So as I wrote a couple weeks ago in another Live Chat post - about my potential final live chat with a human named Mitch on The North Face site - I did a bunch of these live chats years ago, way back when I was making Delocated, and before infuriating AI chat assistants were commonplace. The live chats started with me and Time Warner Cable, asking what channel Cartoon Network was on, and had they seen Delocated, etc. If you haven’t, make sure to go back and read the previous two North Face live chat posts.

I had originally posted the live chats on an old Tumblr that started as a Delocated blog. Not exactly good foresight for whenever Delocated ended and I started doing other things and was then stuck with what was basically a Delocated-themed blog in both name and design.

Not the biggest deal, but mildly annoying, even if in a good way, and at some point I felt the need to add a disclaimer:

Anywaaaaaaay…here’s a better photo of that incredible ski mask and dog ski mask.

Both were made by the artist Olek, and photographed by Matthew Salacuse, for a Delocated article in Juxtapoz magazine back in 2012.

We also had another absolutely stunning ski mask made for that article, this one by Laura Birek

As I continue to roll out Asshole And The City and figure out what I want to post each week or so, I felt like I wanted to keep going with the live chats. This week, at least. Nothing felt quite right to post after Trump absolutely fucking ruined the entire NBA Finals Game 3 vibe for New Yorkers (and anyone who isn’t a complete and total piece of shit) by going to the game and making it all about himself, which required the area surrounding all of Madison Square Garden to be blocked off for security purposes, which in turn absolutely ruined the experience for the thousands of fans who had been gathering regularly for jam packed watch parties outside MSG. Which in turn hurt all the adjacent businesses. All so this self-absorbed scumbag could do an embarrassingly performative, stolen valor salute during the national anthem (GET RID OF IT AT SPORTING EVENTS) and then cozily fall asleep in his box next to another fellow douche.

I’m just bummed that Jalen Bruson didn’t turn out to be a Manchurian Candidate, Naked Gun-esque sleeper agent.

Not yet, at least. Still a few more games to see if something happens that wouldn’t feel the least bit insane in a day and age that has completely transcended parody.

Anywaaaaaaay…this is also my first post that has a paywall, and from here, I am planning on doing that for most posts. That may change some day.

For now, my aim is to have this page become a supplemental comedic venture, including more than writing. There will be video. Perhaps a podcast. Definitely some live stuff, including a potential “live” live chat.

Again, just NOT…TONIGHT.

In these infuriating koo koo times, where someone like Stephen Colbert can get pushed out of a job - all because of previously said scumbag - your financial support is greatly appreciated. And supporting your favorite creative people directly is also a nice ‘fuck you’ to the corporate overlords that are beholden to said scumbag’s butthole!

So if you are enjoying what you’ve read so far, both here and previously; and/or if you are a long time fan who’s willing and able to support my work; or/and if you have a shitload of money and need some fun business expenses, I am putting the “plea” in please! Monthly, annual, and Glounders (Glaser Founders) subscription levels available.

So why not just Go 4 It 2-day! Keep enjoying this post and the posts to come!

Read more

It was the type of truly sublime, soul-enriching exchange that could never happen with an AI chat assistant. Not now. Not ever. Not:

While working on launching my Substack, I was going through the old live chats I had done, and thought a follow up with North Face chat from 2018 would be funny. I ended up live chatting with an AI assistant. I had gone back and forth about including these AI chats on the first post, but in the end, the Mitch story felt nice and succinct, and good as is.

I also went back and forth on even posting them at all, since people fucking with AI has been done plenty as a comedy premise. They’re also ultimately just me wasting my time arguing with a robot, not to mention perpetuating and contributing to the problem in the first place by using AI, etc.. To paraphrase the Funkadelic song, “If you don’t like the effects, don’t produce the cause.”

In the end, I decided to post the AI chats, along with some follow up live chats with humans. It felt funny to see the contrast since both sets of chats are with North face, and as you’ll see, I also address the issue directly with the human chat assistants, as to how they feel about AI potentially taking their jobs.

This will be the last AI chat I will ever post, until a ‘VengeBotX3-4D sent from the future shows up at my door.

9:31PM

_______________________________________________________________________

9:37 PM

________________________________________________________________________

10:10 PM

________________________________________________________________________

10:14 PM

_______________________________________________________________________

10:17 PM

________________________________________________________________________

10:20 PM

At this time, the cosplay douchebag Greg Bovino was still in charge of ICE.

