I was sent this image of unknown date that illustrates Jan's big problem. Work. Pictured here is a younger Jan in a workspace, unable to make use of his genitals, and playing it off like it's a big joke. Add a few years, a few pounds, and a ton of genital hostility, and you have an image of modern-day Jan.

With apologies, Jan hasn't done much lately but sit at a desk and put on weight, but now with the summer upon him, he's getting a little more free time. Jan plus free time equals blog posts.

Jan decided to celebrate the change of the season with a brave new look from his baltic homeland. His nona or whatever sewed this up from scraps of other awful vests littering her village back in Sweden or Switzerland or wherever Boba Janni tends sheep or whatever. She also sent a giant block of choco-nut-loaf (seen here in tin foil) which I must say, was delicious, but required an entire glass of unpasturized buttermilk to with every bite.

Cousin Larry would be underwhelmed.

Not be beat a theme to death, but here we go. The theme is Jan's awful diet. The answer is "a two-pound hybrid cheese burger make from several single layer burgers frankensteined together". The question is "what is wrong with Jan". To be fair, if you were to take a concept like bachelorhood and represent it as a meal, it would not be vegetarian safe.

Gout is described as painful arthritic attacks of the joints caused by crystallization of urates within and about the joints. Words like by excruciating, sudden, unexpected, burning pain, as well as swelling, redness, warmth, and stiffness are bandied about as well. The whole deal is caused by elevated uric acid in the bloodstream.

Ragusa lists uric acid as a major ingredient after sugar and cocoa.

Jan ate three blocks of these paralyzing nougat bars and now uses a skateboard to roll between his living room and the bathroom.

When Jan was in school, being a starving would-be artist, he couldn't afford to stay in residence, so him and three friends took a lease on a nearby storage unit and pirated power from a light socket.

Jan has many things to not be proud of, but driving under the influence is near the top of his personal best of the worst. Simply enough, Jan had his car parked on a street and needed to move it to private parking while under the influence. He figured it would be simple enough, but nothing is ever simple in Jan's life. No one was hurt, but Jan would like to take the time to remind people that there is no such thing as being a "little too drunk to drive".

Why do killers take trophies? Keeping a souvenir, be it a jewelry or a lock of hair or a finger, helps them relive the fantasy of the crime. Police often look for these items at suspects homes; often something the victim was wearing at the time of the crime.

Why does Jan keep trophies? Jan keeps trophies, you ask? See this wall? Turns out Jan has kept a momento from every girl he's ever dated / met / lured into his home. I find the retainer and shaving kit the most troubling.

Okay sure, it's no sex tape, and I'm not ruling out the discovery of some long lost super awesome sex tape, but it's the best discovery I've come across since, well, the sex tape soundtrack he keeps in his washroom. Enjoy the horror that is, small town drunken rocker Jan. I never would have pegged him as a Sodom fan, but there you have it.

Any trip though Jan's apartment can be a fanciful event full of eye-opening surprises. Earlier this week, yours truly had a chance to be in his apartment when an unnamed third-party made a magical discovery. Jan had a copy of something called "Vintage Sex Songs", in his bathroom of all places. He also keeps a chair in his bathroom, for purposes unknown. Below is the first actual glimpse of Jan's living quarters caught on film.

It's no secret that Jan hasn't had the most luck with his hair. It hasn't always been his best friend or representative. According to Jan's stylist, his hair suffers from mad curliness with the application of moisture, and now that his hair is becoming shorter, the effect is more pronounced. Jan modified his Hitler-chic and ended up with a Michael Richards / Lyle Lovett / Depeche Mode kind of thing. He explained that he was going for a playful, boyish 50's paperboy feel, but the effect looks more like someone who converted from Rastafari to regular Christian and stayed up trying to unravel their dreads with a pick all night. I and I are confused by the look, but wish him well.

And now, finally, a happy post for poor Janzo. Long time friend and roommate (name withheld) is coming back. (name withheld) has been travelling the globe expanding his mind and engaging the locals with his weird trip wherever he goes? So what does this mean for Jan? Well (name withheld) actually acts as a stablizer and calming influence in Jan's life, so let's see how this shapes these entries in the months to come.

