Comments (0) So I dressed as Don King for Halloween and sent the pic to my buddy who is a sports writer for the Examiner and a former attorney for Don King Productions. Looks like he liked the get up so much he posted it on his nationally syndicated sports page. Wicked good!
Last night Rachael Ray was texting me all upset still over Martha Stewart slamming her in a Nightline interview a week or so ago. I exported the text from my iPhone using a non-Apple approved app. Check it …
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RaRay: hi JamieCakes!!!
J.Ho: hi SugarBum, wasup?
RaRay: I can’t believe this shit!!!
J.Ho: ???
RaRay: Did you see what that tw@ Martha Stewart said about me on Nightline?
J.Ho: Like I watch Nightline!?!?!
RaRay: Yeah, anyway, she went off on me saying how I admitted to her once that I don’t know how to bake. Is that news to anyone? Haaaarow?!?!?
J.Ho: LOL!! I know only a few things as fact. It will get dark tonight. Monday comes after Sunday. and you can’t bake! I’m not much or a baker either. Who actually bakes anyways?
RaRay: That’s not all … she said my new cookbook is just a compilation of old, re-editied recipes.
J.Ho: Get the fuck outta here
RaRay: Seriously
J.Ho: Ummm, aren’t all recipes pretty much re-edits of older recipes?
RaRay: TOTALLY!!! There hasn’t been an original cookbook published since like the 20s
J.Ho: The Giada De Laurentiis cookbook “Everyday Italian” was pretty original
RaRay: FUCK YOU!
J.Ho: …..
RaRay: I’m all wound up and you’re makin fuckin jokes
J.Ho: Sorry, you still love me though
RaRay: Anyway, then she goes on saying how she writes books that are lasting, unique things that everyone would want in their library. BULLSHIT!
J.Ho: I was just at Costco and saw a book of hers on the discount table titled, “Martha Stewart’s Homekeeping Handbook: The Essential Guide to Caring for Everything in Your Home” … yeah, everything but your husband and daughter!!!
RaRay: Yeah, total family woman. Her ex-husband hopes she starts bleeding out of her eyes and her daughter wouldn’t have anything to do with her until she bought her a nice little private jet
J.Ho: d-bag!
RaRay: And she says I’m just an entertainer, not a “teacher” like her. Ummm, and her point is?
J.Ho: Where has she been?
RaRay: LOCK UP!!! THAT’S WHERE!!!
J.Ho: LOL, what makes her think you’re an entertainer? Was it your 52 TV shows? Or your Daytime Emmys?
RaRay: God I swear every time that old goat opens her mouth a cloud of dust puffs out.
J.Ho: Don’t worry about it. She’s just jealous. Total jelly! She needs some peanut butter cause she’s so jelly!
RaRay: 
J.Ho: Look, she has no personal life, her own family hates her, she’s been in lock down, her company’s valuation is in the toilet and she has no idea how to relate to the public. She made a career on telling women how to be wonderful little homemakers. That shit doesn’t fly nowadays.
RaRay: No shit!
J.Ho: And if she’s gonna try to get noticed again, the only thing she can do is to talk shit and compare herself to the ruler of the universe, which is you, BubbleButt! It won’t work.
RaRay: You’re totally right. I just responded by saying, “Yeah, you cook better than me, Martha. C-ya!”
J.Ho: Smooth
RaRay: What are you doing tonight?
J.Ho: Daaaaahts!
RaRay: Where are you playing?
J.Ho: Lucky Dog, probably
RaRay: Sweet, I gotta run. I have nine more books I have to finish writing by tomorrow afternoon. Copy/Paste, Copy/Paste!!!! Oh, I saw Taylor Swift the other day. She couldn’t stop raving about the mix CD you made for her.
J.Ho: I put a lot of thought into that CD. Especially the order of the playlist.
RaRay: Does she know about us?
J.Ho: Clueless!
RaRay: Sweet! … bye!
J.Ho: Peace
RaRay: Hug hug, kiss kiss, hug hug, big kiss, little hug, kiss kiss, little kiss
J.Ho: Ok, Nacho!
RaRay: Yankees suck!
J.Ho: God, I love you!
RaRay: 
So for the sixth time in nine or so years, I’m moving again. Cross-country. Again. For like the fourth time. I’ve spent the past three years in Hamilton, Mass with my thumb in my ass and it’s time for a change. Just as it starts getting cold. Thank Shiva!
Vegas is the destination. This will be my third tour of duty in Vegas. Not sure if I want to totally anchor down there for good, but it’s exciting to head back there for a while. I have a lot of plans for the future. Personally, professionally, spiritually and creatively.
One of the first things I need to do is start cooking more. I’ve been way too busy up here over the past couple years for cooking it seems. It’s not like I never had time. it’s more like I never made time.
I’m in the middle of packing up my gear right now and needed a quick internet break before the FiOS get’s shut off.
I had a great time in Boston and met some of the most awesome and interesting people ever. I’ll miss them as much as they’ll miss me.
