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Jonny's Top 10 Enemies of 2014
2009 • 2010 • 2011 • 2012 • 2013 But the year we're concentrating on today is the one that just recently was finally squeezed out of the universe' quivering colon and flushed down the cosmic toilet. There were a surprising number of new entries this year more than any Jonny's Top 10 Enemies List past with the tally being topped by an individual who accomplished something that had never been achieved by anyone who aspired to be named on my cyber-shitlist until now. But enough foreplay. As we watch the final remnants of that hellish year circle into the celestial sewer, I give you Jonny's Top 10 Enemies of 2014:
And so we have my Top 10 Enemies of 2014. We now begin the year with a clean slate to see who will irritate me the most as the hopeful blank canvas of 2015 gradually erodes into the tapestry of disappointments and missed opportunities that every year that preceded it eventually becomes. Will you be on it? Only time will tell. The game is on!
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What a year 2014 was! I made my return to acting after a long self-imposed hiatus by playing Thomas Jefferson in Three Really Offensive Scenes about the Founding Fathers, a title that doesn't begin to express how disgusting the thing actually was. I began an obsession with creating mock covers for pulp fiction novels and with a faux horror movie franchise about a mysterious character named Professor Morlock that everyone got sick of long before I was finished with it. My beloved pug Winston built on his reputation as the most photographed dog on the social network. And my violent sessions of masturbation continued despite constant pressure from the US government to have me chemically castrated.rnrnrnIt wasn't easy to pick a list of Top 10 Enemies from amongst you people. Many perennial assailants of my churning stomach failed to make the cut this year, like Jeebus Burbano, Amy Ball, and (for the first time since the tally began) my longtime nemesis Misty LaRue. And some truly annoying characters just fell short. Paul Messinger (who supported me as George Washington in Three Really Offensive Scenes) tried to kill me by piloting me in a flight aboard a private plane. Dan E. Campbell had a fetish for using the term Bless his heart when announcing the demise of every celebrity and pseudo-celebrity who dropped dead. And a website called iCelebsDB.com claimed to have nude pictures and naked videos of me in exchange for a monthly membership fee, not realizing that I'll happily provide them for free to anyone who wants them. Many of these goofballs have been named to Top 10 lists past, and if you're curious you can find them here:
Becky Epstein Roberts made her debut appearance on these pages on February 14, 2014 when she observed I got out of the shower this morning to find my cat with his dick stuck in the plastic ring that holds my bra strap to my bra. Apparently he was randomhumping on my bed and got trapped. If this is my day, I don't want it. I haven't wanted any of the days that I've encountered Ms. Epstein Roberts since that infamous date, seeing as a random samplings of the transgressions she's committed against me include admitting that her life's ambition is to ride an ostrich, accusing me of having a terrifying nipple, or chiding male motorists for staring at their crotches while driving (one of my favorite activities while behind the wheel). But the crime that caused her to crack a coveted spot on the Top 10 was when my annual Christmas Extravaganza premiered after I had slaved on it for three months and she told me I almost read this in the bathroom, but I figured I should save it for the couch in case it was terrible. It wasn't terrible. Jon, dude, if you weren't already writing things, I'd tell you that you should write things. I'm fairly certain I enjoyed the hell out of that. I appreciate Ms. Epstein Roberts' encouragement, but ever since I've read that the only thing I can think to write is how irritating Ms. Epstein Roberts is. I hope she enjoys the hell out of reading that.
I met Jessicah Neufeld when she supported me in Eclect-a-Fest, a series of one-act plays in which I starred as a masturbating Thomas Jefferson in Three Really Offensive Scenes About the Founding Fathers. Ms. Neufeld is an animal lover and regrettably the animal that she loves the most is her disturbing hairless cat Basil who is disturbingly reminiscent of Gollum from Lord of the Rings. Since Basil lacks the thick mask of fur sported by most housecats, there is nothing to hide his omnipresent expression of contempt that he has for all living things. This was especially the case with my beloved pug Winston, who Basil made it his mission to make his bitch on the few times that they shared the same breathing space. After Eclect-a-Fest closed, Ms. Neufeld went on to star in the hippodrama O, For A Horse with Wings! in which she played Joan of Arc opposite a horse. She considered it to be trading up after sharing the stage with me, telling the press that the dung heaps that my acting left on stage may have been more metaphorical than her current scene partner, but they tended to stink up the place a lot worse.
