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Jesse Zakshesky: A Liar and a Thief

I would say that I'm a pretty straight-forward guy. Typically, I speak my mind with no worry about what people may think. That fact leads to me not having to hold on to a lot of secrets.

Except one.

When I moved to the great state of Wisconsin in fifth grade, there was a cultural phenomenon occurring on an international scale: Harry Potter. I started reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone while in fourth grade, and like the rest of the country, was hooked. So, one would safely assume that I would continue reading the rest of this critically-acclaimed series. 


Even at that age, I had an uncanny desire to be different, so as much as I wanted to continue reading Harry Potter,  I felt a relentless urge to read other things, which lead to me to sports biographies, paranormal accounts, and this little thing called The Lord of the Rings. However, in spite of all this "other reading" I was doing, I was still curious about Harry Potter.

This leads us to seventh grade, when I committed theft.

At this point in my life, I had an elitist attitude towards anybody who read Harry Potter, and literally bullied them to make myself feel better. This of course was to cover my insecure tracks because in reality, I really, really wanted to read Harry Potter. Late in seventh grade, I simply couldn't take it anymore. 

It was study hall, and half of us were reading, the other half was talking, and then there was me, masterminding my heist. For the past 3 periods that day, I was stalking a fellow classmates' copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, and I knew I was eventually going to steal it...I just didn't know when or how. But my opponent got up, and left my prize alone, unattended. I quickly switched into attack mode, and swiftly snatched up that book with one hand and jammed it as far down my backpack as possible with the other. 

So there you go, even in spite of not reading the second book in the series, I read that entire novel in a day in a half. The really funny part was that I read it in the very study hall I stole it from, I simply put a book cover over it. After finishing the book, which I generally enjoyed, I felt guilty about having it, so I really didn't have a desire to continue reading Harry Potter, and that was the final iteration of it that I ever attempted to consume. From that summer on, I went back to my old ways, belittling people who liked the series, and eventually the films. It's only fitting that the only film adaptation of the series I ever watched also was Azkaban, which I felt inclined to see, but after viewing it, I really lost all interest in keeping up with the web of deception I created.

You may be wondering why I'm coming clean like this. Allow me to elaborate. I actually ran into the guy I stole this book from at a bar recently, and I realized that if I were to ever see him again, especially under the influence of alcohol, I would probably feel compelled to embarrass myself publicly, so let's avoid that. 

And more importantly, I really feel this story is quite entertaining.

Mike Slinde, I'm sorry I stole your damn book. If you want it back, let me know.

Harry Potter is the most over-rated series of all time.


The Bloody Glove: A Business Proposal

A couple days ago, my buddy David and I were at The Pizza Oven, a Monona, Wisconsin gem that just so happens to serve the best pizza I have ever eaten. It's a bold statement, but I would also like to point out that I've eaten A LOT of damn pizza in my life.

Now that I've gotten my promotional considerations out of the way, let me get to the guts of this story. David and I realized after looking around the place, that the walls are completely filled with sports memorabilia, from the likes of the Green Bay Packers and Brett Favre to other nationally themed tributes, such as Tiger Woods, Mark McGwire and Jim Brown. 

At this point David asks me, "You know what would be awesome? What if instead of basically worshiping these people for all of their athletic achievements, what if a restaurant instead put up framed pictures and news articles of all their scandals?"

A revolutionary idea was conceived.

Imagine this: It's Saturday night, and you want to watch the game. You and your buddies walk through the doors of a sports bar to see walls filled with Michael Vick and Tiger Woods. Any "normal" establishment would focus primarily on Michael Vick's days as a NFL phenom or Tiger Woods' dominance in golf.

Not here. Oh, and from this point forward, "here" is now known simply as The Bloody Glove. The Bloody Glove would have an entire wall filled with pictures of Tiger Woods' bruised face, a collage of all women he allegedly slept with, and probably a TV with which I will loop his voicemails to these women and have them transcribed so you, as the customer, can enjoy the downfall of a man who used to be the face of golf, but now has problems even qualifying for tournaments.

We've covered Tiger Woods, but what other athletes could we exploit? I've conveniently made a list of some of the walls David and I plan on having in this restaurant. And yes, there are going to be A LOT of walls at The Bloody Glove. It'll actually be the most architecturally pleasing establishment you've ever been to.

Clearly we need to apply for a loan as soon as possible.


The Takedown Of Jesse Zakshesky

The fact that I'm even writing this article is ironic when you take into account that I literally was bragging last night about how I've never been pulled over once. Ever.

It's hilarious how 12 hours can drastically shrink the size of your testicles.

Today, at 12:20pm, I was driving on John Nolen Drive en route to a meeting I had to attend at 12:30. The speed limit was 30mph (which I still think is too slow for that stretch of road, but whatever) and I was doing my normal +5 over the limit. I wasn't in a huge hurry, and at my current rate would have had ample time to park and walk to my destination. 

That was until I got behind "Nanna."