In other news, the third Janzo poll has closed: Jan has Hepatitus and we're all very excited. There's still no immediate plan to replace his phone, so his new strategy has been to simply not use the phone. This makes things difficult, now that he's dating again! Lots to report.

I have a private plea from Jan. Last night he was again forced to use a public payphone in light of the loss of his cell phone, and a prostitute - possibly a transexual based on the description - ran up and assaulted him with a kind of running dry-hump. He's fine, but he's shaken and his dignity took a hit, and he needs your help. If every one of you clicked on one of his sponsor ads, we might be able to get poor Jan his life back in order.

Through a combination of not paying his phone bill and leaving the actual phone in a bar somewhere, Jan is forced to use a payphone in a bad neighbourhood in dim lighting to stay in touch with the outside world. Another excellent segway into another excellent Janzo poll: by the time Jan gets his cellphone back, what accidental infections will he be hosting?

Jan is a sad bastard. A bachelor, cursed to walk the earth alone. Alive but undead, trapped in a personal rut. Unloved. Alone. Question: what would be more lonely than going for a walk or a bike ride around town by yourself? Answer: doing it in your apartment. The best way to think of static rollers is like a virtual riding simulator that gets you to the end of your street and then throws you into a wall or over your handlebars. Only gravity's masters can ride on this thing, so the machine is actually designed to add injury to the insult. I'm waiting till he either loses interest in it or is put into traction before offering to help patch his drywall.

This is the outfit Jan accidentally wore when his building accused him of being a neo-nazi and then rolled him in the parking lot for setting off the fire alarm. This is also an image of pre-deskjob Jan. He's become a little body-image sensitive, and now I can see why. Is that a side pipe or a tube worm?

If your public school had a music program, you know instruments are first come first serve. I missed my first day and got stuck with the trombone. Jan missed his first day, but he didn't grow up in the city. Jan got saddled with the bagpipes. WTF OMG LOL ROFL right? You would think so, but evidently nay.

The sound can travel for blocks and apprently results in instinct eviction, so I've never seen him play, but apparently the sight of squeezing your bag and blowing a pipe works with the ladies and has never let him down. Live and learn.

Ammendum: in researching this post, I actually found a Bagpipe Simulator, apparently able to recreate the experience virtually, available in everything from Flemish Pipe to Swedish Saeckpipa. Enjoy. Or don't. Either way.

This is by far the weirdest insight yet. This is an image pilfered from a dating website Jan tried out. Now we've done articles on Jan dating before (see here and here), and we've poked fun, speculating about his performance or awful luck, but this is in a different category.
It reminds me of that South Park hypothesis that you could see something so funny that you would never laugh again, that there would be no point; that nothing would ever be that funny again.

If you're not familiar with the program, the character in question met a person with an actual ass for a face and spoke with a kind of flatulant lisp. I can only hope Jan doesn't quit and flee the country, because I need to laugh again. It can't end here. Not like this.

Jan has a demanding job that requires a lot of him and leaves him very little time for personal pursuits like meaningful relationships and hygiene as we've discussed. Although he has a healthy fear for his job, and doesn't want to risk unemployment, I'm told I'm told all this over employment is having its effects.

An co-worker who asked to remain anonymous told me he found Whoosh Boom Splay hidden in his drawer. It's the Garage Warrior's Guide to building Projectile Weapons. A quick intenet research found this spot for it. Again, it's a projectile weapon's guide. This can't be good.

Today is an especially sad post. Many years ago Jan came up with the idea for a Tauntaun Sleeping Bag. Remember Empire Strikes back? Jan always joked on freezing days that he'd love to slit open a Tauntaun and climb inside for warmth. It's an awesome joke and he loved to tell it. Those words will likely never cross his lips again.

Introducing, the Tauntaun Sleeping Bag.

This thing comes complete will saddle, intestines, embroidered head pillow, 100% polyester, machine washable and even has a glowing light sabre zipper to illustrate how you slice open the belly to gain entry. It's actually an April Fool's joke, but that doesn't matter. Jan can't bandwagon onto this thing now. It's too late. His heart, like his dream, is dead.

