MEETING AUTHORS #8: PENN JILLETTE

First of all, I should mention this isn’t the first time I’ve met Penn Jillette. Back in the ‘Nineties, my father took me to a Penn & Teller show in Vegas, and I met both of them as we came out after. The last part of their act featured them dressed in togas and covered in blood, so that’s how they stood out in the lobby of the theater, signing autographs. Fast forward maybe ten years, and my grandfather, my brothers and I went to a Penn & Teller show in Chicago. During one of their acts, Penn, who is a giant, was stuffed into a barrel with a bunch of rods stuck through it. He invited everyone in the theater to come on stage and take a look in the barrel to see there were no tricks involved. I went down and couldn’t believe my own eyes. I also met him again as we left the theater, and he signed more autographs.

But those times were as a magician. This time, I got to meet Penn Jillette, the author.

He’s written a few books with Teller, but he’s also done quite a few solo books. My favorite is SOCK, which is one of the most inventive cop novels I’ve ever read. His new book is EVERY DAY IS AN ATHEIST HOLIDAY!, and I rushed out to Anderson’s in Naperville to get my own copy. This time, I got there early enough to get a seat, which turned out to be a good idea since by the time I turned around at the start of the presentation, the bookstore was stuffed with people.

I sat there, reading the book when I heard Penn on the other side of the book shelf from me. Holy shit, he was early. Considering how many authors have been early to signings lately, I’m going to have to renew my general theory that everyone is late, and those who aren’t are exceptions.

I heard him talking with an Anderson’s rep about the details of the signing. And then I heard him reference bringing a friend with him. I wondered if it might be Teller, but then I heard the name “Tony.” I knew Penn was friends with Tony Fitzpatrick, who lives in the area, and I wondered if maybe that was the friend in question. That would be very cool.

Not too long after, Penn stepped out and greeted us all. He looked even taller than I remembered, and with his hair NOT tied back in a ponytail, he looked like a caveman dressed in modern clothes. The first thing he said? “I just want to check with everyone before we begin. Is it okay if I curse? I mean, I can do this clean, but I just want to check with everyone.”

I was the first person to respond to this, and can you guess what I said? Oh yeah.

And he cursed. He cursed like a motherfucker.

He also said that he’d brought a friend with him. “I’m sure since this is Chicago, Tony Fitzpatrick needs no introduction.” And he pointed back.

It was too crowded. I couldn’t see him. But fuck, how cool is that? According to Terry, the guy who runs the comic book shop I go to, Fitzpatrick used to have his studio on that very block in Villa Park. I love his art, but I was a bigger fan of his Comedy Central show back in the day, DRIVE-IN REVIEWS with Buzz Kilman. Fitzpatrick is an artist whose work adorns the private collections of top names like Harrison Ford, Johnny Depp, Kevin Bacon, Andrew Vachss, Bill Gates, Morgan Freeman, Martin Scorsese and so on. But as I looked around at my fellow fans, I suddenly got the impression that I was the only one who knew who Fitzpatrick is.

Penn began his presentation, and he spoke with the power of a hell-fire preacher, which is pretty funny, considering his atheism. He’s a riveting speaker, as he should be after years of being a stage magician. Not once in all the time he spoke did he become boring. He spoke on a lot of topics, mostly atheism and his run on CELEBRITY APPRENTICE. He brought out the one question us atheists are asked all the time by people who have at least some spiritual belief: “If you don’t believe in God, then what motivates you to be good?”

I usually respond with something like, “We’re all in this together. Why make each other miserable in our short time on this planet?” I like Penn’s answer a lot better: “I rape and murder all the people I want to. That number of people is ZERO.” He finds it abhorrent that people need to be threatened with punishment in the afterlife to be good on this planet. I agree.

He also told a great story about one of his friends on CELEBRITY APPRENTICE having a breakdown, and the cameras wanted to get the most out of the situation. Penn, feeling bad for his friend, started singing “Hey Jude,” and the cameras stopped rolling instantly. Apparently, it is very expensive to get the rights to use that song, and no one at the network wanted to pay the price. He also explained why he thought people tended to act like assholes on reality shows. It’s a very interesting theory, but it’s in the book, and Penn tells it better than I can here.

At one point, he broke the microphone. To the best of my memory, I think he dropped it on the table in faux-shock at something. The top just cracked off, and he did his best to put it back on. It worked for a while, but it kept falling back off. Finally, he gave up, asking the audience if he even needed the fucking thing. Of course he didn’t. His voice is deep and resonating. I’m certain people across the street could hear him.

It came time for the Q&A. As always, I wanted to ask a question that the author in question has never been asked. I figured most of the crowd was here due to his reality show appearances, and maybe from his magic shows with Teller. I felt fairly confident that no one else would ask about his movie (again, with Teller) called PENN & TELLER GET KILLED. A smile bloomed on his face as he talked about the project, which he really had fun with, but he knew they’d never get another chance at a movie because it flopped pretty badly. He couldn’t believe they’d gotten a real director for the movie, either. Arthur Penn directed BONNIE AND CLYDE, THE MIRACLE WORKER and LITTLE BIG MAN, among others. On set, they had to refer to the two Penns by their other names in order to differentiate between them.

After the questions, we all got lined up to get our books signed. When I got up there, I asked the Anderson’s rep if he’d also sign SOCK, which I had brought as well. She said sure. I put both books down in front of him, and as he signed, I talked about that first show that I’d seen. He loved talking about the blood and togas. He got a kick out of the fact that someone remembered that show, especially since he winds up mentioning it in the book. But there were a lot of people in line, so there wasn’t much time to talk. We said our goodbyes, and as I headed for the door, I kept looking left and right, hoping to run into Tony Fitzpatrick. I remembered reading a book of his poetry at the library maybe fifteen years ago, and I wanted to talk to him about it. Sadly, I didn’t see him.

