My life, heart and brains. An immersion of what is Jean Paul Mallah.

I constantly repeat the phrase, " I am an asshole." This might be true, but I can list a whole lot of problems with myself. It wouldn't take up more than a sentence though. I mean, I'm a bit of these things - I'm shallow, a hypocrite, I'm pessimistic, usually angry and sad, I judge others unfairly and ruthlessly, I lie, I cheat when prompted, I accuse others of problems I do myself, I see the glass half empty, I'm lazy, I'm disturbingly blunt, I'm vain, I swear profusely, I'm racist, I pick fights that never should have started, I argue, I'm stubborn, I yell when I could easily talk, I'm annoying, I have an average penis, I drink, I smoke occasionally, I do drugs on a holiday basis, I've committed crimes, I have skeletons in my closet and backyard, I've broken hearts, I'm shameful, I'm shy, I'm aggressive, I've ruined a somewhat good relationship, I've burned bridges because of my thick head, I've turned my back on others, I've severed ties, I've stolen from friends and family, I've pitied others when I should pity myself for being weak when I boast my glee, I smile when I should be crying and I've kept secrets for far too long. Not that bad eh? I really am an asshole. I know this, not to be proud of it, but to remind myself that I am not perfect. I'm human. But really, how much until human becomes inhuman? I should be behind bars, thinking over my life. I'm probably just being harsh on myself, but this is me, or really, half.

Fork me in the ass, I'm forking tired. Wouldn't mind a quick fork though, maybe in your forking house beside your forking table. Forking. Fork.

New job. Wicked. My brain is moving at speeds unknown, which is most likely slow because I feel like I can't think anymore for the rest of my life. I've worked long hours before, sometimes 100+ in a week, so this isn't new to me. It doesn't usually bug me, unless the people I work for are jackasses. Luckily that hasn't been the case for a long time, so I'm grateful for that. My new bosses are just the tits. Both brothers, both young and both willing to joke around. But you know me, I take things to the next level, I annoy. Shouldn't really be proud of that, but heck, we're all still getting to know each other, I promise I'll grow on them. If not, I'll probably be crucified or worse - shunned. Like Jesus with everyone in Jerusalem. He didn't give two shits about being nailed, but when it came to attention, he soaked it all up. Imagine if no one listened to him and he just got executed. Oh wait. Anyways, life's looking a bit better nowadays, nowhere near as crummy as the past couple of months, and my hair is getting there. Unfortunately I seem to lack hair in some areas on my face, which is stalling my Amish beard. Dammit.

The key to all of life's problem, are Timbits.

Hello world, and welcome to my blog. Where we all waste away our lives reading something that benefits us in no way possible. But hey, we still read it. Even I sometimes go through my insanely long and dreadful blog entries, looking at mistakes, comments and silly things that lead to flashbacks. Often do I see the constant swear word followed by a person. I can see that I seem to be a bitter man. Well, I kind of am, I could say the least. Seeing as I've lead a life full of letdowns and failures, I can easily say there is much more to live for than the present. I could be your typical self-loathing angst ridden teenager, wanting more from the world but never putting any value towards it. I've seen myself in the worst of times, trying to get by with a shred of optimism, and alcohol. I've been through those times where life begins to stroke your balls, making you think all of life's problems will be but a wisp in the night and you will begin anew. Then it takes one of your balls and gives you cancer. But don't stop there, friends. Don't dread the day, live it. Don't wallow in your self-pity, go swim. How I came to these conclusions of glorified optimism? I simply went to a Tim Horton's with some good friends and a stack of cards.

A New Dawn.

Hello friends, family and Anonymous. I want to keep this short and sweet, because it's my birthday and I don't feel like spending it on my own blog, let alone the internet. I'm grateful for having such wonderful friends and family. People who care for me beyond anything else. People who look after me and who worry about me. People who keep me in check and people who call to see whats up. People who get drunk with me and people who party hard with me. People who let me into their family circles and people who celebrate my arrival with a warm hug. People who argue with me no matter what and people who treat me with respect even though I wanted to kill you. All of you, including the people who will continue to act childish and comment with pathetic attempts to bringing me down, thank you. It's all of you who made me who I am now. I was given a second chance in life, and I will not let any of you down. I will love back the people who loved. I will laugh with the people who shared laughs. I will cry with the people who shed tears. I will party with the people who partied with me. I will argue with the people who continue to argue. I will shit on the people who try and shit on me. I will be me. I will always and forever live with my chin up, because no matter what, I'm grateful for everything. I live another day, to make the best of myself. Thank you, all of you. And continue reading, I promise I won't change!

Also, in loving memory, my grandmother. I will always remember you, and dream of all the great times we had. From down here, I send you all of my love. Today is a special day because its the day I was born and the day you left us with great memories. Dear Agnik Kebabdjian, I love you.