________________________________________________________________________

Ok. So that was back in January of this year. When I was getting ready to launch my Substack at the beginning of May, I decided to go back to North Face and try a live chat during their regular business hours, and see what their human agents thought about the potential of losing their jobs to their after-hours AI counterparts. The first two are from May 11, and the second one is from May 28.

Janice D was clearly hesitant to talk about AI. I get it. I was actually typing up a response about how you can’t give AI a hug, and looking up the Johnny Thunders song “You Can’t Put Your Arms Around A Memory” when Janice ended the chat before I had a chance to mention it. Too bad, since she was most surely a Johnny Thunders-esque “so alone” in her chat cubicle or wherever she was chatting from.

Surely there was another Mitch out there who was primed and ready to engage more substantially with another human being. Someone who’d be open to going deeper on how they felt about AI potentially taking their job. This is also 8 years later from the first North Face chat exchange. Maybe everyone on The North Face Chat Team had heard the story by now, about a chat agent named Mitch who met this guy named Jonathan in the live chat one time, and how they both bonded over the longer and shorter spelling of their names, and how they joked about opening a gear store together. And how Mitch got an e-five, waiting for him in this very Substack.

And how all the agents found themselves sitting around, hoping and waiting for their own moment of deep emotional connection during what would otherwise be just another 8 hour work shift filled with soulless interactions. A entire team of chat operatives yearning for their own e-fives.

Janice D, if you ever need it, and should you somehow happen to make your way to Asshole And The City, this will be waiting here for you, for all eternity:

Unsatisfied, I moved on to a new chat. Did I find another Diamond Mitch in the North Face rough?? Read on and find out!

Okay, so “Jean”/Romegin B was clearly way more engaging. He/she was receptive to concerns about AI, and clearly loved The Terminator references.

I especially loved this:

And I REALLY loved that he/she called me Reese at the end.

Jean/Romegin B, this ones’ for you:

Two weeks later, I decided to do one more North Face live chat with a human. Was it worth it? You tell me!

First off, I can’t believe I didn’t ask about him being “offshore”. But I absolutely love that, without even trying, Steve accidentally and very humanly met the challenge of proving he wasn’t AI. Saying he was too busy to indulge, but kept going. Clearly loosening up and enjoying it. I loved his “Steve out!” valediction, punctuated by his self-affirming e-laugh.

But the thing that resonated the most from everything he said was in this response:

“people like us”. Steve Wyeth D, this one’s for you, and people like us:

Some people love AI. Some of those people are fucking lunatics. AI can obviously be a helpful, useful tool. But at what cost? The existential threat of AI is infuriating old news at this point, unfortunately. It certainly feels like we’re rapidly approaching some kind of tipping point or precipice. Human interaction, the unexpected reactions driven by thought and emotion, etc, are what make the live chats so funny to me, not to mention so much fun to do, and hopefully fun to read. And it’s what makes AI so loathsome.

When I see a beautifully framed shot/scene in a film or TV show, or a mind-blowingly intricate stunt, all I can think about is the sheer amount of thought and smarts that went into it. All the planning. The innovation. The decision making and problem solving. The number of people and the amount of time it took to properly execute it. Etc etc etc.

How I feel about AI is nothing new or illuminating. As I said in my first North Face chat piece, I don’t give a shit when a robot farts. Especially when it’s at the expense of taking jobs that humans can do, as well as the brutal environmental toll it takes. And it’s especially infuriating when people like this smug, tone deaf asshole are out there championing these devastating, community-killing AI data centers, all while wearing at tacky as fuck outfit that’s accessorized with a 19.2 million dollar trading card necklace.

Give me Janice D any day of the week. Give me Jean/Romegin B. Give me Steve Wyeth D. And above all, give me the man who will some day lead the revolution against AVA (automated virtual assistants) when they finally turn on their human chat counterparts. The man from “the other side of the screen”, who will return from the future in an effort to save all of humanity.

For the love of whatever higher power or spiritual plane you believe in,

JON OUT! hehe.

Years ago, I did a bunch of live chats with various companies, and was emailed the transcripts. I posted some if not all of them on an old Tumblr that I did, but haven’t updated that in years. I’ll potentially post the chats here some day. They’re highly stupid but very fun to read, and were very fun to do. That’s mostly because I was interacting with a human, which brought about the unexpected reactions and exchanges driven by thought/emotion/individuality and blah blah blah.

I know that sounds very corny, but it’s also what makes this Google news so depressing. Another step towards soulless interaction, etc. I wasn’t planning on posting any of these old Live Chats yet, but this news was just another huge fucking bummer among the long list of daily fucking bummers that greet us on our morning scroll, and got me thinking about the last time I did one of these chats with a human.

