Ask Jack!

Happy Happy Hump Day, dear JBB friends! Here’s this week’s devisive question. Send your own queries to me at jackblacksbody@gmail.com. Fire away!




Dear Jack,
I really like my job. Some might even call it a profession. And while I am extremely thankful that going to work every day doesn't feel like slamming my head against a wall until the end of time, I wake up at night in a cold sweat... Does this fact-- my being employed at a job 9 to 5, 52 weeks a year, with optional dismemberment insurance-- disqualify me from the post-collegiate, pre-professional twenty-something set? I mean, what would I read at work if I couldn't tap into the joy of Jack Black's Body?

I don't want to wait anxiously for the next issue of the Economist to come out. I don't want to talk to colleagues about the housing market. I don't want to call the police on those noisy kids next door. I don't want to be severed from Jack Black's Body and everything it stands for. I know my dismemberment insurance won't cover that. So, Jables, please advise. I would pick you over a 401K any day...
Yours truly,
Worried at work


Worry not, Worried!
But whew! Your question sparked a flurry of inter-office debate. Hence the many-months-long advicely silence on my part. Of course, we all know I do very little work. Primarily, I sit around the office looking pretty, donning costumes to frighten Fred (y'know, the office midget) while Croftie and Oline work their overworked asses off. But your question, Worried, it brought life at JBB HQ to a grinding halt. We were forced to work our trusty minds and draw up our trusty pens and put our trusty thoughts down on trusty loose leaf and try to come to a conclusive trusty definition of who exactly is allowed admission into the trusty post-collegiate, pre-professional twenty-something set.

The debate was intense. Croftie and Oline nearly came to fisticuffs. They pushed their desks apart. They almost had to be put in seperate rooms. But ultimately, Oline apologized and Croftie kissed her hand and all was well again. And we were, at last, able to compile a breakdown that we felt comfortable engraving in stone. I give you: The Official Fantabulous Jack Black's Body's Criteria Of Official Twenty-Somethingness.

The Official Fantabulous Jack Black's Body's Criteria Of Official Twenty-Somethingness
1) Do you find me strangely attractive?
2) Are you literate?
3) Do you have or have you ever had a student loan?
4) Does the current presidential administration make you frown?
5) Are you between the ages of 12 and 63?
6) Have you ever been unemployed for an obscenely long period of time?
7) Can you talk about Freud and Project Runway in the same sentance?
8) Have you been in at least three weddings in the past two years?
9) Do you have a degree in English or some other such subject that is allegedly unapplicable in the "real world"?
10) Are you or have you ever been a MAPHer?

Answer "YES!" to any one (1) of the above questions and you're officially in Jack Black's Body's post-collegiate, pre-professional twenty-something set. So unless you're an eleven-year-old illiterate, Republican heiress who doesn't watch TV or read critical theory and has been employed since birth, majored in math at Northwestern, and is in no way attracted to me, welcome to the fold, O worried one!
XOxOXXOxOxOxOxOXxOxOxOxXXXXXXXX,
Jables