The Thundercunt that is life.

So I had a post prior to this one about a certain misdeed I have done. I left my job, made people hate me, and slowly became the focal point of all assholes. How I managed to achieve this all is beyond me, especially after trying to get a damn point across. Then I realized. How the hell does someone so thick headed, live so blindly? I began to work out this equation in my head over and over. Thinking to myself, not once have I bad mouthed anything other than the poor work ethic that was combined with power abuse ( I mean seriously, instead of solving a problem, why don't we just crack down on it? /end sarcasm). I know I might not be the most lovable of people in the world, nor am I a saint in any shape or form. If I could eat babies I would, and breathing fire is what I do. In fact, I am an asshole. But not without reason. I don't blatantly commit jerk ass acts out of the blue just to piss off and annoy. I need to be driven to a point where reason gets thrown out, and fuck face JP comes out. I was driven to this point, and I'll tell you why in a few paragraphs. Oh and that special little reader, you know who you are, instead of your cohort outright threatening me about this blog, and giving me an ultimatum, try wrapping your head around this - There isn't anything you can write about me that I haven't written myself. You want to tell the world how lousy of a cook I am? It's a lie. I worked like a slave while I was physically and mentally dying, just so you can sleep easier at night. Bitch move? No, it's the truth, you spoon fed retard.

I just killed a man.

So I was working my shift as usual the other day, and had a pretty stellar night. Not busy, but sold out of most product to keep the fridges fairly empty over the weekend. Locked it all up and went on my way home. Turned my iPod on, the shitty fucker, and pumped up some good ol' metal. Never a better way to end the night with a walk to the station, headbanging to "Painkiller" or "Killers". Regardless of what song, my head was banging to the beat, scaring off all those around me. I look retarded when I listen to music, almost like I lose myself and begin playing some weird ass air instrument that's a cross between a drum/guitar and flute. Yeah. So as I begin my travels down to the station, I enter the subway and head on home. Lo and behold, my dear precious all knowing sentient being placed my ex-girlfriend Cherice on the same train. Yeah. So as I slowly wrap my head to why this happened to me and why the hell am I even given half a shit. I go up to her, and as I begin to wisp a breath, I immediately regret the decision. "Hey, what's up?" The air stood still, and my nut began to retract inwards. I got a boner too, don't know why it was kind of awkward, and awesome at the same time. Random boners are a lost art, and really show the true emotion you're feeling at the time. Anyways, the cunt didn't say a damn word and soon got off the train. Moral of this story? If you get the chance to kill someone that has no particular value in this world, and won't get caught, do it. Or face the ex girlfriend syndrome.

You're beautiful just the way you are. Especially after 6 beers and 2 Jagerbombs.

Man. Did my liver take a hit the last few weeks. Especially after chemotherapy, most people would think I would have calmed down a bit, maybe take some time off. The answer is a definite no. I work hard and I drank hard. I played a little hard too but I turned the difficulty down a tad. Castlevania is a bitch. But honestly what do you expect? I'm still young, and if my disease was a definite threat, I would have still taken the same path I chose. There isn't any time in life to play it safe really. Enjoy every little bit as much as you can, even if it means spending the entire day at home jerking your shaft to mediocre looking women riding wall installed dildos. Not saying I did, or didn't. You never know. Life is full of surprises, and to be honest if I found out my cancer came back, which is most likely could, I would do it all over again. My body was made to fucking rock shit, and I won't deprive it of such a duty. I am a machine. I'm a fucking awesome cook, I love to have a good time and I cherish my friends. And after all that sappy whole hearted goodness, I pretend to kill people with video games. Woo.

Woman - The inside story of the female kind told by some dick egotistical masocist motherfucker. And me.

Welcome to the end, of high prices! Always wanted to start like that, didn't know how so might as well throw it in here since half of you didn't even read this far. Listen up kids, for I am about to entail the full story of women, and how they became the greatest asset of my life, and never really in it. In this story filled with magic and bullshit, I will envelop your minds with such assfuckery, that you'll begin to question the very existence of your soul. It's mind blowing shit and most of it was thought up drunk. And possibly high....OFF LIFE. No really, I'm retarded. Anyways, I'd like to start off by thanking you all, for no reason specifically, but because you're you and you've probably excelled at living more than the average human being simply because you read my blog. So for this, THANK YOU. 

Snap out of it buddy!

The wee hours of the morning. And here I am spending it by writing this dumb blog. Honestly. Lately, as many have noticed, I haven't been myself lately. In more ways than one. I feel as if my past self is slowly drifting away and this new, shittier self has taken me by the throat. It seems that I myself, cannot control what may be. What the fuck man, snap the shit out of it, is what I'd like to say. I find myself wanting. Wanting more than I could ever possibly offer. Everything needs a fair trade in value, whether it be purchases or simple friendships, it all comes down to what you can offer the other person. Can you offer comfort? Or do you bring distaste to the table. I'm a little in between. Not only am I crabby at times and could possibly be the most annoying shit ever, but I don't really have much else going for me besides my career, which hopefully is moving in the right direction. All this doubt in one paragraph is probably making you sick, especially coming from me, cocky ass Jean Paul. Well, I'm human too.

