1 comment February 1st, 2008
I’ve been thinking about posting some of my greatest verbal venom up here on my blog for a while. I just figured by the time you see the link here you’ve already read it on GFY.
Luckily for me, some “experts” have come forward to recognize my accompishments:
1 comment January 3rd, 2008
XXXJay Fired from KSEX
Porn Valley- KSEX put out the following word: KSEX prides itself on the unfettered irreverence of its on-air personalities and was delighted to broadcast and host the Rude.com $20,000 giveaway show entitled “A Very Rude Xmas” on December 21st 2007.
During that December 21st show, former KSEX on-air host XXX Jay of OCCASH demonstrated a lack of professionalism, lack of basic courtesy to the show guests, and a complete lack of any broadcasting ability or know-how.
The 13,000+ viewers and chatters that came through that 2 hour show were virtually unanimous in their disapproval over Jay’s behavior, and rightfully so. He acted in a manner unacceptable to KSEX management and we have accordingly terminated his hosting of any future KSEX shows.
It goes without saying that his actions, statements, and opinions during the December 21st show and subsequently, in no way reflect those of KSEX owners, staff or fans. Rude is here to stay and Jay is gone! Look for exciting new things in 2008.
Add comment December 5th, 2007
When I left the house at 11:30 PM I should have known I had it coming. I pulled out of my driveway — a black cat crossed my path.
As a rule: I NEVER drink when I am driving. Not because I am worried I will kill people, strictly legality.
Around 11:30 PM, I figured by the LA one-thirty last call I wouldn’t even have time to get drunk, so I drove. I went to the bar. I did what I usually do. About 6 to seven Bud lights and 6 shots of Jaguar pretty fast.
For me: not really drunk.
For the Law: Way over the limit.
I wound up handing out with “Mystery” and “Matador” from the Pick-Up-Artist (the worlds #1 and #2 pick-up-artists respectively).
At some point, this really hot girl in a tied up Slayer shirt comes up to me and tells me that she recognizes from a long time ago.
She then puts a Narco pill in my mouth.
I leave the bar and am invited to a party at mystery’s house, but decide that I just ought to go home. On my way, I get pulled over by the cops for the smoked taillights on my car, which I had just gotten a ticket a few days before.
The cop comes up to my window and I just kicked into survival mode. I’m not the toughest or smartest guy in the world, but I’ve been through enough shit that would have killed 10 other men. Considering my rather lengthy criminal record, a DUI would have sent me to prison for sure.
Somehow, I managed to pull shit together and calmly tell the cop I knew about the taillight problem. He then gave me a sobriety test, which I should have failed for countless reasons, but didn’t.
If he had pulled out the breathalyzer, that would have been my ass. I wasn’t really that drunk, but I was drunk enough, plus the pills.
Somehow, I managed to make it home, so I am typing this now.
A rule I have lived for by many years and have only broken on very rare occasions: If you are going out drinking, take a fucking cab. Your freedom is not worth it.
That is all.
Add comment March 2nd, 2007
The sad thing is this will actually make sense to a few of you.
Let’s say theoretically…
Moral of the story:
If you are Guy #1 with Girl #1: Don’t mess with Item #5.
6 comments February 28th, 2007
It all began as a bad idea.
After having been an esteemed invited guest to partake in a summit of all the world’s top online smut peddlers in Panama (I would include more details, but this is a PG-13 blog), a decision to be made:
Over dinner, a business associate was telling us how awesome Cuba was, how he went all of the time, and could set everything up for us to go through his “travel assistant” if we wanted . Honestly, I’ve always been curious about Cuba, so…
We opted for #2.
A few fun facts about Cuba:
After the end of a pretty good 5 day bender in Panama, I woke up at 8AM to catch a cab to the airport. We had booked 2 tickets on COPA Airlines from Panama to Cuba, ran up every bank card we had and managed to scrape together enough cash for 3 nights / 4 days in Havana. Our hotel was supposedly already paid for by the travel girl we’d given a check to, so we should have more than enough spending money for our stay.
Cuba is cheap, right?
Wrong!
