Well, no sooner do we pat Jack on the back a bit too handily then he disappoints a shade with "ass burgers," a pun made several weeks ago by the New York Times, a newspaper know to be for dicknoses. But not being the type to learn our lesson, we pat him on the back again:
Worth noting is Jack's year retrospective. Having had the good fortune to know Jack rather well personally, we feel he undersells himself a bit. The degree to which his life has improved in the previous year is truly remarkable - if nothing else, he wears shirts with a good deal more frequency. But there is much else! When we first encountered him, he was living in a domicile not much better than a tin-sheet hut from the slums of Bouganville. But now he lives like a prince in a beautiful estate that oft reminded us of a well-appointed submarine.
Further, Jack's modesty apparently forbids him from mentioning his high literary efforts. This is surely Jack's finest achievement of the previous annum. We have it on good information that no fewer than eight readers check in on his musings daily. Perhaps eight is not an absurdly high number. But these eight are of the finest sort, discriminating to the utmost, brains made of the finest, most highly synapsed goop. We would turn William Buckley's old quip on its head, and say we'd rather be governed by these 8 than by the first 8 names in the Boston phone book, and by a damned sight. These 8 would see to it that we drank a lot and pointed out how stupid other people were and what poor TV programming decisions they made.
In any case, we offer this: a word of praise to Jack, for raising the calibre of stuff to read on the interweb. Let's hope that in the coming year he continues. And we'll do our part by very sporadically offering critical reviews of his content. Godspeed, Jack Year Two.
