I’m usually the guy who everyone takes as laid-back, never serious, and generally relaxed. I like that image. I cultivate it. That way, when I snap and go off on a rant about insignificant little issue, it’s that much funnier. Hey, look, the laid-back guy’s screaming about how quickly his grass grows! Teehee.

The fact is: I’m usually too lazy to get worked up over anything. Oh, my mind’s always going. People who really know me know think I’m a pessimist (But they’re wrong. I’m a realist. Reality just sucks.). There’s a reason I rant and scream about insignificant stuff; if I went off about everything that bothered me, I’d be hoarse for starters, and I’d earn the reputation of a whiner. The little stuff at least gets a laugh.

“Ok, Jason,” you’re mumbling, “Get to the point.” My point is this: at some point, almost everyone takes advantage of the fact that I’m so laid back. They step on my toes and I take it. I sit there and absorb the problem and repress it deep down inside where it’ll someday grow into a nice healthy tumor to be cut out, gold-plated, and worn as bling around my neck.

But every once in a while, someone takes my kindly nature for granted a bit too much. Suddenly Jason is no longer in control. I have, inside of me, a little angry personality quirk.  His persistent attempts to come out and play are marked by a twitching in my eye. This is why my coworkers named him Twitchy. But that’s a bit of a misnomer. As long as I’m just twitching, I’m just annoyed. On rare occasions, though, my hands begin to shake; my whole body begins trembling; both eyes begin twitching in random and erratic intervals and a muscle in my upper lip begins to spasm, causing my mustache to jump. At this point, Twitchy takes over.

Twitchy has the balls that I don’t. Twitchy will announce that he knows people who know people who can make people disappear, kapish? Twitchy will tell a customer at work to get the hell out before he “escorts” them out. Twitchy, in short, is a bit of a badass. Twitchy is 29 years of accepting things quietly and repressing them as to not seem like an asshole; 29 years of sparing peoples’ feelings by keeping my mouth shut, breathing deep, and trying to put it behind me. Twitchy is my relief valve to keep from having a stroke tomorrow.

They say “Beware the fury of a patient man.” Well, I say, “Beware the fury of a man with a long fuse, involuntary muscle spasms, and multiple personalities.” Hell, po-tay-to, po-tah-to. Just pass me the Paxil and a muscle relaxer if you have one.


I live the the middle of nowhere. I mean seriously. I live about 10 miles past Boondock Rd. A small mountain range stands between me and civilization. This place is great, though! It’s quiet, I’m about 10 minutes away from flatlands where I can get great storm photos. I love it. But my choices in internet were limited, to say the least. No self respecting cable company would run a line up a road with 3 houses in the middle of the country. DSL and dial-up would both require I get local phone service which is $40/mo in and of itself, not counting the ISP. So it was down to mobile “broadband” or satellite internet. Neither had a sterling reputation, but the way I figured it, I could take the mobile internet storm chasing with me.

I’ve been with Verizon for over 10 years. I’ve bitched and griped about them for just as long, but everyone else has bitched and griped about their other services, too, so I figured it was an across-the-board thing. So I went to them, asking about their mobile internet. I gave them my address, and viola!! It’s in the coverage area!! Not just the coverage area, but the 3G AREA!!! Ooh la la!! (Forgive all the French) I signed up with them, brought my new Netbook home (that’s another rant for another day), and got online! Err… well… I tried to get online. I sat on the front porch: nothing. Tried it in the kitchen: nada. Couch in the living room: nope. The recliner in the living room: OH HOSANNA, A CONNECTION!!! I HAVE INTERNET!!

Now for Facebook. Ahem. Now for Facebook. … AHEM… NOW for Facebook. Oh, there it is. Finally. Why am I hearing the faint echoes of years past when a modem tone signaled my entry onto the World Wide Web? That’s right. The legendary 3G “broadband” that my house is so gloriously included in is about as fast as my old 14.4 kbps modem!

By God, I was going to call somebody to complain! So I dialed the number and hit “Send.” Connecting…… connecting….. connecting…. “Your call could not be connected. Retry?” Yes. Connecting…… connecting… *5 minutes later* “…Retry?” Yes. Connecting…. conne- CONNECTED!! I put my phone up to my ear, ready to verbally berate the poor soul on the other end when I heard a beep. “Call was lost.”

In a fit of rage, I grabbed my keys, almost drove my car off the road in a few places, got back to the Verizon store, and was promptly told that I’d signed the contract and was now stuck with my shitty service for the next two years.

Since then, I’ve found one other place I get a signal (the southeast corner of my bed). My phone has to be set up at such a precise angle that I drove nails into my window sill to keep it propped up and even then it will magically take spells where it just refuses to send or receive texts for hours, then suddenly (usually around 3am) it receives every text I’ve been sent since 6pm and begins beeping incessantly as it delivers each and every one. As for phone calls? There’s a spot around a mile and a half away from my house that I have to cut off all conversations before my lack of signal does it for me.

So Verizon and their 3G coverage can kiss my ass, right where they take a big juicy bite out every month for their shitty service.


So here I am. Blogging. Like it’s 1999. After watching The Social Network, I’ve decided to chronicle my rise from obscure mediocrity to obscure mediocrity with a blog. What can I say? The movie inspired me.

So I downed a bottle of wine (no homo) with a supper of baked chicken fingers (no hillbilly) and a few slugs of Jameson and decided that tonight was the night to launch myself into internet superstardom. I will be the next Tucker Max. I will be the next Allie. I will… probably lose interest this in a few days’ time and it will fall into obscurity with everything else I’ve done.

That said, though, I suppose a little information about myself is in order: I’m a horrible person. Plain and simple. I see pain, suffering, genocide, natural disaster, and Martha Stewart in the news, then turn to my coworkers and start making jokes about said topics. It’s a sign of my obscenely-sick personality that they’re rarely offended and sometimes even amused by my sense of humor. They stopped being shocked a long time ago. I’ve infected them. I take pride in that.

I have a sickness. I think many comic minds share my ailment. We see horrible, sick, and unspeakable things and we say, “How can I make that funny?” For example: A picture of a woman in Japan shortly after the horrible earthquake and tsunami with her hands cupped over her mouth, calling for loved ones. A stirring image. She’s lost everything, including her family, and here I sit, on the other side of the world, warm, safe, and bored. Naturally, I felt the need to do something! So I downloaded the picture and added the caption, “MARCO!” For the record, the actual caption was my coworker’s idea. Mine was, “FRANK!! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH SHIT THERE IS TO CLEAN UP?!” But the other caption was so much simpler and a lot funnier. See what I mean about corrupting those around me? So proud.

I also have an incredibly perverted mind. How does that make me any different from any other man in the history of man? Well, it doesn’t, actually. I just felt it needed to be said.

I’m obsessed with aviation. I mean, seriously obsessed. I drive and/or fly 1,000 miles each way every summer to visit Oshkosh, Wisconsin and the Experimental Aircraft Association AirVenture with its 10,000+ planes just to camp out for 10 days and direct airplanes. Oh, and scream at pilots. I’m also an avid photographer (note: I said “avid” which should not be confused with “good”). I’ve got an aging professional digital camera (Pentax K10D, for those who care) which I’ve taken around 30,000 pictures with. Of those, about 7 are keepers.

I suppose I’ll stop with the writing now. The Jameson chaser to the redneck dinner I enjoyed is catching up to me and I’m starting to get a little sleepy. So until next time: laugh at the suffering of others. It’ll make your life seem that much better!

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