Alex Jacob Resurfaces!

He has long been presumed dead, but my sources in Hollywood tell me that poker ace and former Delino contributor Alex Jacob is alive and well... and starring in a new NBC comedy series this fall. It's called et Al, and Alex apparently plays a Latin teacher (named Al, of course) who gives up his high-flying poker career to teach Latin in a small Kansas town. Check out the one-sheet:

Guy Who Was Late in Getting Around to Organizing Haiti Relief Benefit Party

Guy Who Was Late in Getting Around to Organizing Haiti Earthquake Relief Benefit Party: Alright guys, I know I should have done this like weeks ago, but whatever. This Saturday, I've rented out the entire back room at Dive Bar for a kick-ass benefit party for those poor Haitians who lost everything in the earthquake. We're gonna have a sweet time, and help some Haitians!

Friend 1: Uhh, dude. Did you not hear about this? There was an earthquake in Chile two days ago. Fuckin' 8.8 on the Richter scale. One of the biggest ever. Over 700 dead already. They're the ones who really need help now.

Guy Who Was Late in Getting Around to Organizing Haiti Earthquake Relief Benefit Party: Are you fucking kidding me?! Can't one fucking 3rd-world shit-hole stay on the minds of these ADD Millenial motherfuckers who comprise my social scene for more than a couple weeks. I mean Jesus! I had a lot of shit to take care of what with the ski weekend at my parents' house in January, and then February there was the Super Bowl and President's Day - it's not my fault I didn't throw this thing earlier. Fuck fuck fuck! I already made the deposit at Dive Bar, which is nonrefundable of course, and I bought all these Haitian-themed decorations. Goddamn these Chilean motherfuckers!!!

(Guy Who Was Late in Getting Around to Organizing Haiti Earthquake Relief Benefit Party notices his friends are staring at him in shock)

Guy Who Was Late in Getting Around to Organizing Haiti Earthquake Relief Benefit Party: No, that's not what I mean. Of course we all know the real tragedy is this earthquake in Chile, and the one in Haiti. It's just so sad to see these poor people lose everything. Lose it all. Everything they have. Much, much sadder than, say, losing a deposit of a grand. Or blowing two hundred bucks on voodoo dolls and cocktail umbrellas. Yes, infinitely sadder, certainly.

The Hipster-i-fication of working class professions

So I went to a butcher shop in Williamsburg the other day to get some meat for a little gathering at a friend's house. I walk in, scan some meats, and when I look up at the butcher to order some chorizo, I see a fucking sub-Wesleyan hipster. "Hey dude, what would you like today?" he asks sweetly. "We have some culatello from Northern Italy and a fine capacola sausage from the isle of Sicily. Try some - no charge, bro." You're telling me what to do?

Here's what I want you to do, bro - I want you to stop taking a job in a working-class profession, and for all your hipster buddies to do likewise. When I walk into a butcher shop, I want to be greeted by a gruff, brusque, downright scary guy who stopped going to school in 10th grade and couldn't tell the difference between Flaubert and Clifford the Big Red Dog, who doesn't have a fucking clue where any of the meat comes from but can cut a perfect slice of meat in the way that trade workers for centuries have learned one physical thing really well but have no pretensions to being engaged with the world of ideas. While you're at it, tell your hipster bartender friends that I want my bartenders to be named Jack and say, "the usual, Danny?" even if I lose out on learning about some great microbrews (which seriously crushes my inner yupster spirit, but so be it). Try it- no charge, bro.

Story about my Roots

My Great-Great Grandfather Jakov Berger was a peasant in a shtetl on the Polish/Russian border. One time when he was about my age, a friend of his told him the adage that successful Jewish businessmen of the day were fond of bandying about - "Dress British, think Yiddish." Jakov was dyslexic, hard of hearing, and not terribly bright, but he had big dreams, so he tried to take this lesson to heart:











He died penniless, but he was buried in one of the heaviest, wooliest, Jew-iest coats ever produced at that time, so he was a happy man.

Sexually Repressed Guy Writes Origin Story for his Small Business's Web Site

One summer day, my buddy Jeff and I were paddling down the Connecticut River. Just a coupla dudes with a coupla brews, and a canoe. Yep. Breezin' down the river, chillaxin'. Scopin' out babes, definitely doin' that too, for sure.

