If anyone has seen the movie Radio and is wondering where Radio is working now, the answer is at Wendy’s. Radio was the classic film that saw Cuba Gooding Jr. stretch his acting abilities to play a retarded guy who helps a football team develop some character and unite as one race, the human race. Even though Cuba Gooding Jr. plays retarded characters in most of his movies, such as the retarded cowboy he played with Crocodile Dundee, and the retarded sled dog racer in Snow Dogs, and the retarded football player he played in Jerry McGuire, I never thought I he could pull off a retarded football team’s assistant. Brilliant.

I also thought I was never going to receive my change at Wendy’s. After handing him the bill, he held it in the air as if he was checking for watermarks to ensure that I wasn’t paying for my chicken nuggets with counterfeit currency. But he just held the bill up in the air for about a minute before yelling out “20! 20 DOLLARS!!” Fantastic. Now that we’ve established that, maybe we could get around to the cumbersome task of choosing a sauce. Before we could get to work on that project, he started running around bumping into things behind the counter like an epileptic talking pinball. 10-to-1 odds say he loses an ear in the fry percolator within the month. The manager was quite amusing as well. His blue managerial shirt made him way to precocious considering he had 17 different types of ACNE decorating the puffy skin adorning his skull.

My creepy doll collection has another addition as I found a stumpy-legged doll being held hostage behind a storefront window in Boston that sold witching goods.

This balding man was working at a kiosk at the mail that sold hair products. I do believe that this is the very same company that hired Helen Keller to sell Blue Blockers.

Brazil recently sent its first man into space yesterday. Starting small, the astronaut landed on the top of the country’s tallest tree, at which point he kicked a soccer ball that fell all the way down to Earth. By 2009 the space program hopes to land a man on the mountain.

Did you know that babies can sometimes come out Blue?

The bluish skin tone is caused by a congenital heart malformation that robs the blood of oxygen.

That being said, I want a blue baby. That’s right…All I Want for Christmas is My Blue Baby…ok, now sing along with me, My Blue Baby, My Blue Baby…I’d like my baby to be bluer than the bluest ocean, but without the jellyfish. I’d like a brand spanking new healthy blue baby. It would be like giving birth to a dot com. I can’t imagine all the various ways to rake it in with a tiny little solid blue infant. I could rent him out to the Blue Man Group. When they inevitably release a movie about the Smurfs, chaaaaaching!!! I would save money on Halloween costumes. As any good Jew knows, saving money is just like making money.

The only drawback to having a blue baby is that if I were a single dad, it could conceivably be a little tougher to pick up women with a dramatically discolored child. I would maybe want the baby to be able to become human colored after feeding him something, like turnips, or marshmallows.

I thought I’d share a thoughtful message sent from one of my loyal fans.

you are some sick lunatic with gross pictures.

ps youi are a sick dueshbag

The last cartoon I did that upset someone this much was my hilarious cartoon in the Tehran Times of Garfield, Odie, Marmaduke and Mohammad playing poker.

I think an lol after the dueshbag would have really given this insult some much needed oomph.

On a somewhat unrelated note, I’ve made 9 people believe that I celebrate Jewish Easter. Instead of an Easter bunny we have an Easter Matzos Ball with tiny little sideburns and a little yarmulke on his tiny little Matzos head. We have Easter diamond hunts where we give the winner a fur coat made from a bunny stolen from a Christian Easter celebration. We then go enjoy our Jewish Easter dinner at the Panda Palace.

On a completely unrelated note, when around elderly people I find it to be great fun to cough and sneeze uncontrollably. The look of horror on their face like you’re going to give them a cold that will assault their immune system and keep them from bingo and hard candy is worth every public handrail and urinal cake you need to lick to give yourself the type of hearty cough needed to pull off this priceless joke.

