“When his pipe goes down, the screen alights”
“We have some kinda bear he's in the backyard in the pond, actually he's not AAAAAAAAA!”
“Jack Nicholson is the master method actor, when he was preparing for his role in "The Shining" he actually grabbed an axe and cut up a nigger. Thus earning my respect! My hat tips for you Jack!”
Jack Nicholson is a fictional actor of such talent that the Japanese praised him as, "The one who shall bring the Spirit Bomb down upon us in a Land Before Time." He has starred in many films and was foretold of in the Bible, "He who shall be born from the hole that lies at the end of thy table with rings and numbers in which you throw balls in to win tickets, shall wear Sun Glasses that shall be seen by all and feared by none." (Matthew 1:41, Mark 2:8, Luke 1:52, John 5:30). He is also Big Foot's only living relative.
Jackariah Ernesto Jonny Nikelstein IVXXXCMLQVI was born on Naliir 38 1/2, to a tribe of Manhattan half-apes (socially speaking.) Not knowing who his parents were exactly and everyone in his environment party animals and general hedonists, Jack rebelled this rebellion and turned to fine arts and spiritual refinement, encouraged by trampy teachers. Having an upbringing among the primitives he was confined to, he learned the lifestyle of everyday New York City dwellers, but made few long lasting friendships among them. He went to school in an underground liquor-theatre in Central Park, taught on occasion by the 'New York Elite Intellectuals' who were incredibly enlightening when they were not blowing one another at the local Starfucks. In short, Jack was pimarily self-educated.
The underground liquor theater, nicknamed Hobo-Bones, was beginning to grate Jack's emerging sense of purpose; the easygoing public fornication between the surrounding adults and pool-game procrastination of those his age led him in 1955 to inform his folks that he would be leaving soon to prepare a journey of self-discovery- or some beatniking of the like. When he mentioned he would be attending Christ Church College of Christian Catholic Character (CCCCCC) which was further in the city, his current teacher at Hobo-Bones (Gore Vidal) warned against this move, telling him "I understand things are improperly loud in this promiscuous dwelling for a formal education, but that college is..." and he was interrupted by a couch accidentally thrust upon him as a fight over a new girl escalated. Young Jack took this as an oracle of sorts, and trotted off for a taxi in the frigid cold, though not having enough money for the entire voyage he walked the rest of the way dreamily to the campus.
Upon arrival, he spotted young Bettie Page also signing up to attend (some historical records left by Vidal indicate she'd stopped by the Hobo-Bones and chatted with Nicholson about acting and the arts previously, inciting his decision to choose that particular university) and told her he’d be looking forward to studying alongside her. She shook her head: “Place is free, paid by the evangelists or something. I’ve been on these slimy streets too long, dear. And hey sorry, but I heard they separate the guys from the gals, so I’ll see ya around, kid.”
Bunkmates reported Jack acting aloof and a little morose: they eventually included him in a few of their card game/drinking bouts. In one of them and in a deeply drunken state Jack finally stated his woes with a grim grin, “There’s a gg-gggirl named Bettie here,” he said as he fell off the table. Once the blood and laughter subsided, his round of friends suggested he go and speak with this girl at the university chancel during morning confession since there was a kind of unsupervised wake-up prayer and meditation there for the girls. The next dawn Jack was excused to the bathroom during confession and snuck in the chancel, surprising Bettie who’d been in silent prayer. Nicholson is quoted as whispering rapidly, “hey, let’s go see that new movie and hit the diner later,” and as he was finishing that last word he was struck in the tongue with the mighty belt of Father Scorsese’s watchdog young son Martin; who then chased him into the bathroom, quoting scripture between frantic whipping bouts. “Go to, go to, Jack the Devil! Slimeball Nicholson! Saint Satyr Extraordinaire! How will you ever repent, young one?” though technically Jack was older than Martin, and pointed this out, only to be whipped further. The elders rushed inside the small bathroom drenched in coffee and ‘cough medicine’, demanding the manner of the situation. Once it’d been explained, the elders decided to make an example of young Jack since revelry had been increasing that year as it was. Father Reilly looked down upon the youth with contempt. “Mr. Nicholson, you embarrass the structure of the institution you inhabit due to our good will. This is a city-bog of low scum, but still I expected more of you, and I will see to it that you honor this sanctuary as long as you remain in it.” He then offered Jack two options: solitary confinement for a week, or a moral rejuvenation via toilet baptismal. Jack then announced loudly that he was leaving the campus, at which he was reminded he signed his guardianship away to the college. He then lowered his head reluctantly into the bowl, being belt-whipped on the back and mockingly laughed at by 13 year old Martin Scorsese until the Head Pastor of the CCCCCC lifted Nicholson to air once more instructing him to hope he was never caught again in another base attempt to breach his moral and physical borders, lest repentance have to come in an even lesser pleasant form.