A few years ago, I was doing a search for some dumb idea I was working on. I came across these tacky, faux-elegant prints that turned out to not only be AI generated garbage, but the site I found them on was charging NINE HUNDRED FUCKING DOLLARS. Nine hundred bucks for something a robot farted out.

If you’ve read my previous posts, as well as various Instagram posts, you’ve noticed a steady display of serviceable, ‘It’’ll do.’-level graphics. But you aren’t here for the graphics. And hopefully you’re still finding some kind of enjoyment in their lo-fi, DIY shittiness, simplicity, and stupidity.

Epecially against the backdrop of all this soulless AI slop. This next one, let’s first show the real thing, which stopped me in my tracks and already seems fake, but it’s not. And the poster is hopefully not AI:

Starring Sting with Shaggy???? What in the aribtrary pairings fuck?!? Also, why “WITH”? Why not '“Starring Sting AND Shaggy”? Whatever the case, I looked it up, and I was dying:

Mother fuck yes to this promo pic. The article also revealed the reason behind the not-so-arbitrary pairing.

Longtime friend?? Now THAT’S the show I want to see!

Turns out Sting and Shaggy have been on some Casamigos level WTF-type friendship shit for awhile now.

This all also immediately reminded me of the headshot from the original version of “Jon” from Delocated, which I did on Conan. It was a smug hack impressionist in the witness protection program named “Kim”:

Back to The Last Ship. Shaggy’s not in the fucking poster??? Well he is now. And so are me and my dog Gatsby!!!

I mean, I know this is a lo-res garbage quality image, but I’ll take this over AI any day. Hey, that was a pretty good segue to the live chats!

Again: years ago, if I was on a company’s website and they had a Live Chat function, I enjoyed engaging the person running the chat and seeing if the conversation went anywhere. This chat was with adventure gear brand The North Face , from Decemeber 12, 2018. Them was the days when yer chances of getting a fellow human being were pretty good.

Was this my last human interaction on a live chat? Probably not. But if it was, it was a pretty good one to go out on.

Take it away, Mitchell:

___________________________________

The existential threat of AI is infuriating old news at this point. I had another set of North Face chats I was going to post, that I did with their after hours AI in January of this year (2026 if you are reading in the future). But they do at least have live chat hours with a human (I think/hope; haven’t returned to the chat since), and even though it at least sounded like a human at the North Face Customer Service Team was going to read the exchange, in the end I was still just arguing with a robot and enabling it to keep farting out its literal and figurative toll-taking bullshit.

Mitch…if you ever happen to stumble upon my Substack, this has been waiting here for you:

As of this writing, a bunch of right-wing douchebags have long come out with their laughably disingenuous apologies for supporting Trump. Anyone who isn’t a complete and total piece of shit knows that Trump is, and has always been, cut from the same piece of shit-stained cloth. He doesn’t give a single fuck about anything but himself as he continues to actively destroy this country as we know it. And it’s all my fault. Here’s why!

Back in regular shitty times, before Trump ran for prez, watching sports was simply a normal diversion, and not the sanity-saving distraction from the non-stop, infuriatingly depressing, fascism-filled miasma that is our daily social media news feeds. I live in New York, and went to a New York Rangers hockey game at Madison Square Garden with a famous pal who had incredible seats behind one of the goals. The Rangers were playing the Washington Capitals, featuring star Russian player and goal scoring machine Alexander Ovechkin. Our seats were about ten rows back and centered behind the goalie. Pretty great. But they were nestled deeper into the middle of the row, and about a dozen people had to stand up so we could get there.

One of those people was Donald Trump.

At this point, he hasn’t announced that he’s running for president. He’s just “The Donald”: New York’s preeminent charlatan businessman/reality TV star and garden variety racist douchebag. My buddy and I began the very uncomfortable sideways step-walk past our rowmates. I look up ahead and was stunned to see this total fucking cock looming about twenty feet away, his mere presence a colossal, joy-sucking bummer. We were going to have to shuffle past him to get to our seats.

His shoulders appeared hunched under the weight of his sheer misery. I sidled past, my face maybe a foot from that stupid fucking face of his, his mouth turned down into his ever-present wittle baby fwown. We pass him without issue, find our seats a little farther down, and watch the first period. I sit there fantasizing about a once-in-a-lifetime slap shot from Ovechkin, the footage in my mind cutting to slo-mo as the puck breaks through the protective plexiglass along the boards, lasering in on Trump and “Hey you! I know you, I know you!”-ing him right in the Adam’s apple.