Yesterday Jan was the happy-go-lucky bachelor wearing a bedsheet with a headhole cut in the middle instead of clothes. Today he's become that guy who patented the phone ten minutes after Alexander Graham Bell; that guy who's name no one remembers. Well we're keeping Jan's name alive here: the true inventor, but too-lazy-to-get-to-market-first-guy, of the Tauntaun Sleeping Bag.

When Jan first moved to the big city, he bought an apartment in an old loft building. The first night, he found an exposed pipe leaking in the ceiling and tried to fix it. Not being a plumber by trade, he indian wrestled it and hit it with a boot, tripping the fire alarm in the process. This all happened at that point in the night some people would call extremely early and others would call extremely late. This would please no one.

When Jan emerged from the building, everyone had already evacuated to the parking lot, many still in their nightwear. As the last one out, the new guy, with all eyes on him, looking pretty guilty, all he could say was: "what kind of dick sets a fire alarm off in the middle of the night?"

He narrowly avoided being pummeled to death by a woman.

Make of this what you will. At his last Secret Santa thing at work, Jan drew a woman with anger issues and without a moment's hesitation or humour about it, he bought two pairs of matching brass knuckles for her - demonstrating his generosity and passive aggressive nature. There will be more to come on Jan's office behaviour, as the site has gained an inside mole.

So what would you expect from a guy who sneaks cheese into a steakhouse and eats ketchup sandwiches and keeps bread in his bathroom when you go out for food? You wouldn't expect he'd beg the waiter to bringing him a bowl of ice cream with his Guinness so he could make a float out of it. But just because you wouldn't expect it doesn't mean you wouldn't be surprised. Here is the step-by-step guide to making your own Guinness Float.

It may seem dismissive to call someone unaware, but this is how Jan came to work one chilly morning, so you decide. The ski-mask-and-I-heart-pregnant-white-chicks-shirt look is pretty untrodden. If there's a better definition for "niche dating", let us know. Best part is, the day this was taken he was hoping to meet a woman after work and didn't know whether he'd have time to go home and change first. Nuff said.

Jan once told me he and a buddy snuck a brick of cheese into a steak house to augment their meal. Yesterday I found out that Jan's mom or aunt or some relative-enabler brought him an eight pound wheel of Swiss, non-swiss cheese from the homeland. A wheel of cheese is at best, novelty proportions. Still, he was so thankful and moved, that he never put it down. It's almost all gone now. Strips of the rind peel litter his apartment. It's day three.

On that note, weight-related illnesses kill 300,000 Americans annually. One of them is going to kill Jan by Tuesday, so we're doing a real quick poll to find out what the most likely culprit will be. You've heard the evidence, now render your final verdict.

You're probably thinking lip tattoos are only for the insane and insanely hot chicks, but not true. Jan got his lip tattooed on a dare, and was going to show some hometown pride by inking the postal code of the tiny hamlet of his ubringing on his lip, but then got drunk and got this.

Janzo poll number two is in the books and it was a trick question. Jan has cried at all those movies. In an unrelated post, here is an image of Jan after a flock of birds crapped all over his shirt, and mildly into his hair. There's no direct correlation between the poll and the shi(r)t, other than to point out once again that Jan's life is full of all kinds of personal sadness.

Crying. Every sane person should try it at least once a year. Second hand rumour has it that Jan was on his way to work on the street car one day and started crying, just like that, which segways nicely to this week's Janzo poll. Which movie did Jan nut up and totally cry over like a Life-Coach from a hetero retraining camp?

When Jan finally took the plunge and went to Supercuts he asked for a sassy new look, but haircuts are never the same once the styling goop washes out. He arrived at work unaware his once neolithic locks, tusseled by unfavourable winds, had revealed an unexpected inner sassisness. We'll call this look, mein Führer, or the Reluctant Hitler (nsfw). It was either that or that chick from the second Terminator movie, so he's opted to stick with the Hitler nickname for now.

(this blog receives change with every click of a sponsor ad at the side or bottom - Google tailors the ads to mirror the content of the blog, so let's see how many neo-nazi's advertise through Google)

A while back, Jan met a young lady and invited her back to his place for a few drinks. He always wanted to get more into photography and that morning he'd finished a shopping spree for some nice new gear. He'd just finished setting up a basic studio in his apartment so the first thing you see when you enter is a raised platform surrounded by a lighting rig, tripod, and camera at the ready.

