How to completely defrag, optimize performance, and rid your laptop of all viruses, worms, spyware, and malware without any type of RAM upgrade or software in just a few seconds:

Also: Removes annoying monitor glare from your screen too (well, not really).

Quick message to whoever the assholes that wrote Spy Sheriff and NT Authority\System Shutdown shit…there’s a special layer in hell being reserved for you right now. It will be the 27th layer and will be three times as hot as the rest of hell, but with no air.

I will be there to meet you assholes. You’ll notice me because I will be the guy pouring acid into your faces while holding a bag of air and charging you to breathe! Ya’ fucking bastards! Go back to slaying Orcs with your broadsword / working on your resistance to lightening — you fucking geeks!

And stop fucking up our computers…we have porn to publish!

On a side note: Hewitt Packard noticed a slight increase in laptop sales in the Los Angeles area.

That’s because I just moved to Natnet.

Killer uptime, blitzkrieg fast tech support, and the smoothest network migration of my internet career.

Natnet hosting rocks!

Thanks Bill,Tony and crew.

I would like to take a moment to apologize to my readers for interrupting the train wreck that is my life, which transmogrifies itself into this blog has been on a temporary romantic vacation with my on-again-off-again girlfriend in Hawaii.

She’ll be on a plane home in a few hours and my life will return to its regularly scheduled mayhem.

Coming next week: World Whore IV in Costa Rica!

Here is some classic shit sent in my main man…The Sultan of Sperm, the one, the only…most vile Christian hating muther fucker I’ve seen since the last time I looked it the mirror and he‘s a hell of a cool guy…he’s the Mike who put the “Mike” in Mike’s Apartment and Mike in Brazil…he hooked my up with some killer footage of some dumb Hungarian sluts trying to blurp out the Jay’s XXX Links manta between sorties of smegma…

“JAY’S XXX LINK ROCKS MY CUNT!”

Check it out — it’s a funny as fuck video:

I was looking through the comments on LOLJesus when I found this guys comment:

Fads don’t end, they evolve. Current events suggest that the time has come. Christian Fundamentalists have passed the torch of silliness to Fundamentalist Muslims the world over. Why not get current with an “lolmohammed” sidebar? You’d probably get a lot of european traffic from irate asshat believers and happily participating infidels.

Left by namder on February 5th, 2006e

What’s funny is I was already thinking the same thing and agree 100%! I just wasn’t sure if this was maybe a little too off topic, but fuck it…I just added a new category:

Lolmohammed: Becasue Muslims suck too.

Maybe I’ll become the first person to be killed over a blog. Then this site will really get some traffic!

Is the pen mightier than the sword? You decide:

XXXJay vs. Baddog - even though me and baddog are cool now, I did take his ass to the cleaners with this memorable thread:

What does baddog even do?
http://www.gofuckyourself.com/showthread.php?t=483639

XXXJay vs. Lenny 2 - I don’t even know who this Lenny2 fuck is, apparently he is some kind of Chistian Appologist / pornographer…I have a better word for that — hypocryte! I think lenny2 summed it up best:

“You’ve accused me of being homosexual, fucking sheep, stealing content, said my program was pathetic, and threatened me with physical violence multiple times (specifically a “knuckle sandwich” which will leave me with only “3 teeth”) And I owe you an apology for calling you a dick?”

Answer is “yes”.

xxxjay is a dick - and anyone who listens to him is an idiot
http://www.gofuckyourself.com/showthread.php?t=481887

xxxjay is still a dick and anyone who listens to him is still an idiot
http://www.gofuckyourself.com/showthread.php?t=485524

Ok xxxjay, let me get this straight
http://www.gofuckyourself.com/showthread.php?t=482115

And the spinnoffs:
Who else thinks that Lenny2 owes me an apology…
http://www.gofuckyourself.com/showthread.php?t=482137

Lenny2 Fucks sheep!
http://www.gofuckyourself.com/showthread.php?t=481976

XXXJay vs. Hooper - Hooper, a notorious scumware-lord, spyware-installer, and mega-spammer thinks he’s all hoity-toity? We’ll see about that…

Gigacash — I support you 110%, but…
http://www.gofuckyourself.com/showthread.php?t=571184

A lot of this could be avoided in I just put a breathalyzer by my computer that wouldn’t let me post when drunk, but fuck…I enjoy give losers like Lenny2 and Hooper a good dose of verbal venom from time to time.

The Springer thing was an interesting ride. It all went down at the height of Springer-mania in 1998. I had a friend who was a scout for Jerry Springer guests. He says to me, “Jay, you are a ham – you should go on the Springer Show.” I said, “Sure.”

A few days later, one of the Jerry Spinger producers called me and said that they wanted to cast me for a boyfriend who was jealous because their girlfriend was posing for Playboy or some shit. I told them that I was not the guy for the part, but if they wanted a pimp, a drug dealer, or any other kind of scumbag — I was their man. They asked me to send in a headshot and when they got it, they agreed — I looked like a total scumbag.

