Check Jay Life

Food. Fuel of life. Orgasm of the mouth. The focus of activities where your job is to do absolutely nothing. Where I shine. And thrive. Especially when I eat at restaurants. I’m really passionate about the smell of work and cooking, when neither of them include me. It makes me feel like a hungry billionare. As soon as I start cooking, the passion dies completely. A meal made from someone else’ hard work, sweat and tears always tastes a billion times better. I think it’s the salt in the sweat and tears. A delicacy for my mouth.

I am attracted to fine restaurant dining for many reasons.

You have a servant – This is the most obvious good part. It gives you the illusion that you’re productive. Like when you’re writing an essay for school, and you go on Google and copy and paste everything. Change the size and font of the words to all look the same. And cite your sources, all on different days, to make it look like you researched for weeks. Then type the introduction and conclusion. Same shit. You say “hi, feed me” (intro). The servant does everything involved with the meal. Feeding you, increasing your self esteem, licking your balls, dessert. (the work you steal from Google). Then you give them a $5 dollar tip. (close). So simple.

Not cleaning – I really dislike cleaning. The only cleaning I can stand doing is shooting pieces of trash, one by one, into a trash can, like basketball. When I get my cleaning on like that, I lose it. I feel like Lebron. My balls hang extra low when I’m in that zone. That’s how I feel about cleaning.

People have to smile at you when you make eye contact – I love this. Like I love all of you. A lot. Putting employees on the spot to do their job. I make eye contact with all the worker bees of the restaurant hive, gaining a smile from each face. I feel like the most important person in the world. It’s an artificial ego boost that I really enjoy. Like drinking alcohol to have bigger testacles.

They remind you to wash your hands in the bathroom – I’m kidding. I wash my hands. Honestly, I’d rather wash my hands at home then the restaurant bathroom. 100′s of people touch the restaurant sink before it’s cleaned. And you know what they touched before. I just do that thing where I touch everything with a paper towel, then shoot the paper towel in the trash from the doorway. My dick is the cleanest thing on me. I clean it like its my Lamborghini. I’d rather have a Lambo on my hands then 100 dicks.

When you drop your fork, a person appears with a new one. Before you run out of water, it is full again – This is great. At home I just pick up my dropped fork and keep using it. But this is a lot better for my health. And when water never runs out, you feel like you can never die.

If the restaurant messes up, and metal or hair ends up in your food, its cheaper then eating at home – This always seems to happen when you’re at a nice restaurant. You pretend like you’re upset. And distraught. But really you just want free food. The waiter reacts like they served you pure rat poison and they can’t believe it. Then they bribe you with a free meal to make sure you dont tell anyone.

If the food sucks, its not your fault – This is great when you are taking people out to eat. You say, “I should have cooked. I’m better.”

Overall, restaurants are one of my favorite places to go. I want to buy a restaurant.

I’ve had a lot of great moments in my life, but having a virus is the most pleasurable one, by far. I thought seeing people that aren’t me getting married, and seeing babies that aren’t mine get born, were better. But after experiencing this virus, I don’t give a shit about those people. Because nothing is as good as this. I’m sucked in. It’s like my Heroin. The best part is, I always catch the dragon. I’m so glad I didn’t use protection.

Ever since infection of my computer’s virus, I’ve been going through changes. Donating my highly sought after blood to charity. Mentoring underpriveleged youth through my image of integrity. Wearing only the finest of the latest European fashions. The side effects of the virus have transformed me into even more of an upstanding, high class individual then before.

At the moment, my virus is hiding in the background of my computer somewhere. I can’t find it. It could be anywhere. Ready to violate my innocent web browsing at any time. And sure enough, even with the critically acclaimed Norton antivirus vaccine, the symptoms have suddenly resurfaced. The virus has started talking to me, and begun to make me “sicker” (healthier). Allow me to describe what it is doing to me.

As I casually watch Rhianna’s new video S&M on Youtube, a really touching piece of cinema, audio begins playing in the background, abruptly interrupting my viewing experience. A news girl begins to speak. Begins to educate. Begins to recreate me. For the better. Cheetah captured in Abu Dhabi street. Thank you virus. Arnold has a taste for fine Mexican maids. Thanks virus. Celebs with Rheumatoid Arthritis. Thanks again virus. I close all the internet windows, but it stays on. It’s one step ahead of me. Inside of me. A window into the future.  My virus keeps me informed and a step ahead of the competition.

I know all my shit. Celebrities. Sports. Fashion. Fine Eateries. Deaths. All because I didn’t use protection. Best idea of my life. It always pays off to take a life gamble, especially when the risk outweighs the reward. Because it feels so much better when you win. I contracted this virus from a porno website. And learned another valuable lesson. Unprotected sex always get you a virus, whether you’re fucking or looking at porn.

I’m looking forward to getting old. It’s the good life. Old women look uglier then old men, so they’re all up on your wrinkled nuts. Wearing ripped open Hawaiian shirts every day. Getting cleaned by 30 year old nurses, who are trying to suck my dick for a quick $100,000. Me lieing to them, saying how I’ll put them in the will, telling them they’re capturing my heart, while I bang them daily. Then on my death bed saying I forgot. I’m not gonna let nature hold me back. I’m gonna become a meth fiend right away to speed up the process.

The part I’m looking forward to the most is getting away with everything that I do wrong. It’s impossible to be mad at an old person. If you see a car run over 3 pedestrians in the crosswalk, the natural reaction is to speed after them and catch them. Rip them out of their car. And write their license plate down. Then call the cops and be like “it’s taken care of. come pick him up”.

