Look. A lot goes on in Jason’s mind. It may not look like it. May look like he’s just looking out the window, but he’s not. Well, he is. He is looking out the window, but he’s got a lot on his mind when he’s doing it. Okay? So just you remember that the next time you think he’s just looking out the window with nothing on his mind.

Like his latest and greatest hangover cure nowadays is you chug three Vitamin waters then if you don't yak it all back up, you go and eat biscuits and gravy with like five cups of coffee. If you don’t yak that either, then you’re fine.

Jason asked that nurse what kinda shoes she wore cause Jason knows that nurses gotta be on their feet all day like he does and his feet’re killing him lately, so … he’s gonna try to find a man version of those shoes that nurse wears. 

Jason just got shot down by Jimmy when he asked Jimmy for three weeks off in a row. So what Jason’s gonna do is ask (squirrel) cause Jason doesn’t understand that just as soon as Jimmy was done talking to him, Jimmy picked up the phone and called (squirrel) to give him a heads up that Jason’d prolly be calling soon, cause Jason’s real predictable like that.

Jason’s been at this a long time, and up to now the best horrible name for soup is ‘cream of eye crud.’ He thought there’s no way in hell any name would ever top either ‘beef poodle’ or ‘chicken and lice’ or ‘cream of children.’ He was proven wrong by ‘cream of eye crud.’

He just now got that splinter he’s been digging at for … a while now. The same splinter that has been making him nuts all day. You think he’s been picking at his hand just to pretend he can’t hear you when you try to get another drink. No. That’s just another instance of you being wrong as hell.

The other day, he farted so bad it made him giggle. You ever fart so bad it makes you giggle? Cause it happens all the time to Jason. All the time. Oh, and a little bit ago, this woman went into the bathroom and farted and you could hear it all the way over here where he’s standing, which is like twenty feet away, cause the restaurant was real quiet and all anyone heard was the door close then her ass hit the seat then BBBRRRRRRRRTTTT. It was so hysterical, he wishes we were all there to hear it. Yeah that was one loud fart that lady ripped, all right.

He hasn’t given up on his mission to make every Tuesday Jewsday. Brisket, matzo ball soup, kugel, smoked fish, whatever else Jews eat. Pierogi? Do Jews eat Pierogi? Well, whatever, but this place needs to have a gimmick like calling Tuesday Jewsday. Fall is just around the corner, and as god is Jason’s witness, come Fall, he’s gonna amp up his Jewsday efforts big time!

This year, he’s gonna win fantasy football so he doesn’t even know why the rest of us are bothering with all the braggadocio. He’s gonna win every game. His team’s gonna score so many fantasy football points you just won’t believe how many fantasy football points his team’s gonna score.

The rest of planet earth should know that (squirrel) is a dickhead. Jason came up with this fantastic sandwich. It came to him, like a vision, just like a vision, when this drunk-ass dude asked for a steak sandwich only he was real drunk, right? So it came out snake sandwich. That’s all it took for Jason’s brain to go to work. This great steak sandwich just popped into Jason’s head. He even thought up a name for it – the Rattler – and (squirrel) needs to put it on the menu. The fact that (squirrel) refuses to put the Rattler on the menu is further evidence that (squirrel)’s head is up (squirrel)’s ass, if further evidence is needed. Which it’s not.

You see that woman over there with the cans? That one over there, right by the door there? No, not that one. The other one. The one you just pointed at’s friend. Jason’s gonna make her his new girlfriend. She doesn’t know it yet but it’s true. He’s gonna do it. First, he’ll take her to a nice place for dinner. That place won’t be this place cause it’s a fucking joke to take a woman to this place when this place is where he works. (You know who does some shit-ass stunt like that? Alan, that’s who. Jason’s not Alan. Not by a country mile.) So anyway so yeah, so he’s gonna make her his girlfriend, all right. Take her to dinner first, like down in Chinatown maybe, or Devon for some Indian or some shit, then some drinks at Map Room maybe, or Long Room, so … and hey, seriously, did you check out them cans? Jesus Christ, them cans.

He has not yet decided if he’s gonna punch Steve in the face or ribs or gut. One of those places. Cause Steve says Jason can hit him wherever he wants. One punch, that’s all Jason gets, and if Steve thinks Jason’s gonna pass up a golden opportunity to punch Steve, Steve’s got another thing coming.

Jason should be given the title of manager one weekend night, cause he’s the only one who knows what he’s doing, this much is pretty crystal clear if you think about it. And if Jimmy and (squirrel) don’t want anyone else to know about it, cause then there’d be jealousy running rampant, then Jimmy and (squirrel) can just keep him being manager behind the scenes and covert if they want.

Jason should also get another dollar an hour.

He thinks you should all know that just cause (squirrel) and Jimmy were so goddamn happy that Saturday was cool enough for them to break out the crockpot for the first time since … April doesn’t mean he wants to stand there listening to them talk about it all fucking night. It’s goulash with buttered egg noodles and extra sour cream if you ask for it. Big goddamn deal. To be so happy like Jimmy and (squirrel) were being bout the goulash is pretty goddamn foolash.

Oh, and you know what else Jason’s really sick and tired of hearing bout? How great (squirrel)’s blog is, even though no one can know where the blog is and (squirrel) makes this big thing outta clearing his history when he closes the browser. Either tell people or shut up. Can’t have it both ways.

And, you know what? If (squirrel)’s blog is so goddamn great, why’s (squirrel) not making any money on it. Jason bets (Squirrel) doesn’t even have a blog in the first place. It’s something he’s making up just to make himself feel better. Even though (and here comes the paradox of it all) half the goddamn time, (squirrel) complains bout the blog and how weird it is to stare at the blank screen when he wants to type something but doesn’t know what, then (squirrel) goes on and on and on bout how it’s a huge imposition on his oh-so-busy day cause of all the time he’s gotta put in on the posts or whatever you call them when they’re blog entries. What’re they called, articles? Stories? Meanderings, more like. Hah. Yeah, that’s probably what they’re like. Meanderings.