A few weeks later, they call me and want to cast me as a pimp who will not let his hoes out of servitude until they pay back the money they owed. I accepted this role. A few weeks after that I am holed up in a motel room in downtown Chicago with a friend of mine and a bunch of people I didn’t even know whom were all going to be on the show with me.

This was back when Jerry was still showing all of the fights — my friend and I agreed that we were not going to fake it and would really try to kick each other’s asses. The show taped on Monday and we were in Chicago from Thursday till then rehearing for a few hours a day in the hotel room with the producer — but, really, most of that time was spent at various bars in Wicker Park District getting hammered.

Monday came around and we had to be at the studio at 9AM – we had all partied all night and hadn’t really slept at all. I didn’t bring any decent clothes, so they had to rush me to a mall just and hour before they show taped to buy me a brand new Armani suit. I looked pimp as fuck. Right about then reality started hitting me – hey, I’m not an actor…I’m not a pimp…what the fuck am I doing here? I was actually pretty nervous.

When the show started taping, I sat backstage and watched the girl who was supposed to my prostitute do her thing. When Jerry was asking questions she actually started crying…it was great! She set me up so well. When I went out to play my part as a pimp, I was still pretty nervous. I just went out, acted like the biggest asshole bastard you’ve every seen (not a big stretch), and when I saw I was getting a reaction from the audience I just started dominating and talking mad shit. My friend came out, we beat on each other, talked about slapping hoes, and the show ended with me doing a big improve monologue about how pimpin’ ain’t easy. It was pretty classic.

The episode aired on Halloween 1998 (which was a Friday) – when the ratings came out on Monday…it was the first time Jerry had ever beat Opera in the ratings. The Springer Show was thrilled to death, needless to say — they were now the #1 daytime talk show and they had done it on my episode. My first show actually wound up being the highest rated Springer episode of all time. By Monday afternoon I was getting a call to come back and shoot more shows. I wound coming back and shooting 2 more shows playing the same character for them which both went over really well.

After I did my shows, the producers cut the guy who originally got me on and started calling me to get guests for the show. In the next few months I had gotten half of my scumbag and stripper on the show. During that same period, I started getting followed around by all of the news media and undercover reporter dudes that were trying to be the first to break the “Springer is not real story” – (I mean, seriously, why don’t they just do an expose on how there isn’t an Easter Bunny?) – It was surreal. I never talked to them though.

A few weeks later 20/20 was the first to break that story with another “fake” group of guests. The Springer People made the producer that I worked with the scapegoat for all of the “fake” episodes and said that it was all the actions of “one rouge producer”, but that was all a bunch of BS. Everyone on the Springer staff, including Jerry, knows the shit is bogus – hell, I even wore one of his Armani suits because, at $2,500 a piece, they were too expensive to get ripped up in brawls. Do you think Jerry couldn’t notice that?

Castles made of sand, fall in the sea…eventually…

It was a fun ride while it lasted.

That was the Springer Incident.

Ahh yes, silent girl – probably the biggest romantic mistake of my entire life — one day, I am sitting at my house when this friend of mine calls me. He said he had met these two girls that wanted to meet me because they saw the Springer Show. I went down to the bar where they were at. Both of the chicks were pretty hot. One was talking to me and the really hot one was sitting in the corner quiet and just laughing a little. I think my friend was trying to pick her up — so he gets up from the table, I slide over to her and start spitting game at her.

She says, “I h-h-have a-a-a speech i-m ped-iment…” (aka “I have a speech impediment”)

I felt a little weird, but there was no denying this girl was smokin’. We go back to my house, watch some Southpark, do a couple bong hits, and then I drop them back off. Just as she’s leaving “silent girl” grabs me, starts making out with me, gives me a piece of paper with her phone number on it, and shows me a naked picture of her.

A couple days later I call her — let me tell you that was a very odd phone call…seeing as she can’t really talk and all. I say, “What do you want to do?” and she says, “M-m-moovie…” (“movie”) – so, we go see Godzilla, come back to my house, and next thing I know — my nuts wind up ding the windmill! Pretty sweet!

The sad part was the reason she had the speech impediment was she had been in a car wreck, they fucked up when she was in the hospital with the respirators, and it damaged only the part of her brain that dealt with speech. She could write a perfect and very articulate email. Actually, it really sucks for her, but enough of the sentimental shit…you know what that meant for me?

I had a hot as fuck, nymphomaniac girlfriend that couldn’t talk! Whoa, my pimp hand is strong!!

I think she was kind of pissed at me in the end because about a year later, when I was out with the other girl at a concert, she snuck up behind me and ripped on of the earrings out of ear – she stood there holding the bloody ring just looking like she wanted to scream at me…

If she could.

