits inspired the term ‘waiting room.’ Now waiting rooms are used for doctor’s offices and smell much better.) Also during the communist scare of the 50’s people wouldn’t be allowed to buy property if they had a moustache that measured more than ¾ of an inch thick. Nowadays you have the internet on your phone, a phone on your computer and porn on everything. There is no doubt that, as of right now, the United States is the best place in the world to live.

If you’re white.
And male.
And wealthy enough to own a house not made out of an old refrigerator box.

But, alas, this is still a wonderful time to live in America. There is enough food for twice the population. In fact, as a sign of good faith, Americans refuse to let any food go to waste which is why you will see people eat two or sometimes three times as much food as they really need. And this isn’t that bland 1920’s food where everything was made out of cornmeal and rooster sweat. This new age food comes in four different varieties: regular, BBQ, buffalo style and fried (And in Alabama you can get the last three all at once. It’s called the “Stent Blaster.”)

Technology is also a wonderful thing in today’s world. Not only is television, movies and music all portable but so is porn. Why just the other day I was listening to Mozart on my iPod, while watching porn on my Bluetooth all while careening through the sky in a lightening quick airplane. In the old days you were lucky if you caught a glimpse of your wife’s sister’s ankle sticking out of the bottom of her modest dress while you traveled by horse and buggy to the local doctor’s office to hack your son’s gangrenous leg off. Now we’re flying through the air basically spitting in the face of any physical construct that the world can throw at us.

Not only is our country the best place in the world to live but it is also a sight of aspiration for those around the world. Worldwide there are people risking death, leaving behind loved ones and swimming for miles just to come to this country. These people are given the illustrious jobs that they would have never dreamed about in their homeland.

Really quick I just want to tell you the story of a Lithuanian refugee during the time of the Soviet Union. She was horribly burned and disfigured in an acid attack by Soviet officials before she hopped on a laundry ship heading towards East Germany. From there she escaped into the West and eventually into America. In Lithuania she was to be forced into years of hard labor working at a Soviet nail salon. But in America she attained the type of success that most others dare not dream. What was this woman’s name you ask? Starlet and sex symbol for the blind: Sarah Jessica Parker.

So next time you take America for granted just remember how good you have it compared to some other poor souls out there in the world. Think of some poor Mexican immigrants and how their eyes light up when they witness that ever famous sign on the border: “Welcome To America. Grab A Mop”

A$$HOLE

Okay. Here it goes: I’m not a good person. *Whew* I am glad I got that off my chest. Most of the people I have befriended during my time on this hurtling globe of water and mini-malls started to doubt the future of humanity once they really got to know me. They used to think, “How could he slip through the cracks? The cursing, the hate-filled rants and the collection of Dutch porn. The government is not doing its job by letting him live.”

I am constantly used as a cautionary tale by other parents on how not to act. I get into arguments with the elderly over whether or not FDR was truly paralyzed, I donate old Wendys receipts to blind beggars and I have also been known to rip the tags off every mattress I have ever owned (In Tennessee I am actually known as the ‘Mattress Mauler’.) Many have equated my personality to that of a cactus or a cardboard box full of nails. I have also been called ‘Asshole’ in every language including sign language (Who thought a shadow puppet theater could be so vulgar for the deaf?) And I was once called ‘Jerk hole’, ‘Asshole’ and ‘Fuck hole’ all in the same night (Ahhh prom night. Those were some good meatballs.)

But, alas, I am here to make amends! From this moment on I will no longer be as socially off-putting as I was before. My goal in life will be to make the lives of others a little bit easier. I am here to become a model citizen like Clark Gable or Mike Brady (Ya know, before all of the gay sex.)

When I was younger I was a lot more palatable to be around. One teacher even wrote that I was a “Pleasure to have.” If she thought I was pleasure back in 3rd grade then imagine how much I could pleasure her now.

My Trip to the Podiatrist

Embarrassment has befallen all of us during our time on this Earth. It happens to us at an early age such as calling your school teacher “Mom” or wetting yourself during gym class. Trust me, receiving a pair of spare pair of white sweat pants from the school nurse in front of the whole class sets your sex life back a good 3 years. What’s worse is when she proceeds to say “These better still be white at the end of the day!”

So next time you feel like saying, “Oh god that was so embarrassing I just want to curl into a ball and die!” Remember the tale I am about to weave. I call it “The Podiatrist Always Rings Twice.” Enjoy.