Robin Greenspan and her life partner Lacie Harmon first came onto my radar this year when I found myself crammed into a telephone booth-sized theatre to see a staged reading of Ms. Greenspan's musical comedy Beguiled, which so moved me with its whimsical retelling of the Adam and Eve legend that when I was concocting my Professor Morlock saga, I based the character of Priscilla, the sexy green zombie with DD breasts, on Ms. Greenspan's classically beautiful if somewhat Semitic visage. Regrettably, my harmless cyber-hitting on Ms. Greenspan brought me in contact with Ms. Harmon, which ultimately resulted in an online correspondence we had about what it would be like to have sexual intercourse with God. I can't help but think that doing the nasty with Jehovah would be nothing short of mind-blowing, but since Ms. Harmon has a choice in sexual partners I think that she's wise to stick with Ms. Greenspan. When I look at the pictures of Priscilla the zombie, I can't imagine that even God has a better rack.
Stephanie Fredricks, who was named to my very first Top 10 Enemies List in 2009 but has inexplicably managed to avoid my justice ever since. I couldn't let her off the hook again this year when her online ranting caused my blood to boil whenever I logged onto the social network. This didn't stop me from making the raven-haired Ms. Fredricks my 4th of July poster girl when I posted a picture of her on Facebook which depicted her in a seductive pose while dressed only in an American flag and red, white and blue stiletto heels. My patronage gave a bump to Ms. Fredricks' acting career (which had been confined before that to appearances in commercials for check cashing outlets on basic cable and homemade sex tapes), and it was no doubt her association with my name which won her nominations for BroadwayWorld.com awards for her performances in It's Just Sex at the Secret Rose Theatre and I Love You You're Perfect Now Change at Repertory East Playhouse. Since the nominations are based on merit but the final winners are selected by a vulgar online popularity contest poll, Ms. Fredricks failed to take home the BroadwayWorld.com gold despite the superiority of her performances. My guess is that if she had campaigned for the awards while just wearing an American flag tied loosely around her perfect body, she would have gotten a lot more votes.
Eddie Frierson has been annoying me for over a quarter of a century, so I'm stunned that this year marks his first appearance on this list. An illiterate country rube born in the backwoods of Tennessee, Mr. Frierson rose to fame for his one-man show about legendary 16th century baseball player Christy Mathewson, who was known by the mysterious nickname The Big Six. I saw the show again earlier this year in which Matty discussed the unexplained origins of the moniker when it dawned on me that The Big Six probably referred to the size of Mathewson's penis, which would have been regarded as big only because he played before African Americans were permitted to share the field with whites so the bar for comparison would have been set much lower. Mathewson was the first sports star to do product endorsements so it's a shame that some forward-thinking entrepreneur didn't come up with the Big Six dildo. It would look pretty tame next to the dildos available on today's market but I'm sure it would have been snapped up by the repressed ladies and imprisoned homosexuals of Matty's era. Mr. Frierson made many other acting appearances in 2014, most memorably in a 1985 episode of the TV quiz show Tic Tac Dough that recently resurfaced on YouTube. He lost the game to a guy who looked like a 1970s porn star and might have had the nicknameThe Big Thirteen. That dildo is readily available online.
My college chum James Cleveland, who also makes his first appearance in the Top 10. Mr. Cleveland stands well over nine feet tall so he had to do some fancy shuffling over the years to stay off my radar for this long. I couldn't let him escape the year unscathed when he took a luxurious European vacation and posted a series of Facebook statuses which could be translated as meaning My life is better than yours; fuck you. The worst part was that after Mr. Cleveland returned home, he launched a Kickstarter campaign to raise money for a Christmas record album of fiddle and concertina music that he had already completed and was looking for a few bucks to release the thing. His goal for the cash grab was a mere five hundred bucks but it turned out that the popularity of fiddle and concertina music is so vast that his fans wound up contributing over six million dollars to the project. That means that he will be able to take more extravagant tours to South America, Asia and Australia while posting Facebook statuses that are thinly-veiled reminders to everyone back home that the jet-setting lifestyle which makes up his reality is vastly superior to anything that we could even dream about. I guess that his life really is better than mine. Fuck him.
