Tuesday, 24 November 2015

Jimmy Jemz

I was once dragged into a chat room with a guy named James. He stuck by me for years after, like an ex-lover with an inextinguishable flame, despite the fact that during our first meeting I'd teased him and called him gay, and despite the fact that I'd immediately sent him every TISM song I'd claimed, even though he thought that they were pretty lame.

He was the first adult friend I'd made in my entire adult life, he introduced me to a magical world that was rife, with kids who would kick and then who'd fall down, girls asking for a sip of your water when you were out in the town, blokes who would bike into walls and then hit the ground, and a magical midget who turned our worlds upside down. We would stay up all night on I.M. just shooting the breeze, we'd write essays for uni and look for Scottish people to tease.

With some of our time he found a forum for writing, named himself Gay Messiah and soon he was inviting me to join him in acts of pure hilarity, we'd write stories about aardvarks or drinking our own pee, as the users critiqued our work and took us seriously. Soon our egos were inflated so suitably, that we forged out on our own expecting knocks of opportunity, but we were wrong, we wrote each other eulogies after working out that we were singing the wrong song. No one cares, and no one ever comes along, but that's okay, it only takes two to make a song, and our song is our song - a beautiful gloomy cacophonous throng, a homeless man on his death throes as he shudders along, hacking up what's left of each of his lungs, as he wipes away the spittle, he smiles, and sticks out his tongue.

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