When we got to the check-in counter, I was informed that my flight had been overbooked and would have to fly standby. We decided that if we both don’t fly, neither is going. When we get to the gate, COPA tells me that could put me on the flight BEFORE the one I was supposed to be on. They rushed me over to another gate, I got on the plane, and my bags would arrive on my original flight.
I hope you are still paying attention because here is where the shit hits the fan…
I tell my business partner (JC) that since I would be getting in first that I would just wait for him outside of immigration. I get in and wait on the bench at the side of the large room. This woman keeps coming up and asking me questions in very broken English. I try in vain to communicate.
She keeps coming back with more questions, but now with mean military looking guys carrying nice big automatic weapons and precious little English. Fumbling nervously through my English to Spanish dictionary in one hand and my Treo in the other, I typed up a sentence explaining my flight situation that probably read like:
“My name is payment deferred albatross. Would you please direct me to the nearest water buffalo although my hovercraft is infested with eels?”
They were getting confused and keep coming back with a more menacing looking man in a higher level uniform and bigger gun.
Fuck, this is getting ugly.
This scenario plays out again and again through the course of the next 45 minutes. Finally when the flight I was supposed to be on arrives and I see JC. I feel relieved for one second but then the woman asks if this is mi amigo. I say "Yes". Next thing you know, she and the goonsquad are on JC like George Clinton on a crack pipe.
And the games begin.
They take our passports away; drag us into separate interrogation rooms and start working us over. This is before we even can get to our luggage spinning around on the carousel surrounded my a dozen drug sniffing cocker spaniels. We get our bags and the second phase of the interrogation begins.
They take us to another room where they start going through my luggage with a fine tooth comb. They have all pulled out these clipboards and are taking notes of everything I am saying. Any minute I am thinking something I’d forgotten from my “extra curricular activities” (sniff, sniff) in Panama to drop out of some of my jeans and that would be the end.
Mentally, I was prepared myself for a 20 year stint in Guantanamo Bay.
While all of this is going on I see the customs officers drag JC off to the back room which he describes as “loaded with pliers, hammers, and electrical equipment”. I thought that they had found something in his luggage for sure. In the meantime, the lady that is harassing me is giving me the business about the “Samsonite 10 Year Warrantee” card that had broken into pieces in the pockets of in my suitcase!
Yes, people…the Mattress Police are real!
This was only level 2 interrogations. After that, I go through 10 other different sections of harassment, each, when I was thinking one would end only leads to another more severe tier.
“¿En qué hotel estás permaneciendo?” they press on.
“NL Hotel”, I respond. (its only the best known hotel in Havana).
“No hay tal lugar unhotel NL!” they mock.
They start going through some books I had taken for the flight. I had two Charles Bukowski books in my bag (Tales of Ordinary Madness and Hollywood).
“¿Quién es Charles Bukowski?”
She suspected I had some form of anti-Castro propaganda and scribbled that down on her pad as well. They keep repeating the same questions using some antiquated Soviet Interrogation technique and going back and forth between JC and myself to see if our stories matched. This shit went on for over three hours.
The lady, finally satiated, and says…
“I’m sorry, welcome to Cuba.”
I step outside and it was literally like stepping into Zoloft-land. Everyone is happy. The sun is shining bright. I finally see JC emerge from immigration with a look of sheer terror on his face. We ask at the information counter about Hotel NL (Hotel National) and all of a sudden everyone on the other side of the door knows exactly where it is and speak English too!
Those sadistic muther fuckering customs fucks!
So get go outside and get a cab to the hotel. We had been told that the hotel was part of a Spanish chain our Visa would work there because it it appeared as if it was being billed by a bank from Spain. Upon arrival at the desk, we found this to be untrue. Now, all of a sudden, the money we had brought for spending money would pretty much be for our hotel rooms. So the first thing we did was emailed and called our “friends” in Panama, asked if they would put it on one of their non-US cards and we would Paypal them ASAP.
They said fine.
