Jameo. J Dawg. Jamerson.

Here’s the Jameson manifesto. Maybe one day I’ll be your manifest-bro.

When I was born my esophagus wasn’t hooked to my stomach and almost took away my ability to speak.

This unattached gullet didn’t hold me back from being a child actor in L.A. where I learned that the “The Little Rascals” are not members of the He-Man Women-Haters-Club anymore. It also didn’t keep me from being my university’s P.A. announcer for our sports teams where I was nicknamed Big Poppa Rossi.

Most importantly, this major surgery didn’t stop me from being suspended in high school for writing risqué material for our pep rally. As my disappointed parents told me I was the first in the family to be suspended I learned a valuable lesson: my writing could be just as powerful as anything that I had ever performed. I promise my food tube and I won’t let you down.