Yes I'm out of the joint

Yes. It's true. I was arrested for dumping out in P.Diddy's cornflakes at the SLS Hotel in LA around Christmas. Yes, I now know what a Columbian Plate Job is. Yes, you don't want to know. Chino is a motherfucker for sure

I am back. I have several big swinging dick announcements to make that will definitely smash on your grill. Stay tuned.

J-Stache, over.

STEVEN TYLER IS THE RAINBOW...AGAIN!!!!

Your welcome bitches. I just put AMERICA'S-MOST-BAD-ASSED-PANTY-DROPPINIST-COLD-SMACKING-FOOLS-WORD-UP-MOFUCKY band in all the land back together. Yes. J-Stache, once again, not only starting the fire but smoking the bacon that saves your breakfast. All it took was a few sips of my special sauce and Steven was The Rainbow again. I expect my Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame nod imminently.

Back in that saddle suckas,
J-Stache

THE DANGERS OF DUNGEONS & DRAGONS

I can't stress this enough, nerds need to be isolated and shamed into coolness. When they get into groups, they spend all kinds of time making homemade superhero costumes, hoping it will translate into nailing their Molly Ringwald inspired crush. This is painfully untrue. Nerd collectives only empower their douchey instincts. And there has been no greater perpetrator of nerd gatherings than Dungeons & Dragons. Do what you can to save these pale future lab rats from a life of celibate desperation. Go to the closet and banish those board games to the garbage.

I care about us,
J-Stache

ELLIE BURNBAUM & HER SON JEREMY

TRANSLATION:
------------
Dear J-Stache,

My Mom says you gave here a special gift...so I'm writing to you with my Hanukkah list. Thanks!

1) $100 savings bond
2) Super Bots Lego
3) a Green Day poster (signed)

I trust you to make up whatever for the other 5 nights.
Thanks,
Jeremy Burnbaum.
--------------------

All I can say is yes, I remember Ellie and I pray I only gave her the gift of a itchy China and not Jeremy.

SAVAGE BITCHES AT THE BARS

When you're a celebrity, you have to be careful who you slide down the whiskey slide with. This is a lesson I've had to learn the hard way. Apparently, my Saturday night bar stool was beset with buggers...those little pencil scribblers who ask to buy you drinks only to ask you questions with their little tape recorder rolling. Here is the latest stuff I allegedly said:

FIND TRAITOROUS SLOP HERE!

Whatever,
J-Stache

GAYNESS IN WAITING

With all that yelling and spandex, can it be any wonder that the so many spates in sports breaks out into full man on man Brokeback-ed-ness? These macho men have been giving artsy types like me a hard time for decades. Why? Because musicians get all the high end ladies while the dudes in sweat socks try to hide their wood for Chip The Fullback.

Deal with it.
J-Stache

PS. I'm not saying these two photoed had a massive sword fight in the hotel room after the game...only that statistically speaking, it happening somewhere, most likely after a Mets game as the math goes.

ONLY FOR THE WEED

I need to make one thing abundantly clear: I AM ONLY DOING THIS FOR THE WEED. The sycophants at The American Mustache Institute, a collection of douche ticklers who should be sending me royalties for putting them on the map, are attempting to make up for the years they've been riding on my coat tails.

Whatever.

The promised me a fresh pound of Cali Med if I agree to some meeting with Oates at STACHE BASH 2009. I'm also told that Oatesie will be making me whole on back payments from the go-go times.

High-end high hookers. I ask you to descend on St. Louis for the weekend of October 30th. I will be holding and hungry. Thank you.

Warmly,
J-Stache