The current was strong that day, and Jeff used all of his might to steer us away from some trees that had fallen the night before. A powerful thunderstorm had left branches and trunks strewn all along the river, but that day there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The sun was beating so strong that Jeff shed his cut-off tee-shirt, exposing all six-foot-four of his sinewy frame. Water splashed over the front of the boat, covering Jeff's upper body. His pecs looked like a pair of sizzling porterhouse steaks, ready to be taken off the grill and devoured. Sweat glistened on his flaxen mane, the individual hairs like stalks of hay in a Millet painting. Jeff was rowing so hard he began grunting: UNHHH! UNHHH! Like the calls of a wild animal in heat. I hurried to the seat behind him and we began rowing together, rocking back and forth in unison, our grunts synchronized along with our strokes. Forward, Backward UNHHH! UNHHH! Forward, Backward UNHHH! UNHHH! Forward UNHHH! UNHHH! UNHHH! UNHHH! And then it hit us! Why are canoes made out of heavy, old-fashioned steel? What if canoes were made out of titanium?

Titanium is ultra-lightweight, durable, and strong - heck, it's even waterproof! Golf clubs have been made out of titanium for years - why not canoes? So with a little research from some eggheads at the Dartmouth Physics Department and some seed money from a few relatives willing to take a chance on a coupla young guys with a dream, we founded TitaniCanoes. Now that you know our humble beginnings, explore our site and check out our full line of TitaniCanoes... They're Titanic!

Eat Richly 1943

Hurricane Andrew at Thanksgiving

Hurricane Andrew: You know I was the costliest hurricane in American history until that meschugena Katrina came along! The chutzpah from that one. Katrina! Never mention her name in this house again! The deaths I caused, the destruction, the chaos. All across the South when anyone dared utter the name "Andrew" people would cower in fear! Now, ehhhh... We have no sense of history in this country. It's all, what's happening today and cable news and that verkakte Glenn Beck. It's a shame, that's what it is - a national shame.

Hurricane Andrew's Grandson: Shut the fuck up, grandpa. No one gives a shit about your lame-ass stories from the glory days.
(Hurricane Andrew's Grandson walks away from the table to play Super Mario Bros. Wii in the entertainment room in the basement)

Hurricane Andrew: Ehhh... he's probably right. No one cares. (beat) I'm so sad.

The Nature of Evil, if We're Being Honest With Ourselves

INT. PARTY
(Hipster Acquaintance Who Dan Doesn't Even Really Like Or Care About walks past Dan without saying hello or even acknowledging that he knows him)

Dan's Interior Monologue: HATE HATE HATE that motherfucker! That dude is pure EVILLLLLLL!

(Fort Hood Shooter Nidal Malik Hasan, killer of 13 soldiers and wounder of 24 others, walks toward Dan)

Hasan: Hey Dan, what up bro?

Dan: I'm good, I'm good. How 'bout you?

Hasan: Doin' alright, though I've had a rough couple weeks

Dan: Tell me about it- my fucking DVR didn't record 30 Rock and it's not on Hulu yet

Hasan: Ha, exactly. Alright man, I'm gonna grab a Stella before they run out. Tell Rich I used Seamless for the first time the other day!

Dan: Will do! Later

Dan's Interior Monologue: LOVE that guy. Such a fucking HOMIE!

Scene from Berger Household, 1988

(Young Dan is wearing his favorite Mets t-shirt)
(Jerry, a family friend, leans down to pin a BUSH-QUAYLE '88 button in Young Dan's shirt)
(Young Dan recoils)

Jerry: Whadoo we have a Dukakis fan over here?
(laughter)

(Jerry leans in again to put the pin in)

Young Dan's interior monologue: Of course I'm not a Dukakis fan, you think I'd support that spineless communist, interrobang. What I'm concerned about, you buffoon, is that this pin is going to create a hole the size of the federal deficit under the Democratic Congress in my most prized garment

Young Dan's OTHER interior monologue (Herman's Head style): Would you chill out, first interior monologue? The holes from those pins close up after you wash them

Young Dan's interior monologue: No they don't, that's just vile propaganda spread by the pin lobby! Oh dear god, he's about to... nooo... well, there goes my favorite shirt. Who needs a Mets shmata? Have to stop saying shit like that, not everyone in the world is Jewish
Young Dan (giving big thumbs up and smiling): Thanks, Uncle Jerry! Thousand Points of Light!

Young Mother Teresa in 2009

(I run into Young Mother Teresa at Starbucks in Midtown Manhattan)

Me: Teresa, long time no see, how's the helping the sick and the poor racket these days?

Young Mother Teresa: Oh, no. I grow tired of missionary work. No room for advancement or 100K+ salary. Just a thing to do right after college. Looks good on resume - ees proto-Teach for America. And economy very bad right now. Taking LSAT. Want to go to solid regional school. Get firm job. But I steel care about poor- Simpson Thatcher has great pro-bono program, I swear...
(wistful beat)
Sorry, can't chat - in the middle of practice Games section.