Jason Just-Jason-Guy comes to this unmarked, semi-private club at least four nights a week to hear bands you’ve never heard of interpreting songs you woulnd’t get, but he wonders if he looks right.
“I put on some bracelets,” explains Jason, “but then I put on some more and some more, and I wonder if I’m being too indie when I do it, you know?”
With little certain in this report, it was clear he was wearing too many bracelets, and such was said to him.
“Is it because they’re a mix of jellies and metal, or maybe I should take off the hemp strand I got from that bongo player last Sunday who was on a journey.”
While none of the words in the previous sentence made any sense, I just nodded, and he pared down to a paltry 25-ish wrist adornments.
“This is what I need to see Angry Goblins,” he told me, as if the sounds coming out of his mouth formed into anything remotely resembling actual words.
Jason is 45, married, has two children at home in his low-rent, high-rise apartment, and he works as a freelance web designer.
“I haven’t actually made a site yet this year,” says Jason, “but I got to punch a starfish at the aquarium, and he knew who was boss.”
Again, words that make absolutely no sense, but he seems tied to them, so they are published here without commentary.
After getting drunk on not-taking-his-insulin, Jason wandered out into the streets, eventually disrobing and making a proper ass of himself. It would have been an anonymous moment of humility, were it not for someone near him with a SmartPhone and Instagram cementing this moment into perpetuity.
Some have alleged that it was me, myself, who took the photos and posted them with his real, full name, on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, but in keeping with our company policy, we maintain full plausible deniability when it comes to things we obviously or even just probably did.
Jason Just-Jason-Guy was found dead in his bed three days later from what appeared to be a self-inflicted wound, but many close to him described it as “probably for the best.”