Once upon a warm summer day, my soon to be ex-roommate approached me on the verge of tears because my cat had been peeing all over her stuff. At first I found it funny, but after reflecting on how much it upset her, I realized it wasn’t funny at all. It was hysterical. While holding in my laughter I peed myself. Later that evening I lay my pee-pee-pants on her soiled boots to dry.

I had a show recently at the Roadhouse Café in nowhereville Maine. I love how they added Café as if it made the place more elegant. As a general rule, if your establishment has cattle skulls on the wall, the Roadhouse is more than sufficient if it turns out that someone in the area has already used the Shithole. You could really apply the premise to anything, such as Roscoe’s Bistro, Tyrone on the Green, and The Dead Possum Tearoom (which, by the way, has the most delightful Earl Grey this side of the Bronx River).

Did I mention the cattle skulls on the wall? The last time I done seen that I was watching the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Behind some Plexiglas in an alcove above the kitchen was a display of severed heads reminiscent of Madame Tussauds Redneck Wax Museum. The best part of the morbid display was the John Deer and Hess hats sitting atop the heads and the 2 plastic ducks randomly placed in the display. All I know is if my room service was delivered by someone wearing a mask made of human skin then I would most certainly be complaining to the manager.

The next thing that caught my eye was a very confused jukebox. This particular jukebox had a video screen to inform you of all the musical possibilities at your crusty little fingertips. They showed a picture of Brooks and Dunn, then LL Cool J, then Jewel, then the local karaoke star/bar whore, then Clay Aiken. Someone really needs to sit down with the jukebox and have a little talk with it. They need to point out the guy sitting alone at the bar wearing an I’m With Stupid hat who is watching NASCAR and let the jukebox know that if it plays LL Cool J, the aforementioned feller will break open your screen with a broken Bud Light bottle and then pee moonshine all over your precious little jukebox innards.

I soon took the stage to the worst butchering of my name humanly possible. Afterwards the host actually asked me for clarification of my name. He said, ” is it Jerry Gersten or is it Jerry Gerstein?” I had no idea how to answer that question. For those readers lured to my blog by some freaky google search on Jeff Gillooly’s penis or JewSoap, my name is actually Jesse Gersten.

The stage was sitting next to a giant rack of pots & pans with Christmas lights blinking in the background. Hanging from the barn-style ceiling were cardboard stars and on the ceiling were advertisements from local businesses such as Adam’s Bakery and Ye Olde Bait Shoppe.

Other items of interest around the room included random pink flamingos, a knee high clock sitting in a corner of the room, some frog-moth thingy hanging from a string, a giant porcelain mermaid with shells covering her privates, a MooseTrail sign, and lots and lots of hub caps and license plates.

There was also a large collection of the most bizarre books you could imagine. This will have to wait for a future post, as I cannot do justice to a carrot in an Elvis outfit within the confines of this post.

Oh, and the bear. How can I forget the bear? There was half of a large angry brown bear protruding from the wall just west of the redneck wax museum. This bear was in full growling mode with all of its razor sharp teeth just waiting to bite into some tasty tourist torso. Like most bears, this bear was carrying a ukulele and had a tiny little sheriff hat perched atop his grizzly head. And as if this were not enough, this bear had 3 Hawaiian lay wrapped around his stocky neck. It was as if with just the ukulele and the sheriff hat the bear wasn’t quite festive enough. What put it over the top was the “Hawaiian shit” that Bobbie Jo had purchased just days earlier at the dollar store.

Once upon a time, I found myself at Revere Beach. This beach is the shadiest beach on the planet. I watched a hermit crab that had outgrown his shell take housing in a used syringe. He had a bottle of wine in one claw and the other claw was free to pinch unsuspecting beachgoers in the booty. He was drunk and making lewd comments to passing ladies such as “you ever been with a crab before, baby cakes?”, and “hey hotpants, this will be the first time you’ve gotten crabs that didn’t make you go to the doctor for the rash and the awful itching.”, and “hey foxy mama, I’ve got 6 claws that can make you feel good all over, and get you a drink at the same time.”