It has taken Nicholson his entire life to shake (and fight) off the nickname ‘Piss-Poor John’.
After this instance, Jack and most of the other inhabitants of the college greatly scaled down their attempts at school-time shenanigans, especially after one student was spotted walking off campus then receiving solitary confinement for nearly three weeks, emerging from it mute of speech from then on. It was discovered by some students who entered a secret reference office that the facility was more cult than campus, that its founders were run by fundamentalist business interests who also financed part of Eisenhower’s campaign. Apparently the ‘college’ took in the disadvantaged, effectively paying off those attending to not mention to those outside that they weren’t being educated but rather boarded after they signed up as a part of a public-relations effort glorifying privatization and combating the afterglow of the hugely successful governmental relief programs in Roosevelt’s New Deal. After a ‘student’ completed their ‘courses’, further financial efforts were to be put forth to establish the veneers of illustrious careers enjoyed by these homeless ‘alumni’.
By 1958, intensified by the lawless abandon of the Catholic Church during World War II, the international community sent youthful American secret UN associate Chuck Norris to infiltrate Vatican City. Not told he would likely find much of note but to search regardless, he discovered appalling information concerning a classified albeit clearly influential sect of the Church that held onto the extreme principles of Mussolini and especially his vision of a Neo Roman Empire. Current Pope John XXIII was so enthusiastic about his surprise election that he apparently spent his first few days laboring sleeplessly in diverting Church funds from church-building to allied efforts with the CIA and MI6 in financing black ops for massive opposition orders against Leftist causes around the world, and even auspicious Democratic figures in America such as the Kennedys. Recent funding also included propaganda developments such as the CCCCCC, and all these pet projects were to be blanketed furtively under the Roman Catholic Church’s anti-communist stance.
Norris was soon back on international territory, opening his journal after receiving a bribe order from the Vatican. Chuck writes: “There is apparently a great fascist bleakness formulating against the entire face of freedom the world over, and as such it saddens me to think on how many died in World War II for nothing at all but this resurgence. I am offered a great sum of money to relinquish this intelligence, but at the cost of course of my integrity. They inform me this bribe is not to quell their opposition, for it’s already quelled by the sheer force of the corporate interests implemented against it but in effect they wish to pay me so this conquest of theirs’ proceeds more swiftly. I suppose then a few international journalists still hold some sway among the common public, and these Vatican villains would rather expend more currency than face the irritation of stray liberal herds. This ‘efficacy’ is surely the most enormously robotic and inhuman development in human history, and it abhors all my innards to acquiesce with any of its standards. But of course I must take this bribe, because this fire must be stopped with fire, and I can use the large sum of this money to tactfully hand portions of my information to those who would report it. Beyond this, I can only promise my efforts will remain as strong as my skin remains human.”
About a month later Norris transferred his information concerning the PR aspect of this rising Rightist conspiracy to a French newsletter, but this gained surprisingly little traction among the international press. Even still, the Pope was startled to a state of shock over the leak, hastily removing his portion of the funds from the PR plotting, and in fact placing a full quarter of it toward finding the leaker. Despite his carefulness and surreptitious sourcing, Norris was found out by the leaders of this global shadow revolution impossibly fast. Now under their control he was chosen to play a wooden actor in a new propaganda program designed to stupefy the masses. He chose this narrowly over suicide, and continues to act [excruciatingly] in television and film today.