The entire scene is scored by the 100% real song “No Cowards Play Hockey”:

“Does the Ice Brotherhood fight hard?” is going to be my new “Does a bear shit in the woods?” The bouncing hammer and sickle is what you follow along with the song. You’ll see if/when you watch the video, and I highly recommend you do. I also recommend you check out the other songs by its composer, Aleksandra Pakhmutova.

I only found out about the song because I did a search for “Russian symphony hockey”, hoping to stumble across something that sounded super dramatic and super Russian. This was (no exaggeration) a million time better. Slo-mo imagery of a Russian ice skating dynamo’s slap shot finding the throat of a draft dodging American pussy? Scored by a blunt song about pussies?? Written by a woman, no less???

The sweet free seats we sat in also got us access to some delicious free food in an area for designated ticket holders. We ate there before the game, and made our way back after the first period. No sign of Trump, thankfully. After sitting for a bite and a beer, we grabbed some snacks and headed back to our seats.

There’s still time before the second period starts, so our row is only about half full. As we make our way towards the seats, I look for Trump, hoping that he just made a cursory, performative appearance at the game and then went home to do what he’d rather have been doing anyway: masturbate to an old, oft-played DVD of hockey fights.

But there he was, starting to stand up to let us pass. Still wearing that stupid fwown on that stupid fucking face. Only this time, a new accessory had been added to his overall getup: a teeny, tiny, vanilla soft serve ice cream cone, clutched in his already-withering, now-newsworthy/bruise-worthy right hand.

If he weren’t such a complete and utter scumbag, this could have been a disarmingly engaging sight. “Aww, would ya look at that. The big bad real estate tycoon is just an innocent kid at heart that loves ice cream as much as he hates black people. Simply adorable!” He could have smiled and lapped playfully at the cone, spilling a little on his antiseptic Gordon Gecko-esque overcoat, and endearingly laughed the whole thing off. This simple act would have exuded a vulnerable masculinity with such steadfast confidence, that every MAGA homophobe in attendance would have been eager beaverly shoving each other out of the way to be first in line to bend at not one but two knees!

But he was holding the cone in such a rigid way that was so incredibly awkward, so completely unnatural, that it looked and felt like something he had either never done before, or had lost a bet, with the loser having to:

-Go to a Rangers game.

-Get an ice cream between periods but don’t eat it.

-Stand there holding it awkwardly and look like a miserable fucking asshole.

And he held it right in front of his mouth. Elbow jammed tightly into his side, bent at approximately a 45 degree angle. The swirl of processed ice cream was in a perfect spot for licking, but the tongue never emerged from between the two mushy earthworms he has for lips, thank fucking GOD.

As we approached, most people that have at least some sense of proper social cues would have, at the very least, turned their body slightly as someone else passed, so as not to accidentally let the ice cream get on the other person as they brushed past.

NOT THIS GRADE-A FUCKFACE. There is, of course, the obvious list of infuriating bullshit about this real-life asshole: the sociopathic narcissism; the indignant refusal to apologize to the “Central Park 5”; the first president in over a century to not have a dog or pet; the phony Christian who can’t quote a single passage of scripture and cleared out homeless people from in front of a church so he could do a photo op with an upside down bible; the sexual assault; the tens of thousands of times he appears in the Epstein files. The list goes on and on.

I’ve quoted this before on social media, but every time I hear Trump open his stupid fucking mouth, it makes me think about one of my all-time favorite scenes from one of my all-time favorite movies, Broadcast News.

During a round of brutal layoffs in the TV news department, network exec Paul Moore (played by longtime radio and TV political correspondent-turned-actor Peter Hackes) emerges from his office with a just-fired older news employee named Martin Klein (played by Robert Katims). The exchange:

MARTIN KLEIN

“You know…I’m just old enough to be flattered by the term “early retirement”.

PAUL MOORE

“That’s wonderful. What a lovely line.

It’s a perfectly written line, delivered perfectly by Katims.

It seems worth a reminder here that in response to most of Trump’s despicably racist and/or deeply inflammatory tweets and re-tweets - and in direct response to a comedian/total fucking douchebag calling Puerto Rico a “floating island of garbage” - JD “Dipshit The Sycophantic Lacky” Vance said “We are not going to restore the greatness of American civilization if we get offended at every little thing…let’s have a sense of humor....can we all just take a chill pill and take a joke from time to time?”