We decide that after all of that shit we ought to see Havana some. We go outside of our hotel, this guy approaches and starts talking to us in pretty good English. Now I am good at spotting a hustler but I will have to say that this guy had New York style hustle. Make a long story short, he somehow tricked us into coming into this bar for a Mojitos and next thing we know these Cuban gangster guys are coming up and trying to sell us cigars that we didn’t even want. It became pretty clear by the crowd of street thugs that were gathering around our table — if we didn’t buy the cigars something was going to happen to us. So we wind up dropping everything we had in our pockets on some cheap cigars and 3 Mojitos just to get out of there with our lives.
It was good we’d left some money in the room.
Just a few short hours in Cuba: tortured, robbed, screwed, and going broke fast.
So we go back to the hotel and try to chill out. By this point our nerves are completely frazzled. We have some dinner and hope tomorrow will turn out better. The next day we find out our friend’s “offshore” visa had been declined. We were still in the same money predicament.
Seeing the problems ahead, we try to just switch our flights and just bail.
No dice.
We have no cell phones, so each call out of the room is getting billed at about 4$ USD per minute. Our friends in Panama told us that our money would be getting sent Western Union to us and everything would be fine. We go up to the pool for a while to have lunch. The place is pretty boring — packed mostly with snooty baby-boomer aged Europeans. We decide to take a walk around and look at some of the sights. We check out old town Havana, which seemed pretty cool until we made it down to the bay and could see oil pollution in the sea that would make the Exxon Valdez look like an oil leak from an old ’79 Chevy!
Al Gore should really start blaming the Commies for Global Warning.
They’re responsible for most of it.
Still aware of the imminent money problem, but hell-bent on doing something fun — we decide to go to this club Johnny’s that a friend of ours had recommended. The place pretty much sucks. I would rather do a cyanide caplet buffet dinner than hear one salsa song again! Playing the unusual role of “the responsible one" I drag JC out of there and we cut the night short, but not before a rather embarrassing Mexican standoff with a 50 something year-old-pear-shaped Dutch stewardess at the hotel bar.
We wake up the next morning and have to square up the hotel bill and now we are left with a mere $83. $50 of it we needed to hold onto for the airport tax and $25 for the taxi. Keep in mind that we would have checked into a much cheaper hotel right off the grip had we not been constantly assured the cavalry was coming.
At 1PM we were getting kicked out of our hotel room with 8 bucks in pocket and 32 hours left in Cuba. Even worse, that phone in our room was the only way to make contact with the outside world.
The desk calls. The Western Union failed.
The concierge tells us of place called “Touraid” where stranded tourists can get money right down the street. After being given countless sets of wrong directions we find this supposed “Touraid” and it is nothing more than a medical office for tourists.
As much as I hate to say it: The Cuban people are very stupid. They walk exist day to day like Zombies on Xanax waiting — on their pensions. I guess it is the nature of Marxist communism. The lady that takes change for the bathroom makes the same as a brain surgeon, maybe more! Why should anyone aspire to anything? Cubans have no motivation to do anything for anyone…including themselves!
We get back on the phone with Panama. They said there was another change in plans. They said the money could only be send from Costa Rica or Miami, which made no sense all. So now, the hotel manager and some guy named Hector were supposed to get the money.
This wound up being wrong too — Western Union was not an option.
Now, the hotel can see that we are really in a bind and agree to extend to room for two hours, so we could get our shit together. At this juncture, we are both raging mad at the guy who set this up. Never once during this whole ordeal did he ever personally take one of our phone calls, instead kept routing us through his network of inefficient 200$ per month Panamanian lackeys!
Pretty fucking lame man…
Next we hear that the cash will be sent via airbill on Copa, but nobody can give us time or a flight. If we took a cab to the airport and the money didn’t show up, we’d only have enough money for the airport tax, we’d need to stiff the hotel, ditch our baggage, and spend the rest of our time dodging authorities or we’d be rotting in Castro’s Graybar Motel.
1PM the hotel shut off our phone to outgoing calls because they know we have no money. All we could do was site around next to the phone and wait. It wasn’t even like you could walk around or do anything to take your mind off this mess. Just sit and wait. Sit and wait. To add insult to injury, from across the street these annoying muther fuckers are standing on the roof blasting bagpipes NONSTOP!
I was starting to loose my mind.