Now at the close of ‘58, the CCCCCC was suffering pecuniary problems and the students began to notice a sudden slackening in security. On New Years Night, Jack led an escape from the college while the priests gathered to pass around a good couple glasses of ‘cough medicine’. Inspired by the book of Exodus, (the Bible was among those on the brief list of books permitted in the facility) Nicholson later commented, “I figured you learn from history, right? So this Moses, I guess I was daydreamin in the church and I’m thinking how I would have done ‘er -the exit job from Egypt- and the guy that had the rod he had courage but I thought maybe you don’t ask your masters if you wanna leave, maybe sometimes you gotta just do a motherfucka.” So the students snuck from a back window in the women’s restroom and in premature jubilation a majority of them ran across the road on Time’s Square before checking traffic and collided with some military vehicles passing by. Nicholson’s friend Bettie [who he’d been separated by gender at the school and waiting to talk with for years now] was on the ground next to her dying girlfriend and hopelessly trying to keep her alive. Jack saw authorities coming and told Page to join him but she was lost in woe and young Jack then had to make a judgment call. “Catch you around, babe” he patted her head and sped toward the only place he could remember.
A little ways into Central Park, Jack sped down the steps of the Hobo-Bones, hardly even thinking how incredible it was that such a shabby little stinkhole could still be kickin all these years later. When he gathered his breath below, he noticed that Mr. Vidal was the only soul in the establishment. Gore was simply reading, but of course lifted his head when he heard the panting. “Jackie-boy, is that yee?” “No, I, I, hello Mr. Vidal. Yes, I’m Jack sir, it’s nice seeing you again. I just needed to hide if you didn’t mind. The Catholics are not what I had in mind exactly. Say, where’s the old crowd?” “Oh, those bohemians? They skipped town, or otherwise you missed them outside passing reefer. And I understand a war is brewing. Now it’s Vietnam, I hear. Suppose some people can’t help themselves,” Gore said, shaking his head solemnly. “War? Why is that? Say, I’m going to say hey to some of the old crackpots,” Jack said, turning for the stairs. “Speaking of that, Jack, don’t you get into that drug stuff, it’ll wear you down while you’re young, you don’t want that.” “Oh, don’t worry about that Mr. Vidal, I just need a place to crash.” “No wait, you can stay here, besides, I haven’t even heard where you’ve been yet, your adventures. Johnny, stay away from those fiends!” But Nicholson had been outside with the dopers already.
Celebrity War Service
In 1959, Jack Nicholson entered the Vietnam War with some of the first American battalions. He reveals today that the only reason he signed up for the war was because he had too many drug charges against him in the US already to risk acquiring any more supply for his habit. He was reported by many to beat his fellow soldiers with rocks and sticks immediately after stepping off the helicopter and into countryside, demanding, ‘lead me to the god-damn poppy croppies.’
His ‘irascible withdrawal tendencies’ caused his fellow soldiers to relent and lead him to some Vietnamese pure opium sources, but taking advantage of his needy state and wealthy status they charged him triple-standard prices, which he only protested after the primary 2 months of duty, presumably out of pocket change at this point. Consequently, it is widely rumored that he massacred (with an entire bag of grenades) an American platoon residing with a Vietnamese dealer, so he could seize a whole field of various drug for free.
It has been said Nicholson is still referred to in some circles as 'Poppy John'.
Through his intoxicated daze (he carried at this point, at all times, three-connected backpacks of clumsily assembled opium, cocaine, marijuana, etc.) he forced himself to complete his tour of duty in segments between being flown back to America privately now and again during the proceeding years to participate in the movie/drug industry, thus in 1965 he joined a traveling platoon he encountered which was moving further towards the border of the country southward. Larry Craig (later Senator), the only other survivor of this platoon, remembers:
“I was just a good-ol-boy, fighting for my country, didn’t want any trouble, did the best job I could. This wild guy joined our platoon bout third week in, real hippie bastard. Higher than a plane, this guy still never got in trouble for his substance abuse problem because all these hoppers he carried on him were so pungent, if you were to walk within 50 yards of him you would start and feel a little wonderful about things yourself pretty soon. In an hour our whole platoon was no more than a bunch of giggle-funny motherfuckers and in a few days we got machine-gunned to dirt by the ‘Cong till just that crazy guy, soldier Nicholson that is, and I were the only ones left. Our clothes were so ragged by the fighting, and it was so farting hot in the jungle that we went around naked. Jack kept his silly bags-o-fun though, of course. I was high as he was, half the time, just from the smell. Soon, we actually managed to sneak away from the enemy for awhile, discouraged from the war effort, trying to find our way out of the country. Unfortunately, when we traveled far enough the temperature began to change.