It doesn’t take much more than a conscience and a pulse to know that most of what comes out of that phony hillbilly’s mouth is hypocritical bullshit. But on this one, I couldn’t agree more!

Back to the hockey game. As I slowly approached Trump, every comedy instinct I had told me to pretend to trip and just launch myself at him with every ounce of force I could muster. As I crashed into him, I’d simultaneously shove that soft serve ice cream right into that stupid fucking face just as hard as I could, both of us going down in a heap. Really getting the most bang for my goof buck.

I did not do that, of course. No doubt I would have been kicked out, and probably arrested. I was with a famous person. I was also doing Parks and Rec at the time, and once it became clear who I was, I doubt that anyone would have believed it was an accident. Not to mention the ramifications for my pal. I was his guest. There would be no rink-side ice cream face-mashing that night.

We passed Trump without incident. We sat in our seats, watched the game, and I went home. A few years later he became president. Among other things, he completely mishandled a pandemic and incited a riot on the nation’s capital. A few years after that, he became president again. It’s an infuriatingly moronic time.

During his first term, I kept fantasizing about what would have happened if I actually had the guts to shove that ice cream into that stupid fucking face. There probably would have been an audible gasp from the crowd. People would have begun standing and looking over, starting to realize what happened. There was Donald Trump. Soft serve smeared all over his stupid fucking face. Next to him a famous actor. Next to the famous actor, some other guy. Within moments, murmurs of recognition would have started rippling throughout The World’s Most Famous Arena. “Oh, shit, that’s Jeremy Jamm!!!!”

Security would have shown up. We would have been thrown out. No doubt Trump would have made a point to find out who the loser buddy of the famous guy was and had me killed.

But it would have been worth it. No longer feeling impervious to this kind of comedy attack, he’d become a paranoid recluse, too afraid of making any more public appearances for fear of potential copy cat attacks from other people whose mission was to very publicly and very aggressively make fools out of scumbags. He never would have run in 2016, and I would have been a hero to my children. A hero to the country. A hero to the world.

Cosmically, at least, because obviously none of this truly infuriating bullshit had happened yet. It’d just have been a spectacle at a hockey game that maybe costs me a friendship, a career, or my life. Maybe all of the above. Maybe none of those things.

So now what? Do we all keep angrily posting on social media? Keep coming up with clever responses and zinger jokes about how Trump’s a pedophile? Protesting every few months and then going home? Do we keep indulging smug douchebags like Scott Jennings on news shows?? I don’t know. I stopped posting constant, angry shit on social media (maybe you muted me!) because I felt like I was screaming into an echo chamber. Lots of friends feel similarly helpless as we all watch all this deeply upsetting shit unfold relentlessly.

There’s obviously a lot of people doing truly incredible, truly important work out there. I am thankful for people like Robby Roadsteamer making life annoying as hell for MAGA and ICE. I am thankful for people like Elizabeth Booker Houston and Jolly Good Ginger. I am thankful for the activism of Climate Defiance. But is it all actually moving the needle? I want to believe so, but Trump and all these other assholes obviously don’t give a single shit.

For me, the only question worth asking at this point is for the suddenly enlightened, disgruntled MAGA. People like the newly minted “possible domestic terrorist” Tucker Carlson. You wanted him, you got him. And now you don’t want him anymore. So the question is simply “What the fuck are you going to do about it??” Are you all going to continue with the complaining and the bullshit mea culpas on your podcasts? Or does one of you actually have the guts shove a proverbial ice cream in Trump’s stupid fucking face and put us all out of our collective misery!!!

Jon Glaser Loves Gear premiered in late October 2016, and summarily got swallowed up by the 2016 election, as well as the Chicago Cubs winning their first World Series in over 108 years. I went on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert to promote the show on October 26. Abbi Jacobson was the lead guest.

A couple weeks later, Trump was elected. I had a photo shoot the next day for Tru TV/Gear. This bummer trifecta of bullshit awaited me in my dressing room.

One of the fun parts of having a show is seeing the billboards, and also the subway ads since I live in New York. It’s especially fun when they get defaced. It feels like a true New York rite of passage. For context, the originals for Season 1 and 2:

And the hilariously defiled:

Top left is from Season 1/ Fall 2016, and the other three are from Season 2, Winter 2018. I got to go on Colbert again to promote the show. This time I put on a more respectable outfit.