Nanna felt that it was completely acceptable to go 25mph behind a bus that itself was taking its own damn time. I understand that people in their elderly years are a little more careful and can be scared to pass large vehicles. I accept that. However, I'm NOT elderly, and I simply cannot justify going BELOW the speed limit for any considerable amount of time. Pictured below is a gifted artist's replication of the situation that I faced on this fateful day:
Not a dramatization.
So after I performed the maneuver depicted by the red arrows, a move that I will now refer to as "Left Red Shift," I thought my annoying 5 second experience was over.


Once I got by both Nanna and the bus, I glanced over to my right side mirror, admiring the noobs that I just passed. After relishing in what I accomplished, my field of vision redirected itself back to the 2 O'Clock position, where something else caught my eyes: A police officer with a radar gun. 

At this point I figured I was screwed, but for about 2 minutes I didn't see any police cruisers following me...until Broom Street. Once I got in the left turn lane, Officer "Warren" got a hold of me. I knew I was caught, so once I turned left, I figured it was time to concede and promptly pulled off at Bedford and awaited Warren's wrath. Warren and his comrade clocked me at 45mph in a 30 Zone, but apparently Warren and I "bonded" because he felt pity on my soul. Since I didn't act like a douche, and because my record was clean until this point, he only recorded me at +10. I was only docked 3 points on my license, and the ticket is only $88. I honestly really liked Warren, until he noticed when my birthday is and made the following comment:

Officer Warren: "Jesse, I see it is your birthday in a few days, so I'm gonna let you off a little easy so you can have more cash to party, or whatever it is you do with your money."

Warren, how about this? On May 31st, I'll give you a call, and you can come to the bars with me where you'll see me and my friends probably intoxicated beyond comprehension. You and I will then do a few shots, all on your tab of course. That's where you'll see "what I do with my money." Maybe afterwards you can give me a ride back to my apartment. Sounds like an absolutely marvelous night to me.

Honestly, I am looking at this experience with a smile. Nobody got hurt, Warren wasn't a "complete" ass, and I got off pretty easy. Quite frankly, the 88 dollars MORE than pays for all the shenanigans I have pulled in the past, such as street racing, allowing people in my back seat to drink, and perpetually speeding in school zones. 

I'm a somewhat changed man.
Warren's Favorite Show



Never again.

People who know me are aware of the fact that I can eat a lot of food. Quite simply, my appetite is nothing short of legendary. Taking this all into account, one would be surprised to hear me complaining about how full I am.

My roommate Eric and I admittedly were lazy tonight, and didn't feel like cooking anything. Since I was pretty hungry, I decided that I was in the mood for some Hunan Beef from Asian Kitchen. If you know me personally, and stalk my Facebook status updates like you should, you'll remember about a month ago me complaining about how I didn't feel so good the following day after eating Asian Kitchen. One would think that I would have learned my lesson. 

Think again. It turns out that I'm a total dumbass, and against my better judgment agreed to this godforsaken meal thinking that the incident a month prior was merely a fluke.

We placed our order, put on some 30 Rock, and patiently waited for our food to arrive. The problem with Asian Kitchen isn't the price of the food, nor the quality. To put it bluntly, the problem with Asian Kitchen is simply this:

They jam way too much fucking food into the Styrofoam deathtraps they call "Dinner Combos."

Again, the food itself was quite tasty, which explains why all 1.5 pounds or so is currently residing inside of my stomach. Not to mention those 2 eggrolls. Eggrolls may look and sound innocent, but I can assure you, those deep fried bastards pack a devastating punch. Moreover, I have a strong suspicion that mixing Duck Sauce with their blend of spices actually "tricks" your mind and body into thinking that you are enjoying your meal, when in fact, with each passing bite you are slowly killing yourself.

Eric and I watched about 3 episodes of 30 Rock tonight. The first 2.5 episodes were enjoyable, and during that time we were having a nice, quiet evening. The last 15 minutes of episode 3 however is a much different story. If you were to walk in, I would have been found sprawled out and moaning in a comatose state across my couch, with my legs in the adjacent chair, and a glass of water in my hand. I literally thought I could feel the hydrochloric acid inside my stomach attempting to digest its own protective lining. 

In closing, I would just like to just say this. I wish no ill-will upon the fine folks who operate Asian Kitchen; what you guys have given to me over the years is nothing short of spectacular. When it comes to value, taste, and reliability, Asian Kitchen is second to none. But in all seriousness, unless I'm completely, utterly, 100% inebriated beyond the likes of which I haven't been in a long time, I'm going to have to look elsewhere for my late night food fix.

I'm tempted to call in "sick" tomorrow, walk to the park, and be the man in the above photograph.


What I've been doing instead of writing articles

To be honest, not much.

  • I actually started working out again. We'll see how long that lasts.
  • The Sopranos and 30 Rock have taken over my life.
  • I've become rather obessed with the catchy song "Not Fair" by Lily Allen. I don't care what anybody says.
  • Getting drunk while reading random Wikipedia articles has become a pastime of mine.

 I would "like" to be more regular with the updates, but I'm not promising anything. Odds are I'll post another article in a few years. 

Need I say more?