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.