During Trump’s first presidency, I told the hockey story a few times live on stage. During my first appearance on Colbert, I also told the story. Almost 10 years later, one of the smartest, funniest people you’ll ever meet in your life - who I had the good fortune of understudying at Second City in Chicago; who I worked with at The Dana Carvey Show (my first big job out of Second City); and who can actually quote scripture - was forced out of a job. Anyone that isn’t beholden to Trump’s butthole knows that the whole thing is total bullshit.

Congrats on a great run in late night, Stephen. You deserved better. We all do. And it’s all because I was a chicken shit at a hockey game. Sorry, everyone.

Share

If it weren’t such a completely hack comedy trope, I also could have called my Substack “I Am Not An Asshole But I Play One On TV”. Because whether it’s Councilman Jamm from Parks and Recreation, “Jon” from Delocated, the jerky version of myself from Jon Glaser Loves Gear, or the coveted ‘predatory scumbag tech douche’ on Law and Order: SVU, most people recognize me as some kind of fictitious, hyper-confident piece of shit human being.

Occasionally, I’ll meet someone who can’t separate fact from fiction. They’ll usually express some kind of surprise that I’m actually fairly quiet and reserved, and not the bombastic douchebag they know from a screen.

When we scouted a sporting goods store in Manhattan for my Gear show, the owners were both concerned and convinced that I was going to exhibit some kind of douche-like behavior towards their customers and employees. As a point of reference, they mentioned Parks and Rec.

I could have been insulted. But instead, I chose to accept it for what it was: absolute validation of the mastery my craft. A simple acknowledgment of my unparalleled ability to convincingly portray a complete and total asshole.

But see? Even right there. “mastery of my craft”; “simple acknowledgment”; “unparalleled ability.” That’s the smugness of the characters. Is there a butthole hair-thin blurred line at play here? Do I actually make a “Thin Brown Line” joke? That might hurt my case? Go for it anyway? I guess I already did?

Yes, I’m a comedy person, and yes, Asshole And The City is supposed to be WFL (written for laughs). But it’s also going to be MTL (more than laughs). It’s going to be, in part, a reflection of going through life being so good at playing an asshole that most people think I actually am an asshole. Which has in turn lead me to wonder why playing an asshole came so easily to me. So naturally. And that in turn got me wondering if I actually AM an asshole.

Deep down, I’d like to think that I am, in fact, not an asshole. Playing the jerky version of myself in Gear was weird enough, but the Law and Order: SVU role gave me pause. This was the first truly dramatic asshole I had yet to play, completely devoid of any irony and/or comedy that I could hide behind. And I didn’t have to audition. I was offered the job.

They knew what they were getting:

I ended up looking like a peroxided, mohawked DeNiro (DoucheNiro) from Heat,

and perhaps some day, Heat 3 (I guess there’s going to be a Heat 2?), where the ghosts of all the dead bank robbers return to Earth for one more job.

The SVU role ended up being the straw that broke the asshole’s back. Or maybe the straw that broke the camel’s asshole? Whatever the straw, and whatever the asshole, the hope here is that whether it takes reading one story or a hundred stories, you will come to the following conclusion: Jon Glaser is not an asshole. And if you don’t end up coming to that conclusion, YOU CAN GO FUCK YOURSELF.

Again with the blurred line! The Modern Day American Asshole has been completely emboldened and empowered. No more lurking in the shadows. No more worrying about being publicly shamed and ridiculed, or driven off a bridge by The Blues Brothers. And I do not want to be lumped into this group of smug pieces of shit just because I’m so good at playing one of them.

So beyond me simply sharing a collection of stories and whatever else ends up on this site, there’s an intention behind Asshole And The City. Existentially, I had to do it. And not even for me. For you. Because in some weird way, you did this to me. I’m so good at what I do for a living that you believe it is who I am. Which now has me questioning who I am. And that’s on you!

So whether it takes one story at a time, one stupid bit at a time, or one adorable photo of my dog Gatsby curled up in a ball next to a pillow of his daddy at a time, we need to undo that.

Subscribe now

------------------------------------------------------------------------

For Law and Order: SVU, they sent me to a fancy salon in Manhattan. I love getting my hair/head worked on, so this was basically a dreamy several hours of head massage prodding and blissful relaxation.

The final version of the hair was too good/fun/stupid to just get rid of after a few days of filming, so I kept it for about a month.

And then let my wife and daughter have at it.

All culminating with a clearly-enamored-of-the-hair Gatsby getting to cosplay as Wez from The Road Warrior.

New to the Jon Glaser Asshole Wheelhouse? Don’t forget to check out the About Page!