“Jack told me ‘we have to be awake at least at dawn. That’s when they hunt.’ The only bad part about that was that those first hours were colder than polar-bear tits. Our bodies began to burn madly, through the frost. We literally couldn’t move, and one morning when we were forced to hide from some Charlie in a bush with our lower bodies deep in a pond and numbing to ice in minutes, Jack offered me some of his pure-supply to take my mind off the pain. I rejected, and he just shrugged his shoulders and popped that trail-mix poppy down his throat like he was eating from a sack of popcorn.
“Now I can’t tell you what was real or not because I was fucked up as a war-protesting minority, but I saw as plain as day his hand go still in lieu of putting another plant in his mouth, as though his body reacted enough already and wouldn’t permit another stimuli, and Jack was looking at me with his goddamn leprechaun grin as the only sign of life, when that muddy mug turned right as blazing red as was earthly possible. I don’t mean a blush here, a rash there, I mean his face was lit up like the early morning sun. That’s about when his right eyeball slid down outta the socket and landed on the ground, still connected to some vein inside. The only thing I could think to do was to pick it up and put it back in; which I did. And I’ll never forget this, the second I put that eye back in his head he said, ‘I’m still cold.’
“I then took the chance to lift my head from the dense thicket and upon returning told Jack that things were clear and that a tepee-hut was ahead. I forced him up at gunpoint. He wearily followed and we walked in this tiny abode, immediately relieved by some flames inside. To my dismay the inhabitants were smoking opium, to which Jack giggled and nestled beside, not even considering that these might be Viet Cong. I was a little too transfixed by the fire myself to give a damn, and moved close to this fire with Jack. I regained myself finally, asking them pleasantly in Vietnamese, ‘You guys Commies?’ The chief of them shook his head. A child politely fed the flame and just as soon Jack whipped him out of the way and moved as closely as he could without adding himself to the burnings, as did I. It was just then that we all heard an explosion: a crackled, crisply outward combustion, which seemingly originated in that very room; and yet no one understood what it was exactly. So in our tiredly-baked quality we went back to getting warm. It was probably twenty-five minutes later that Jack and I began to feel our legs again and when we did, we noticed some blood drying slowly among our thighs, looked down, discovering what that bursting sound had been, and that we no longer owned testicles. What remained lied in icy chunks on the floor before the hut-fire, and we both screamed in far-delayed shock. The chief gathered the fleshy debris into a pot, threw some village vegetables in and boiled it all in water over the fire. We were so space-rocket high and hungry that when the chief told us of this meal’s talent-giving powers via nourishment, he didn’t have to convince us any further before we dug in, hardly leaving any for the chief and his child. This chief looked at us for a long time and said, ‘This food is very sacred; very rewarding indeed. To you, American soldier, it grants political genius.’ And then the chief looked at me, ‘And to you, acting ability.’
At the close of the war, Nicholson was awarded several medals for valor; his miraculous survivability puzzled all superior officers (because of his illicit drug practices he wasn’t permitted to leave the conflict completely until it ended, so then in effect he’d at intervals fought for various sides of the war for its entire duration) especially those who actively counted him among enemy combatants, and sometimes knowing he was in their strike range had called air bombings anyway in contempt of the apparent hippie-ism and VC sympathizing he was influencing upon his fellow forces. Jack later noted with his famous red smirk, “Probably would have come home in forty pieces if it wasn’t for the generosity of those Viet Cong bunker comrades.” He shortly returned to NYC and searched for the beat-up apartments he nearly overdosed in before leaving for Vietnam, but to his wonderment upon entering he only found Bettie Page on half an old couch, sober but sullen. “Is that you, Johnny? Welcome back,” she emotionlessly muttered and turned her glance aside. “Yeah, Bettie, so you made it out?” “Place gave me an option, I took it. Running low on funds, told me if I still wanted fun for a day or so out of the campus, like just a breath outside those walls for a few hours a week-as long as I didn’t get any funny ideas-that I could if I posed in some pics for this porno mag or something. I done it, and I run when a chance came, but I wish I ran when you did. They know no one will listen to a penniless whore, but some might listen to a war hero, so go to the Hobo Bones, I told Vidal about that college but he can only help end that place if his source is someone more like you.” Jack paused wearily. “I-I-I-I-I just want…what’s a mick have to do to get a crack-slap round here? This is New York I came back to, aint it?” “Jack, you must understand. Now that the war’s over finally, that ‘college’ is booming again, the security’s stronger than ever, and homeless are practically pouring in: if you don’t straighten your act those prisoners are going to weigh down on you, one way or another. You have to listen to me.”