It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Even worse than the time I rented the Sandra Bullock crap fest “28 Days” mistaking it for “28 Day Later” (in my defense Sandra Bullock looks particularly ghoulish on the box) The pain started a couple a weeks ago after my cat broke a glass candy bowl on my rug. I tried to clean as much of it as I could but because none of my ancestors are of Spanish descent I am not very good at vacuuming. Well anyway, I guess I must have gotten a shard of glass stuck inside of me at some point in the weeks afterwards because I was in constant pain for a while. I had a hard time walking, going up stairs and my trainer said if I didn’t do something about it soon I could get kicked out of my Civil War recreation society (I am the Lieutenant of the West Army. They’re basically the army that sat around and waited to join whoever side had won. Somehow they still lost.)

I am always very secretive about all of my medical ailments. I feel like people’s medical problems are nobody’s business but their own. That’s why I admire FDR so much. He never let anyone know he had Polio. Maybe George Bush would have gained my respect if he at least tried to hide the fact that he had Down Syndrome.

I once went to school for a whole month while I was stricken with the flu without anyone knowing. I made sure that I shared as many drinks as I could with my classmates as to not arouse suspicion of my illness. And when I lacerated my scrotum while playing poker I didn’t let anyone know. My girlfriend never even found out. I’m not sure what that says about our sex life.

When this glass shard got lodged inside of me I was very hesitant about letting anyone know about it so I called my friend and told him my symptoms without ever being too specific. He said, “Well you think you have a shard of glass stuck in you and it’s hard to walk? Go to a Podiatrist.”

Brilliant! A Podiatrist! I knew this type of doctor started with the letter ‘P’ I just didn’t know the exact name (I would have used the yellow pages to find the answer but I had Jack Lalanne rip my last one in half at an autograph signing. I didn’t want him to. He got all bent out of shape at me because I thought he was Charles Grodin.)

My appointment arrived and of course I was very cautious. The last time I went to the doctor was the time I had a sore throat and went to the Free Clinic in Newark. The fresh-out-of-med-school doctor gave the roof of my mouth a row of splinters with his aggressive use of a tongue depressor.

My doctor finally arrived in the room and said, “What seems to be the problem?”

“Well, Doc” I responded. “I think there may be a piece of glass lodged in me. It’s making it kind of hard to walk.”

“Ok. Just show me where the glass is and we’ll see if we can get it out.”

I pulled my pants down and bent over.

“I think you meant Proctologist.” He responded.

Dirty Limerick in A-Minor By: Jason Serafino

There once was an unhappy woman named Lee.
She cried “My husband doesn’t pleasure me.”
“What is his job?” her friends all asked.
She pointed to his truck and they stood aghast
“That’s right. He’s Mr. Softie.”

Self Improvement

“He’s a little wide for my tastes.” That is the nicest thing a girl has said about me in three years. While it may not be traditionally nice it is basically not as cruel as what I’ve been hearing recently. “Count Chubula,” “The Fat and the Furriest,” or “Skrinky Dink” have all been insults that have been hurled my way in the past few years, so to hear a girl gently call me “wide” is a bit refreshing.

To most people these insults would have a paralyzing effect similar to a scorpion sting or witnessing a new Julia Roberts movie. But my ego has been so callused over the years by insults like this that they all just roll off my back like drops of water rolling off a black child’s hair. However, the nights alone are starting to take a toll on me. Sure whittling the cast of “Petticoat Junction” out of logs from the neighbor’s yard is entertaining enough but it just doesn’t compare to the touch of a woman.

To improve on the Sahara-level dry spell I am currently going through I have decided to undergo a little “self improvement.”

First off, as many of you may know, I have a little bit of a follicular dilemma. Most men in their 20’s enjoy a lush head of hair that girls love to run their fingers through. And don’t get me wrong, I do have a lot of hair. It’s just that the bulk of my hair is located on my back. The hair on my head has taken an indefinite leave of absence until science decides to get its priorities straight and come up with a non-lethal cure for baldness. So until then I will be dedicating one night a week to shaving my unsightly body hair (or gathering migrant workers from around the town to do it for me. 10 Pesos or my back. 15 for my nether regions.) Never again will a girl get her dead grandmother’s necklace caught in my shoulder hair.

Another problem that I face is my shape. I have been told on numerous occasions that my mid-section resembles a volleyball or basketball or anything else inflatable. I contribute that to my rather enthusiastic McDonalds habit. McDonalds has increased my weight, my amount of chins but it has also decreased the amount of breasts I will ever see. But that’s all about to change. I’m going to start losing weight. My goal is for my tits to stop jiggling whenever I hit a speed bump. I have also concocted the perfect exercise program for myself: Getting the mail wrapped in a garbage bag, doing 100 pushups a week and answering the phone in a garbage bag. Soon I won’t have to get pants that begin with the word “Elasto-Stretch.”