The first returning figure from last year's list is Bro Joe, who rose from the #5 slot last year to #4 in 2014. Joe spent most of his year either recounting on Facebook bizarre conversations that he overheard at Starbucks coffee shops or of bragging about Herculean exercise regimens that he follows in order to be in tip-top physical shape for the binge-drinking marathons that he indulges in on a regular basis. One of the moist disturbing examples of the latter was when Joe got plastered one night in April and went on a nine-mile hike in order to get a better view of the rarely-seen blood moon. Most people can see the moon in the nocturnal hours just by tilting their head at a 30° angle but we're discussing Joe here, and with him any environmental scavenger hunt made during the wee hours means first guzzling two bottles of brown liquor and then staggering through the streets until 4:45 in the morning before you've found the objet de la nature of your desire. By then, Joe was so hammered that he was gazing upon a red traffic light on Laurel Canyon Boulevard rather than the elusive blood moon but his bloodstream was so saturated with the sweet hallucinogen of alcohol that he was convinced that he'd not only achieved his goal, but that the man in the moon was actually speaking to him. Regretfully, the MiM of legend turned out to be an officer of the Los Angeles Police Department and Joe spent the rest of his unforgettable night in the county drunk tank. But not all of Joe's antics were fueled by the sweet brain numbing of alcohol. For instance, he made a video for The ALS Ice Bucket Challenge stone-cold sober. Perhaps if he'd had a nip or two beforehand, he might have remembered to make some reference to the disease before dumping freezing water on his head. And he continued his habit of acting out the title dance number from Singin' in the Rain whenever he found himself on a public sidewalk, and I believe that some alcohol in his bloodstream would have given him the edge he needed not to crash into every passerby who had the misfortune to get with 10 feet of him. But drunk or sober, Joe is a one-of-a-kind figure in this world. If there were any more of him than that, I doubt if anyone would want to live in it'
The spectacular Mara Marini's image was featured in Jonny's Hollywood Christmas (the story which serves as the highlight of my annual Christmas extravaganza) as depicting both a ravishingly beautiful movie star named Mara Marini who is the victim of cyber-stalking by the story's hero Jonny M., a man who is constantly harassing her by Photoshopping photographs of the two of them in intimate poses; and as Bobbi Crachette, a kind and considerate Plain Jane who removes her eyeglasses one day and reveals herself to be as gorgeous as Mara Marini. The two characters represent a duality of the real Ms. Marini's character: she is, on one hand, a figure of impossible glamour and beauty who wants nothing to do with me. On the other hand she is a compassionate soul with an even more striking inner beauty who wants nothing to do with me. In either scenario it's clear that I'm not getting any from her and that annoys the crap out of me. After all, she and I were officially designated the two sexiest people on Facebook in an online poll conducted earlier this year and while it's true that I was the only person who took part in the poll, the results should speak for themselves. Ms. Marini has been in the top five of my annual 10 biggest enemies for the last five years and took the #1 spot in 2011 all because she views me as a dangerous sexual predator who only wants to do her harm. That's not fair, because if she'd only don a black latex dominatrix outfit and join me in the BDSM dungeon in my basement for an afternoon she'd realize that I'm just a dangerous sexual predator who only wants her to do me harm; preferably with a ball gag and a cat o'nine tails. Ms. Marini has been getting on my nerves all year, especially in the spring when she took part in March Photo a Day Challenge and posted pictures online every day that month and didn't include a single one that displayed more skin than I might see if I was looking at her lounging on the beach through a high-powered telescope. The sexiest woman on Facebook owes her fans more than that, so I'm expecting to see a lot more Marini epidermis in 2016. At the very least she can post some selfies of her wearing a dominatrix outfit while holding a cat o'nine tails. She just needs to leave some empty space so I can Photoshop an image of me wearing a ball gag kneeling in front of her. Pictures never lie.