Next thing we learn that the airbill was not going to happen, but the hotel lets us stay in one room for a few more hours while things get sorted out, which seriously didn’t look like it was going to.
Weighing our options:
#1 / #2 = extended stay at camp X-Ray.
#3 = Not an option.
Finally, deep in the eleventh hour we get a call from the desk telling us that some good soul named Richard Burry from the Netherlands had paid our tab.
Richard you are a good man, whoever you are — much thanks!
Now, the only thing we needed to do was get the fuck out of there. We turned in early, woke up early, snap some quick pictures o the George Bush = Hitler sign and get the fuck out of Dodge.
Though this blog has become a rather bloated 2500+ word opus, I still have left a million other things out that went wrong over those 72+ hours. Words can not properly convey how fucking horrible that country is. Communism is a failed ideology and Cuba is a failed country. Why Cuba is the last Warsaw Pact Marxist Communist country while the rest of the world has torn down the wall and moved on?
Fact is: Cuba sucks balls.
I wouldn’t send my worst enemy there. The worst thing that ever happened to Cuba is their bloody glorious Revolution. JFK should have pulled the trigger on the Bay of Pigs and the American Mob should still be running shit down there — the place would be better off. Nothing is good about Cuba. The food isn’t good, the women aren’t gorgeous, the place is dirty, polluted, dangerous, expensive, the indigenous people are morons, the nightlife blows, and you can’t walk 10 feet without encoutering some corrupt pig or tell friend from foe
As soon as Castro takes a dirtnap, Cuba will open up to the West - the island will be bathed in the cobalt-green-light of capitalism. There will be a McDonalds on every corner, a Wal-Mart in every town and a former communist shithole has a chance at becoming a tropical paradise! Yet, the Cuban people have been brainwashed for so long that they actually celebrate their way of life by glamorizing goons like Che Guevara — they don’t even realize they’ve been shammed for 50+ years.
Sadly, much of the outside world has also bought into the rebel mystique.
The Revolution has been brought to you by Hot Topic!
Fuck Castro!
Chow,
Jay
Add comment November 14th, 2006
I learned last year Webmaster Access West can be pretty brutal when you live at Ground Zero Los Angeles. This year would be no exception. I knew things would be rough-and-tough, so just to be safe…
Tuesday (the night before the show) – Went out with the Beverly Hills Party Crew to Lex Duex. The B.H.P.C. are basically a bunch of down-ass hot, rich, always wanting to party, and love me and my buddy Anh (Wantedlist). The Saturday before we bought a ton of drugs (mushrooms, x, coke) from our buddy “One Stop”, but we didn’t try the weasel dust until that night. It wound up being speed. I hate speed, but we did it anyway. By 8AM, with the aid of a Xanax bar, I finally sleep.
Home sweet home.
Wednesday – Wake up too late to pick up my employees at the airport by the crack of noon. They cab it to my place. We go to Melrose for lunch at this Mexican place and start drinking. Go to the show hotel, keep drinking. Come back to my house pretty lit up and me and Mitch from AEBN go in my office and do one of the worst impromptu jams in history (Mitch made it suck, not me!). Then we go to the Rainbow for pizza, Jauger, and beer. I call my coke dealer, get some real coke delivered, and then it off to the races. We wind up trying to roll around Hollywood with way too many dudes in tow and wind up buying 10 bottles to get into Les Deux. Lex Duex was pretty cool….but, definently not 10 bottles worth (thanks Hundies and Spankbank). After the clubs close, the after party rages at my house to the wee hours of dawn.
Whoops, I did it again.
Thursday – Do some meetings earlier than what I would have liked and go home to try to grab a nap. This porn girl (name omitted here) calls me asking if she can come by. You can’t threaten me with a good time, so I spend most of the afternoon banging her. Wound up, she was a squinter, so she made a mess of my bed and I left a fan the mattress to try and dry it out. Then I had to left to go to the Epoch Decade Party, which was very cool and then left for the Porn Bowling Party which was only a few blocks from my house. We get pretty ripped up, almost get kicked out for doing lines off girls tits in the photo booth, rejoin the Beverly Hills Party Girls, grab a more select group of friends and the after-party rages at my house to the wee hours of dawn. That night SAK from Adult Players Club is so drunk and obnoxious to this super-hot new porn girl (again, no names here) into my bed. I “host” the remainder of the evening with everybody and then wind up in bed with unnamed person. Knowing that cocaine is “not a performance drug” and would make it like trying to stuff oyerers into a parking meter, I decide not to go in for the kill.