NetworkedBlogs

Blog:

The Bald Wonder

Topics:

humor, life

Follow my blog

2009 In Review

2009 is coming to a close. Time to pop the champagne, party with a bunch of people you secretly dislike and make a bunch of empty promises to yourself about how you’re going to change your slobbish lifestyle.

For many the beginning of a New Year is a time to start over again. Get rid of a jealous boyfriend, try harder in school, switch your long distance plans or make any other change that may benefit you in the long run.

I have had a pretty tremendous 2009 if I do say so myself (unlike that stupid 2007 where I got put in a headlock by Nolan Ryan for not saying “Freedom Toast”). Take a look at what I thought were the highlights of my 2009:

5. I completely dominated the Special Olympics in almost every category (I got disqualified from one of the events because I have two legs. How is that an advantage? I think the bigger advantage is having one leg made out of metal like a robot. Robots can’t get tired.)

4. I found out the perfect way to score women with my homemade chloroform (which contains canola oil, thyme, Tennessee whisky and a few other secret ingredients)

3. Found out I was the 7-of-Hearts on the “Know Your Vagrants Trading Card Deck.”

2. I made sweet love to a 23-year-old Diane Keaton (which I soon discovered was actually a chloroform induced hallucination. When I came to, I was in an alley behind the Apollo reciting lines from “The Taming of the Shrew” with a Portuguese immigrant named Elrico.

1. Growing tired of simple spices like onion powder or garlic powder, I discovered a spice that tastes so good that I would eat it off of a leather belt. Baby powder.

Now, onto my favorite part of the New Year: The resolutions.

3. I am getting calf implants. Now I know what you’re saying, “Jason, who the hell looks at calves?” Well here’s your answer: wealthy dwarf women.

2. I am going to start being crueler to the elderly. Let’s face it, everyone wants to do it but they’re too scared to start. Well, like any good innovator, I am going to start the ball rolling by declaring January 7th 2010 as “National Hide the Medication Day.”

1. I am finally going to get around to writing the screenplay to “Don’t Be Ridiculous: The Bronson Pinchot Story” starring Adrien Brody as Bronson Pinchot and a computer generated Lee Marvin as Judge Reinhold.

Happy New Years everyone! I hope 2010 is better than 2009 for most of you. But really, I hope my 2010 is better than all of yours.

Three Steps To Screwing Over Friends

Merry Christmas to everybody out there in Blogland! (Editor’s Note: By saying “Merry Christmas” Jason actually meant to say “Happy Winter-Themed Holiday”) I know most of you were probably close enough with someone at some point this year to actually receive some form of wrapped merchandise. Those of you who weren’t, well, there’s always next year. But, nevertheless, I am here to help.

Here are a few tips for those of you trying to be on the receiving end of a nice Christmas gift.

1. Start early. Is there a rich elderly widow that lives near you? Start being nice to her in the summer. Compliment her by mentioning how her hair is reminiscent of pink cotton candy. Only being nice during the holidays is more transparent than the crotch on my “Star Wars” boxer shorts. If you are nice to her throughout the year she will think that you are genuine and reward you with a gift. (However if she seems frail or ill be sure to work quickly. If she doesn’t make it to Christmas there might still be hope that you get into her Will.)

2. Be specific with what you want for Christmas. My former neighbor was an Icelandic perfume model name Tatiana. She used to frequent a nude spa in the Poconos every weekend. All I wanted to do was catch a glimpse of her gorgeous Icelandic body. She was shaped like an hour-glass (but she was kinda thick so it was more like a month-glass.) Now, she didn’t have much money or anything but one December she asked me if there was anything that I wanted Santa to bring me. Without hesitation I told her that “I wanna be able to see.” Well here I am two years later and I have yet to see her naked…but because she thought my vision was impaired I did get a nice coupon for some laser eye surgery.  

3. Give out cheap gifts the year before to people who aren’t expecting them. Trust me, this one works the best. Dig through the back of your closet and pull out that sweater you never wear, wrap it up and give it to an acquaintance. They’ll be so embarrassed that they got you nothing that the next year they’ll break the bank just to try and win back your affection. Also, the best part is that you don’t have to get them squat because you can always say, “O wow, I thought we weren’t exchanging gifts after what happened last year.” Pure class.

Now go off and screw your friends and neighbors with some really backhanded schemes to bilk them out of presents. If you’ll excuse me I’m off to wrap some gifts. I’m all out of wrapping paper so I’ll use the newspaper to save money. Obituary section here I come.