My self-imposed exile from acting was finally ended this year when Tom Ashworth cast me in the role of Thomas Jefferson in a production he was directing for the Eclect-a-Fest series of one-act plays. Rather than presenting the author of The Declaration of Independence as the statesman carved into the face of Mt. Rushmore, Mr. Ashworth staged my first entrance as coming onto the stage after loudly masturbating and then giving me the immortal stage direction Play with Washington's nipple before finally having me anally violate John Adams. But Mr. Ashworth's ability to publicly humiliate me on stage is far from the only reason that he took the #2 position for 2014 (up from #4 last year). He is a veritable Renaissance Man actor, painter (his image on the left is a self portrait he created when it was his turn to use the crayons at the insane asylum he was briefly interred at), dancer, writer, master of such refined musical instruments as the banjo and the accordion whose entire life is dedicated to creating statements of his personal aesthetic that irritate the living hell out of anyone in a ten-block radius. But Mr. Ashworth's most offensive move of 2014 came when my nemesis Misty LaRue posted a photo of my beloved pug Winston during a brief stayover at her house, glued at the door waiting patiently for his Daddy to come home to him. Mr. Ashworth commented She had to drug the dog, then drag him to the door to look like he was missing you. Mr. Ashworth has a lifetime of employing drugs to manufacture the appearance of emotions that he is too dead inside to genuinely feel, and he was therefore perfect casting as the drug-addled henchman Ruprecht in my chronicle of the fictional Professor Morlock series of horror films that I became obsessed with over the summer. In the history of the franchise that I concocted, the mock-Ashworth died of a reefer overdose, leaving behind two children by his estranged wife Christine and dozens of illegitimate ones from his years as a bisexual prostitute. If only life could imitate art in this scenario, the world would be a much less annoying.
Jesse Merlin was my #1 enemy of 2013 and he probably would have been given the unprecedented status of being the biggest pain in my ass for two years in a row if only for his starring performances in two fictional motion pictures that I crapped out this year. One was the Professor Morlock horror cycle in which Mr. Merlin took the titular role as a thousand year-old insane genius with supernatural powers who wants to rule the world by transplanting the brain of a beautiful girl into a gorilla (or vice-versa; I could never quite figure that out).The other was his faux-cinematic turn as yours truly in Jonny: Scourge of a Nation, the movie masterpiece whose making served as the foundation for my annual Christmas Extravaganza, Jonny's Hollywood Christmas. The less-drunk amongst you will argue that it was hardly Mr. Merlin's handiwork that I chose to use his square-jawed visage and distinctive personality to represent my twisted creations, but I would counter that were it not for his uniquely irritating method of slithering up my anal cavity and planting eggs there, these two masterpieces would never have seen the light of day. But for the purposes of this analysis, it scarcely matters because Mr. Merlin had no competition to take away his #1 ranking since his first appearance on these pages in 2014, when it was announced that he was appearing in a rock opera based on Olympic figure skater and evil mastermind Tanya Harding. Since then, his other crimes against humanity include frequently dressing up as Dr. Who's arch-foe The Black Guardian, offering me philosophical quotations from Yoko Ono, appearing in another musical entitled The Werewolves of Hollywood Boulevard, sending me an online article maintaining that there is a high likelihood of zombies in outer space, playing a sexual deviant in a film called Fetish Factory, appearing in another musical in a return to his signature role of Dr. Hill in the smash hit Re-Animator: The Musical, reporting that that rapper Christ Bearer cut off his own penis before jumping out of a window, appearing in another musical as Sir Joseph in a production of Gilbert & Sullivan's H.M.S. Pinafore, acting in another freakin' movie called Helen Keller vs. Nightwolves and finishing the year up by enacting the most disturbing goddamned depiction of Santa Claus that I have ever seen. When reviewing Mr. Merlin's rap sheet, I am forced to conclude that this man is the single most irritating piece of protoplasm to crawl from beneath a rock since Jesus walked with the dinosaurs 6,000 years ago. I always knew it would take someone who was annoying on an historically epic level to be named my #1 Enemy for two years in a row, and posterity has provided that figure in Jesse Merlin. The only thing that might make him worse is if somebody transplanted his brain with that of a gorilla