His actual bedroom is not immediately evident when you enter the apartment.

She quietly freaked and nothing came of it.

Herman Miller offer well designed chairs; nice sleek lines, very modern design to provide optimum support and positioning. The seat and back are made of mesh for breathability. Jan won one in a work lottery.

Jan's office is open concept, and recently a portion of it was sublet to another company who shares a space about five feet away from his desk and using filing cabinets, not known for their sound retentive properties, as dividers.

When asked how things were going, I received this email: "I just farted so loud through [my] herman miller chair. [the mesh seat] doesn't muffle it at all. The new guys might have been put off."

The First Janzo Poll is complete. The results are in and and the will of the people is heard.

According to the majority of his adoring public, Jan's innocent dalience on the internet put him in the sights of an Asian Organ Harvesting ring, and we're going to miss him. In second place was the more physically subtle but more psychologically uncomfortable visit from the good folks at Dateline.

Itchy stitches or itchy testies? His chances of waking up with a kidney or a VD seem equally slim. Breaking news, as it's available.

Shoes stink. Prolonged use can make them smell like a dip bowl for corn chips. Jan wore his malodorous Vans like a sockless second skin for a few months straight.

Jan developed a proximity test where a shoe's lifepan could be judged by distance of stink transferance measured in feet (p = u - ½x²).

One day he picked up a pair of replacement sneaks for his fumigated footwear and left the wretch-inducers on the sidewalk outside the store. A homeless-looking dude checked them out but wouldn't take them.

Tardiness has never been as much of an issue as attire. Jan was late for work, couldn't find a belt, and used a shoelace instead. He'd also fully blown the taint out of his jeans, torn from genitals to lower-buttocks. Rather than replace the pants, or even find a different pair for that day, he picked out a pair underwear that closely matched the colour to create the illusion of a complete seat and left for work.

No one knows if Jan has a dishwasher or not, but we know he occasionally runs out of clean dishware. On one occasion, sitting home alone getting drunk, he ran out of glasses and used a gravy boat to drink wine from.

(note: the actual gravy boat was likely not as ornate as the model pictured here)

(further addendum: Jan confirmed it was actually some kind of plastic gravy separator, whatever the hell that is)

Jan doesn't spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about his hair, but from time to time he takes an interest and there are threats of heading to the Salon. Jan often flip-flops between Post-Arrest James Brown to full-on Geico Caveman.

Foreshadowing a good post here: Jan has a date this coming weekend with someone he met on the internet. And with that, JANZO`s First Poll is now live.

In the same vein, Jan was at a party and imbibed until he yarged all over himself, requiring a full wardrobe change. The party was a at a cottage and the only thing available was this really hetero sailor outfit. He spent the night on couch, kept awake by the sound of two people having sex through the wall. The girl was trying to engage her uncooperative suitor in a rape fantasy that led to her calling out the old chestnut: "fine, rape me in the morning".

Although Swiss by birth, Jan's attire makes him look drunk and Irish to the point where although he did get drunk at lunch, he also got into a fight with a random stranger who called him a "stupid mick" and threatened to throw potatoes at him.

Shortly thereafter, he fell asleep in a restaurant while ordering food.

On that same day, a glass shelf in his washroom shattered. He was too tired to clean up the glass so he just wore boots in the washroom. This went on for the better part of a week.

Laundry day is an inauspicious occassion at Jan's. He told me he had to use a t-shirt as a pillowcase, but was too proud to tell me what was wrong with the existing pillowcase.

He also once fashioned a t-shirt into a pair of homemade underwear.

Jan's unique riding style ended with a hangover and a giant bruise, all because the stupid lane wouldn't stay still (antipathy and italics inserted).

The bruise looked like Gorbachev's head, so Jan got himself a makeshift DIY tattoo of Mikhail on his stomach, in permanent marker, sans glasses.

Meet Jan. And although not sanctioned or commissioned by him, welcome to Jan's Official Fan Site.

This blog offers you the solace and comfort that only perspective gives as your gingerly prance through the oft-times graceless schadenfreudic adventure (def: pleasure derived from the misfortunes of others) of a man, a working stiff, chained to a computer; looking for a little love, and lot of understanding.

Judgement-withheld.