That was silent girl.

Saturday, September 28th 2002: A Day That Will Live in Infamy

10:00 AM – The day began harmlessly enough: shooting tequila and smoking Mexican dirtweed over steaming, nearly sanitary plates of chorizo and tacos at a local cantina in the sleepy Mexican town of La Salinas, about an hour south of Tijuana.

11:30 AM – Vomit profusely.

12:30 PM – Though perfectly satisfied by lazing on the beach all day with a with a keg of Dos Equis perched on the lounge chair beside me, I am inexplicably cajoled into donning a funny shirt and physically exerting myself on the golf course, an activity I’ve only done once before.

12:31 PM – First beer consumed on course. Spirit livens.

12:35 PM – One of our “party” steals a bottle of cheap tequila from the snack bar, “allegedly”. Much laughter and merriment ensues.

4:00 PM – Second case of beer finished. B.A.C. officially exceeds par for the course.

4:25 PM – In a two-sport super event unheard of since Bo Jackson, golf meets motocross to seriously damage the undercarriages of two $4000 golf carts. Let’s keep that between us.

5:22 PM – Vomit profusely.

6:00 PM — Things take a turn for the ridiculous, as a member of our foursome, heretofore known as Iron Man Tucker, in a blaze of beer-assisted idiocy, jumps on to the roof of my moving cart and does his best impression of Teen Wolf, before being promptly launched 15 feet into the hard metal side of another cart. We captured the events on video, but, regrettably, our cameraman had an unexpected surge of humanitarianism, causing him to lay the camera down and miss the key footage of Iron Man colliding with the earth. Rest assured, he’ll be hogtied and beaten with reeds for that infraction. Regardless, much laughter and merriment ensued.

7:30 PM – After multiple such incidents of sporting tomfoolery, we are escorted through the last 3 holes by security. We were on golf probation – how shameful. Bring on the merriment, and yes, the vomit too.

9:00 PM – Back at the house on the beach, time is dragging, the beer is long gone, and only one last hope for a good time remains. Our errant cameraman redeemed himself in grand fashion. He had a copy of Hunter S. Thompson’s Hell’s Angels, upon which he had dropped an undetermined amount of acid (how apropos) almost a year ago. Unsure of whether the tricky liquid would still be effective, we decided to eat the entire page for good measure.

11:00 PM – The mission was a failure. The acid is no good.

11:03 PM –Hmmm… I think the wall is looking at me.

11:12 PM – You know, I never noticed the how big the pores on Rick’s neck are – and why are they pulsating like that?

11:21 PM – Sweet Mother of Fuck! I’m tripping my goddamned balls off!

12:00 AM – Shit, the hallucinations must be kicking in, because I’d swear about a dozen Mexican police cars and two paddy wagons just pulled up in front of the cantina.

12:01 AM – Run. Run quickly.

12:05 AM – Ok, so now we’re hiding from the federales in a large cactus on the beach, I’ve got enough acid in my head to send Timothy Leary into a permanent psychosis, and I’m fighting the urge to blow an economy sized can of pre-mixed Nestle Quik all over the inside of my shorts. A baby bung gopher escaped, but, luckily, I managed to close the floodgates behind him. Let the gopher work his way down your leg, Paul, and make its way into the dark, anonymous cactus. Be discreet, and no one will be the wiser. Yes, you are a fucking smoothie, Paul.

1:30 AM – Feces contained, and no longer trying to communicate with the wart on my finger through ESP, we worked up the courage to trundle down the beach and see what was to be seen. Being in the middle of Nowhere, Mexico, expectations for anything other than a night of psychedelic-induced star drooling were low, which, quite honestly, I was content with. Vomit profusely.

2:00 AM - Holy shit, we just walked into a rave on the beach. No shit, thousands of Mexican ravers in sparkling pants dancing to four different pounding DJs while a $50,000 laser and visual light show blasted over our heads and out into the Pacific Ocean. I’m not much of a raver (junglist, breakbeat, electronica kid, or whatever-the-fuck they want to call themselves) but this was an impressive setup, especially with a head full of acid. I wondered if perhaps we might be able to find more drugs.

2:04 AM – Found drugs.

2:30 AM to 7:00 AM – A total blur.

7:30 AM – Leave the rave and wander back to the town we were staying in, where we proceed to plunder the last remnants of any stray liquor bottles we could find – mostly at other people’s homes. You’d be shocked how, at this hour of the morning, almost any combination of alcohol can be palatable.

8:30 AM – Vomit profusely.

10:00 AM – Drive into town with a frying pan full of weed, find a restaurant, and eat tacos and drink until passing out. Vomit profusely in sleep.
Twenty-four hours, hundreds of drinks, one soiled pair of Joe Boxers, a few hundred dollars worth of drugs, four livers, and countless lost braincells later, the circle completes itself.

Viva Mexico.