But when you roll up on them, ready for hard revenge, and you see that it’s just some old person, wearing those big glasses, you get soft like the expensive toilet paper. You crumple up the paper with their license plate number on it. You put your hazard lights on and walk over to their car, and start cleaning their windshield. Then, you open their driver’s seat, wipe their ass, and change their diaper. Finally, you tuck them back into their seat, put a blanket on them, and tell them to drive safe on the way home and to “watch out for all the crazy bastards on the road”. They drive away and a tear drops from your eye.

 Old people have done a lot of productive things, like fighting in wars, dealing with asshole young people, and saving lumber and half boxes of hardware nails from the 1920s. Because of this alpha level of life production, its impossible to be mad at them. Some old people might get pissed off about the sympathy, but I won’t. I’m having trouble sleeping, like I’m 7 years old and going to Disneyland tomorrow. That’s how anxious I am to be super old. I can’t wait.

I am in some self defense class for Jiu Jitsu. I signed up at the beginning of month. It looked kind of badass. To throw people on the ground and start kicking them. But I guess I signed up for the wrong class.

I show up to the first class in a wife beater, and everyone is wearing those kung fu robes, like in the movies. People are bowing to the mat. Bowing to the room. Bowing to the tree out the window. No one is fighting. I walked on the mat to get around to the other side where the sign up was, because I didn’t want to start the first day of class by pushing someone out of the way in the small walkway. And this weird ass girl who looks like she just got out of a psycho ward starts going crazy on me. Telling me how I’m disrespecting the mat. Ready to rip open my throat. Blood in her eyes. The teacher sees her and snaps his finger and she sits on the ground. Good dog. I just keep going, ignoring her shitty greeting.

I sign up and pay some cash money. No kicks allowed on the mat. That’s cool. I gotta bow when I walk in the room. Then 2 feet later bow to the mat. That sucks. My abs aren’t strong enough to do that 100 times in a class, the amount required. If I work really hard at it, I might be able to get there someday. So I just half ass it, do it in 1/4 of a second then walk away right away, instead of that slow, controlled bow. I’m not emotionally attached with the mat.

We all line up. Like dog obedience school. The teacher is some angry looking, middle aged, white guy, with a kung fu uniform on. Kind of looks like some guy who beats his wife. His face is bright red with rage. He yells out orders, and everyone gets on their knees in unison. He then walks around, making everyone bow and kiss his dick. I’m kidding. But it’s some weird master/dog relationship, and everyone in there seems like they are brainwashed and ready to submit. Like they would kill a man at the snap of the finger. Whenever he says something, people respond ”yes sensei”, in robot voices. How do people like having no personality?

We end up finally doing some fighting. It’s cool. At one point theres no room on the corner of the mat, so I’m standing next to it. The guy keeps yelling at me “get on the mat” until I go on it. Breathing all hard, about to break my neck. This class seems more like a disciplinary place for people with no personality, no common sense, and no friends. I can’t do this shit man. I’m quitting as soon as soon as the month ends and switching to a boxing or mma class.

Girls get really obsessive sometimes. Even with a crazy person like me. Even when you literally spit in their face, tell them you have no interest in them, and say “ya” to everything they say, they are still unphased, focused on the prize. Your dick. I found out that its a bad idea to kiss one of these girls the first night you meet them, especially when neither of you are hammered.

The next time I saw this certain girl, she started trying to suck me into her life that I didn’t want to be in. She offered me a job with the Dodgers, one of my dream jobs, trying to get me in debt with her already. Girls that act “nice” like this are leeches in my opinion. Because they try to make you owe them. Like a credit card company.

Anyways, she wanted me to come over to her house after class. I said ”Naw I’m gonna watch the Laker game”. She responded, “Don’t worry I have HD. Watch it at my house around the corner”. Fuck. I ended up following her back to her house. 20 minutes away. Lured into her world.

The Laker game was basically over. I saw the final play. This was when she thought it would be great to have sharing time with me. She told me, “I’ve never made out before”. Me: “So what do you do when you fuck”. Her: “We kiss on the cheeks”.  What the fuck. This shit is too weird for me. I needed to get the fuck out of there.

Coincidently, I felt really sick and had a really bad stomach ache, which felt shitty at first. But then I realized, maybe I can escape. I thought telling her I had to go diarrhea (#3) in her bathroom was my hole in the prison fence. But no. She was more than happy to let me destroy her bathroom, escorting me there like I was Obama heading into the White House after we killed Osama Bin Hidin. All VIP.

So I went in there, and there was one bathroom in the house. It had two doors connected to it. One went to her parent’s bedroom, where her parents were having pillow talk, and the other went to the kitchen, where people are cooking. And I had to go number 3. Damnat. The walls are like paper thin. You can hear everything going on, so you know they can hear you. I was trying to shit like a secret agent. But every time I pushed just a little, the loudest fart came out. Like when the floor creaks every time you try to sneak around your house after fucking up.

Finally, I just got up, without finishing. There was barely any toilet paper. I said “fuck it”. I just bailed. I told her I had work early in the morning.  The next time at class, I gave her the cold shoulder, and pretended like she wasn’t there. Sure enough, I got a hate message on Facebook with the subject “real cool jay”. It said ”real cool jay. way to act like you didn’t see me up in that class today”. I didn’t respond. And she never went to the class again. I hope my story will help others from making the same careless mistake I made. I care about YOU.

And if you do fuck up and make this mistake, just pretend like the girl doesn’t exist. If someone mentions her name, say “that’s a person”?, when she’s standing there in front of you. Tell people around you that she’s dieing for a cock, and she’ll do anything for one, continuing to pretend she isn’t there. Then close your eyes. She will disappear. Like magic.