Jack frowned and slowly slacked his way past Wall Street to some neighborhoods he could already tell upon approaching were still dangling with dopers when he paused on the ground. “I uh, seen something in the existing state of the road beneath me that I wasn’t cool with. ‘Fuck, man’ I thought, ‘who in their right mind would dig it this way? So I walks over to the green Park instead, pricks of pain in my tortured ass and I told Vidal it all, didn’t leave out a pretty piece; also showing him some supplementing documentation I had stolen from the college implementing some of my military training. So he’s like outraged as you’ll ever imagine, pissed as a parrot without its crack-pipe. Picks up his pen, takes it down and I read it after, smilingly impressed and thinking how much shit’s goin’ to race down those Catholic robes after it’s released.” Two months later, Vidal’s treatise on Jack’s testimony, “Defacing Crooked Webs: A Secret Glance into Modern American Shadows” hit a public growing accustomed to political corruption. Gore writes:
“The New York College scandal, funded by foul free-market machinery and sublimely criminal corners of the Catholic Church, must be before anything else the most absurdly shameless ideological corruption ever constructed. Desperation must be high among the conservatives of our country if they can find cause in effectively using their heaping sums of remaining money to entrap and enlist quarters of the population’s disaffected as a comical type of down-payment for public approval and longevity. Finance can achieve much, but these folks still can’t afford the truth because it would knock their clown-faced edifice clean toward the ground.”
“Vidal, I want to battle until it’s all gone,” Nicholson said after the CCCCCC was closed and he’d sobered up the rest of the way. “I want it as much as you, but I’m afraid it looks as though we have to play this game to win it, and we can’t play without chipping in. We’re going to need more cash than my books can sell for.” “I’ll live in Hollywood full-time. It’s all I believe in so it’s all I can do.” “Jack? They can’t beat you if you give it all your guts. Don’t get more acquainted than you need to with those leading ladies either, they’ll suck the breath right from your lungs. I’ll catch you in the cinema sometime.”
Adulthood in Hollywood
Nicholson became a successful enough actor to live in Beverley Hills, and he felt comfortable sharing his pacific living space with those who were politically aligned. Withdrawal from his drugging days however was testing his nerves, although some of this tense nature was said to augment his performances. His fellow actors around this period mostly avoided him on set, largely preferring to spend time with their addicted company, and those sober were too busy in the production department to strike up substantial enough friendships with him.
One day Jack walked a cracked alley in Skid Row and opened an old door. He sat down across an old black woman as she slowly surveyed him. When she didn’t say anything for a long time, he uttered politely all at once, “Iwould lika whore on my lap goddamn now.” She smiled at the eager attitude of his grin and sat on him, rocking. “But you’re older than my mother! You know? I mean not that you aint a hot number. Ewww, gooood. Call me poppa please.” She laughed. “But you’re my son, silly!” and all at once he knew that was true and screamed aloud, only to wake from that midnight dream on his own room-sized bed filled with freshly coked-out mid-eighties sleeping starlets sprinkled with swimming scars of moon beam. He didn’t know how long he’d been in his hedonistic dream but closed his eyes again and felt his underwear descend when one of the nearer skanks began swallowing him back into solace.
He’s been known among several Los Angeles women since the eighties as ‘Long John Nicky’.
Jack sulked about his garage an hour later unable to sleep when he heard a deep voice emerge somewhere, “So Reagan’s president,” Vidal stated. “Jesus Gore! Where the pop did you come from? Yeah that bastard even got this state, don’t blame my ass. That Eastwood is one dusty dumb fuck, huh.” “He’s with Buckley,” Vidal nodded. “Like, a political pupil?” Gore chuckled, “Yes, like a response from the Right to you and I. And they got pretty flustered over their little embarrassments of recent courtesy us, so they played nasty,” he sighed. “I suppose they considered reacting to their foul-up in New York not by playing their side of caution, but their thinking isn’t like yours and mine, so they topped their circus act thinking it wise to prevent a second Carter term by exacerbating the economic crisis behind the scenes, with their own expenses of course. Now I’ve seen this given my resources, but they’ve paid too much for their clear appearance this time for me to reveal a thing. I wonder how they generate all their steam? Anyway, I need a place to stay if that’s okay, they chased me out of New York before I could take everything with me exactly.” “Sure, I mean I have to get my head on straight anyway, leave town a little, let some of the girlfriends chill their tits down a couple inches.” Vidal shook his head with a smile. “I’ll try and keep things in order. But before you leave, there’s someone on the Hollywood Sign you might like to chat with.”