What does it seem like I’ve been here before?
Friday – Wake up around 2PM and the girl is still in my bed. You only have one chance to make a first impression and I was glad I didn’t try shit. We woke up and fucked so hard it was ridiculous. I’m not impressed by sex ever…if I had a nickel for every scafootz I’ve nailed I’s rival Bill Gates and I was only throwing about 70%, but this girl was a fucking animal and is going to be the next Jenna Jameson….I so wish I could name names, you will see soon enough. After that I fall back asleep till about 5:30 PM and wake up with the girl still in my bed. I wake up DJ AIRWreck (who’s still asleep on my couch) and we rush to the Beverly Center to buy pajamas and lingerie for the party and get to the hotel with only minutes to spare where we meet out newest black teen starlet Little Coco and our partner TTBoy. We go to Hefs Place which was pretty rad, 2 Short played at it, but after you’d had your day peek out at such and early hour, its hartd to be impressed by much. We go back to the hotel for some bad RO2C parties and then (imagine this?) wind up going back to my house and after several months of being off the wagon, I wind up going shiney side down! Old habits die hard…meanwhile, I didn’t feel so band because (in my observation and everyone’s there) I watched the human heavyweight cocaine-snorting champion (Janis Joplin) do more coke, faster than anyone I’ve ever seen! Someday, I hope she gets help. That’s quite a statement coming from a guy who smokes crack.
Are you sensing Deja Vu yet?
Saturday – Thinking the bloodbath is pretty much over I spend waiting most of Saturday might waiting for my custom S550 Benz to be delivered from Vegas. It finally gets there I hook up with Arria Giavi, SAK, John (owner of WEGCash) to got meet up with Jay Gardenia (Jenna’s ex), Shannon Mockear, and Steve Hursh (hows is that for some name drops?) at The Stone Rose at the Sofitel. I’ve had beefs with Jay in the past but we would up talking shit out and truth is Jay is a really nice guy and I like him a lot. He also has a watch that’s like 10 times mine and has rebounded from Jenna Nicely (can you say Travis Barker’s ex-wife…hehehe). It was cool to have that squashed. SAK leaves me with his friends and we drag three girls back to my house but I think I we scared them off somehow…which was fine with me.
Deja Vu.
Sunday – Spend the whole day watching every episode of Starwars played back to back and thanking allah that this shit wouldn’t be happening for another freaking year!
Peace out,
Jay
Add comment October 3rd, 2006
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Add comment September 24th, 2006
I knew they’d be in town the next night, so we all made plans to meet for dinner and more drinking the next day. So the next day I am calling him and everybody else in the GTS crew and for some reason it seemed like the phones weren’t working.
Me and Dean met about 7PM and tried every number we had for them, SMS, email, left messages, had other people to see if they could reach them…NOTHING.
For a while, we were worried that something might of happened but we figured they would try and reach us eventaully. So, that night me and Dean tore Prague a new ass again till 7AM.
Then Dean tells me (mysteriously) that the next day he gets a SMS from DH saying thanks for the good times ect…which is all good, but at this point I gotta call Drinkinghard(est) out:
DH, if you can’t hang, just admit that you can’t hang. No shame in that. I’m a machine. I’m tough to keep up with….no need to ignore us like a bunch of pesky girlfriends!
This is, of course, all in good fun…I’m just bustin’ balls here.
See you at the rematch.
Add comment May 9th, 2006
http://www.ynotradio.com/archives/AVN%20AFTERNOONS/AVN050406.mp3
I don’t come in till around the 20 minute mark and I was too lazy to edit it.
Enjoy!
Add comment April 21st, 2006
This guy got a taste of the verbal venom:
http://greenguyandjim.com/board/showthread.php?t=30892
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