My equilibrium is fucked.

So. I survived cancer.

Celebration of the souls combine, our lives fulfilled. Summer. Cock.

I try to become the best at what I do. It's an egotistical thing. I am a poet, in both terminology and bodily. However that comes across to you, my beautiful readers, is your own. Your own what? Fuck you I'm not your nanny. Do I look like- Okay I'm getting off topic here. What I've been trying to put into words but with suave has hidden it with distracting text to make my post seem that much bigger is, that I want to better myself day by day, challenging whatever boundaries I set for myself. Sure I'm as green as it gets and there are tons out there who could probably dominate me in every possible way. But fuck them, I'll get better, and show their shit that I can rock a kitchen like no other. I can probably adapt to my surroundings more so than most people, and get a kitchen going in days. I've always been thrown into the fire, hoping that I'll come out alive. And I always do. I've never once cracked under pressure, because I never let it get to me. I'm battle hardened for a greenhorn, but I know that I have my limits and I dare myself to break them each and every waking moment. I will make it my fucking promise to the world and to everyone I've ever known that I'll make a name for myself. Whether it be owning a restaurant, leading a kitchen, hosting a show, or just cooking better than anyone you know, it will happen. I'm cocky sure, but my humility and simplicity is what will be key to molding my future.

Culinary Travels of the Uniballer: The Fuckfest Trifecta of Fuck

Fuck. I'm beat. Sore all over. Chemotherapy has been riding my ass for a good 6 weeks now but the end is in sight. 3 more weeks of ass rapeage, and it's all over. Unless I get shit-tastic news that I need to prolong the chemo because my nurses have been giving me horse cum instead of chemo. Regardless of what happens, I need to get by this because just recently I have been promoted to the night chef at my new place, The Homeway. I don't know, I have been getting mixed feelings about the rapid progression from being a dick sucking prep guy, to a shitty sandwich maker and now a menu producing chef. Sure, I don't doubt my ability to learn and cook really fast, and (sometimes) good, but I do know that I'm still green in the culinary world. I feel as if I'll never stop growing, or learning for that matter. All I could really do is put my best into the upcoming menu, and hope that people enjoy my food and as they eat what I cook, they know that I put my all into it. However, this being my first serious position in the kitchen brigade, I don't want it to end here. I don't know how long I'll be there, or even in Toronto for that matter, because I'm always going to be a sponge, learning the crafts of those around me so that one day, I'll open a restaurant that will satisfy my needs and the bellies of the people around me.

The Adventures of Half Sack 2 - Cancer Strikes Back

Hello there world! Welcome to my masterpiece comprised of all of my hatred, filth and utter comic experiences. Wherever I may shit, I will shit with pride. Thanks to all of you who read this religiously, you're setting yourself up for fantastic failure. For the others, fuck you and read my mindless blog. I promise it'll make your otherwise uneventful life much more uneventful. Seeing as I'll most likely bash whatever lifestyle you think you lead. Typically, I get responses here and there from brain spazzing fans, who tell me what to write. I would love to share your hatred for 'dumb ass bitches', but because you actually think that's an acceptable terminology, I should fucking kill you. Or when people say, " Write about those stupid chinks who yell." Thanks dick brain, you just named the entire continent of Asia. I truly love you all, especially because you constantly give me inspiration to become a serial killer and go on a mass killing spree. There are tons of you out there who disagree with the plethora of hate that spews from my mouth. To you, open your eyes and brainwash yourself to think like me. Why do I say something so damn cocky? Because I can. And because you're still reading.

Git on thar n show me dem titties!

I am absolutely astonished by boobs. As extreme as that sounds, the word doesn't even describe how much I love them. For all the chicks who are calling me a pervert by reading this, fuck you bitch, I bet my remaining nut you dream of dick all day. It doesn't really matter how big they are, as long as they fit the person. For instance, a super hot babe, with a great ass and a fucking boy chest is not what anyone planned, it's god's way of telling you to get implants. Or fat chicks with small boobs. What the fuck? Also, skinny chicks with blimps are retarded. Your back is going to kill, and I'm not paying for surgery down the road. Every woman has a unique pair of mamma jammas. Most of them suit them. Others, are unfortunate to suffer from what I call, the Aretha Franklin complex. Sure the astonishing singer has a voice only the gods themselves can create. But man, her titties are like the grand canyon, without the grand part. No one wants them.

Baby, you can sing....but that's about it.