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.