Have to run. Never forget … Yankees suck!
J.Ho … out!
So my Bedfordite pal, Markie DeBeers, and I go out for a Chinese lunch buffet, and I get this fortune in my cookie:
“Your fastidious nature has much more fun this year!”
Not only did I have no friggin’ idea what fastidious meant. Neither did DeBeers. I couldn’t even pronounce it. And vocabulary, spelling and pronunciation are things I’m wicked good at. So I Google the word and he’s what I learn …
fastidious: fas·tid·i·ous (f?-st?d’?-?s); adjective
1. Possessing or displaying careful, meticulous attention to detail.
2. Difficult to please; exacting.
3. Excessively scrupulous or sensitive, especially in matters of taste or propriety.
4. Microbiology. Having complicated nutritional requirements.
So I guess they are saying I’m an asshole. And the fortune cookie predicts my asshole nature is going to have a great time this year. I guess that’s good. WARNING: If you thought I was an asshole last year, just wait!
When Markie tried to crack open his fortune cookie, it shattered into a hundred pieces. Just completely broke apart and fell all over the table. He was like, “Faaaauck! My cookie is wicked pinned! That cookie just shattahed … oh look heeeyah doooood, the faaachun says: Kid, good thing yah not allehgic to fehkin dust paaahticles!”
Yankees suck!
This is easily the best Red Sox uniform I’ve seen in a while. Yankees suck, retaaahdedly!
This past Christmas my boss gave me a case of assorted Samuel Adams beer. I graciously took the case and chuckled to him, “Kid, didn’t I tell ya I have a life-long boycott on Sam Adams beeeah?” He says no, so I tell him the story …
I’m cutting a lot of the details out and getting to the point. Remember this, I am completely innocent. I was minding my own business as I always do.
It was January 18th, 2006. I remember the date cause it was the same as an important meeting I had in Boston. It’s still on my calendar. A buddy and I were in some bar on Boylston Street in Boston. I don’t remember the name. All inside the bar and all up and down Boylston Street were people walking around wearing a variety of pastel colored Sam Adams baseball caps. It looked kinda stupid, but most corporate function clothing does. As it turns out it was some sort of Boston Brewing Company (Samuel Adams) corporate night out or something. I talked to a few of them. Some were cool and some were tools. A few of the pastel clad Sam Adams guys were near my friend and I at the bar. I ordered a Newcastle and received plenty of dirty looks from the Sammy crowd. Like I freakin care.
Well, one thing leads to another and the next thing I know a drunk Sam Adams goon is in my face slurring his words and saying he was going to kill me, gouge out my eyeballs, stomp my head in, ect… Kindly, I tell the bully to get out my face and leave me alone as I slowly push him away with my left forearm. All the while I’m sitting there with a mug of beer in my right hand waiting for the best moment to crack his skull open.
He gets in my face again and says I’m crazy to push him off since he’s there with 15 other dudes. I blow him a kiss. Then he says that he and his pink and purple hat wearing crew are going to stomp my ass in. So I softly tell this goon that if he wants some action he better round up his boys.
Now, people, I’m from Las Vegas. Vegas is a town where people know how to handle their business. My Vegas training teaches me that if someone is in your face telling you they and their friends are going to kick your ass, they probably aren’t going to do anything. Cause if they were going to do it, it would have already been done. So I knew this guy was running his mouth.
Nothing happens, as I suspected, and a few guys pull this drunk goon away from me. My friend and I finish our beers and leave. Wanna know who the drunk bastard was who was picking a fight with me and almost had a pound or so of crystal beer mug embedded in his dome? None other than the Chairman of the Boston Brewing Company himself, Mr. Jim Koch. I knew it was him from the commercials he does and you can’t miss his gigantic ugly nose. Yeah, the boss of bosses at that company is walking around drunk off his ass and picking fights with guys on Boylston Street.
Boylston Street isn’t the toughest area of town. But then again, Koch was drunk and rolling with about 200 of his employees. I guess it was a power trip for him. Your typical Boylston Street guy is some lawyer or investment banker. Jim Koch probably thinks he can take guys like that. I wonder if he ever stumbles drunk around Dorchester or Lynn. Try starting a random fight in a bar in those towns and you’ll get stabbed real quick.
Anyhoo, the point is that I have vowed to never, ever give that company another dime of my money. EVER!! Freaking goons acting like that. Well, I finally finished off the variety pack of Sam Adams my boss gave me. It took me forever since I didn’t even want to drink the free beer unless I was out of everything else at home. I’m having second thought regarding my boycott. I mean, that beer is freaking good. It’s a shame. Regular Sam Adams Lager and Sam Adams Light taste like ass, but the Winter Lager and other seasonal beers are awesome.
What do I do? Do I give up? Do I march on? Do I concede that a two year boycott was enough? If I were living back on the west coast this would be a non issue. The boycott would continue indefinitely since out there I can get Gordon Biersch beers. Gordon Biersch blows the doors off anything the Sam Adams crew could ever come up with.
Yankees suck!