Jack sat on the giant H talking with Bettie Page until the sparkles over the angel hills slipped into wakening waves of blue cresting up toward their warming feet. “I think maybe you could try acting if you wanted,” he told her. “I lost all my hope in that place. They made me feel like whatever I do afterward will be worthless.” He put his thumb to her arm, “You feel alive to me.” “Thanks Johnny. You keep that smirk of yours, it keeps me going,” she giggled warmly.
Jack spends his golden years going to big parties while wearing big sun glasses. He doesn't do much else, though sometimes he his frowned upon by pennies and dimes. Nickels and dollar bills declined to comment. He lives in a big house that lies by a mud hole, in this hole there lies a key that lead to Jack's Jungle. Jack keeps this key there and hides in a rocket ship in case it is ever discovered. He is addicted to small children, much like our good friend Pat (King of Steaks). He also has joined a church group, the "Frankenstein is the God of all Living Things" church group.
Three days later, he was devoured by ten albino sheep.
The Big Part
While cleaning his rocket ship he stuck his hand in his pocket and found the cards that had burned him earlier in life after he punched the clown but before Manos spoke to him. As he stared at the only card that wasn't damaged he realized what it mean. It was a joker card, Tim Burton then appeared and made time fly back to 1989. Jack was cast as the Joker in Batman and got lots of money, no pennies and dimes though for they still frowned upon him in the past.
Jack's man boobs have been a subject of much debate, but now scientific research done by the scientologists proves that they are indeed two rapidly developing aliens implanted in him by the great Tom Cruise whilst he was on holiday at the Cruise Villa. Cruise refused to comment. All he said was "Want any salt with that?"
He's still alive. Or is he..? This question has plagued civilizations for years. The answer is yet unknown however the theory is that he in a perpetual state of sadness and anger effectivly making him trapped between life and death.
Jack Nicholson was arrested for trying to insert his brain into an evil penguin after a free basing spaghetti and meatballs in 1974.
After touring the University of Antarctica campus, Jack was promptly arrested for public exposure when he opened his trench coat in front of President Ruth Simmons.
Jack Nicholson was arrested when he tried to attend the world premiere of The Dark Knight disguised as The Joker. He wanted to crash the event stating that the late Heath Ledger stoled his "Thunder". He ended getting his ass kicked by Batman himself, Christian Bale afterwards labeled Jack as a "Piece of $56 million shit!" after knocking him out cold. Nicholson was sentenced to be dragged home by the batpod being ridden by Bale, which ended Nicholson in a fucked up state in the ass!
- Easy rider - retarded biker.
- Chinatown - retarded cop.
- One flew over cuckoo's nest - officially a retard.
- The shining - retarded guy who types nothing but "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy".
- Batman - don't you know it?.
- As good as it gets - homophobic retard with OCD.
- Anger management - He plays a therapist??!!.
Jack Nicholson developed, produced, published and beta-tested his own video game, Jack Nicholson's Somebody Took a Shit in your Backyard. Here is a clip:
- Killed Shelley Duvall with an axe.
- Killed Heath Ledger because, honestly, there can only be one true Joker, not two.
- Loves all kinds of bats. Especially baseball bats.
- Jack is actually among the coolest people on earth, others include Samuel L. Jackson and Blobby
- Jack is a graduate of the University of Antarctica.
Quotes about Jack Nicholson
“Jack Nicholson is the master method actor, when he was preparing for his role in "The Shriner" he actually grabbed an axe and cut up a black person. Thus earning my respect! My hat tips for you Jack!”
“ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES JACK A DULL BOY! ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES JACK A DULL BOY!
ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES JACK A DULL BOY! ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES JACK A DULL BOY!ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES JACK A DULL BOY! ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES JACK A DULL BOY!”