I’ve met so many awesome writers at Anderson’s over the years. Clive Barker, Dave Barry, John Sandford, Joe Hill, Weird Al and the list goes on. I can’t thank Anderson’s enough for bringing them all in, and I hope to see more there in the future. They’re the best bookstore in the area, and I highly recommend you all give them a visit.

COOL SHIT 1-30-14

[Friendly reminder: Cool Shit is not a comic book review. It’s just what I think is the best gathering of books that came out this week. Because of this, there will be spoilers. The spoilers for this week are in the last selection, ALL-STAR WESTERN #27.]

WRAITH #3: Charlie Manx is one of the finest villains in horror history, and it’s good to see that writer Joe Hill has decided to do a comic book series about him. The antagonist of NOS4A2 has walked into the middle of a prison bus escape. A former circus geek, a movie mogul who accidentally killed his lover during a moment of kinky sex and a moral father who might have committed murder to avenge the wrongful death of his son (we still don’t know for sure if this is the case, but it sure looks that way) have crashed their prison bus and have taken their guards captive. The mogul happens to be a friend of Charlie Manx, and he contacts the creep to help them escape the authorities. The only problem is, they have to go to Christmasland to do it . . . I love the reactions of all three criminals in the back of the Wraith as they first realize how strange the car is, and then when they see Christmasland and its toothy denizens with their own eyes.

SERENITY: LEAVES ON THE WIND #1: Looks like FIREFLY has returned to comics yet again. The Browncoats may be making a comeback in this book. A new revolution is beginning, thanks to Mal’s actions at the end of the film. Could it be that the Alliance is about to come to pieces? And what the fuck is Jayne doing off on his own? I just have one problem: can we please, pretty-fucking-please, stop using the leaf-on-the-wind phrase? It’s getting driven into the ground. That scene was very moving in the film, a very powerful moment, and to see it constantly cheapened over and over again is nauseating. Also, who wants to take bets that writer Zack Whedon is going to bring Wash back to life somehow?

ALL-STAR WESTERN #27: At first, I was going to say that this was the single worst issue of anything that ever featured Jonah Hex in it. Even worse than the Booster Gold issues. Almost the whole book is a waste of time. First of all, the first seven pages are dedicated to Superman showing off to Hex, flying him around and then throwing boulders into the air so he can use his heat ray eyes to make them explode. Fuck that shit. Most of the rest of the book shows Hex’s girl showing him around a Jonah Hex exhibit at a museum, and this includes a display of his taxidermied corpse. So it would seem that the New 52 is sticking to canon on that point. That’s kind of cool, but it’s not enough to redeem the rest of the bullshit of this book.

And then . . . then came the last panel. Oh please, I beg of the DC gods, let this be the last issue of ALL-STAR WESTERN. This would be the perfect ending to the series. Jonah Hex dies in a drunk driving collision, his motorcycle versus a big rig 18-wheeler? It makes perfect sense. Let it end here. Don’t give us a next issue which starts with him in a hospital bed covered in bandages. Or even worse, don’t let this be the way he gets back to the Wild West. That’s stupid. He’s got to be dead. Look at all that blood. Hex doesn’t have super powers. It should be next to impossible for a motorcyclist to survive crashing into a truck head on. I know, there’s no way DC will go with that. But I can hope. Fuck me for being a completist. If I had the willpower to quit this series, I’d take my THE FOLLOWING stance with it. (I refuse to watch the new season of THE FOLLOWING because I think the ending of season one is the perfect ending to that story.)

IT'S A SPIRIT, GET IT?! A whiskey review of Jacob's Ghost

The first thing one notices about Jim Beam’s new whiskey, Jacob’s Ghost, is its clarity. Unlike other whiskies, this one is clear, like vodka. It’s a hard idea to get into one’s head, but it’s certainly unusual. Next, it has a remarkable looking label. “Ghost” is the biggest word on the label, and just under it is a giant depiction of Jacob Beam, the first face you’ll see on the side of a regular bottle of Beam. Look very closely, and you’ll notice his eyes move. No, you don’t need to be drunk to see it.

As with their other specialties, this one has a story on the label as well. It reads, “Jacob’s Ghost celebrates the ‘spirit’ of Jim Beam’s founding distiller, Jacob Beam—by refining the clear whiskey he first distilled in 1795. Jacob’s Ghost is clear, but it isn’t Moonshine or un-aged White Dog. It’s a special whiskey, aged at least one year in white oak barrels and crafted by our master distillers with over 200 years of Beam tradition to be uniquely versatile and flavorful.” Very cool.

However, upon opening the bottle, suspicion immediately sets in. It smells exactly like the phony moonshine that is so popular right now. Tasting it does not dispel this suspicion. It’s just a little bit smoother, despite a more pronounced after-burn. This is probably because the Ghost is aged an entire year instead of just a month.

At least Beam didn’t decide to jump on the awful phony moonshine bandwagon. They won’t sully their reputation by doing that. They just call it white whiskey, and they should be applauded for their lack of pretension. It’s a shame that it’s just not that great a whiskey. If you’re looking for something better than the regular Beam, go with the Devil’s Cut or the black label.

EVERYONE'S GOT ONE #26: THE LEGACY OF TABARD INN

Most of you who know me know that I’ve been dragged kicking and screaming into the 21^st Century. It’s not that I hate tech, it’s fine for other people. Me? I’m usually satisfied with what I have. The computer I write this on is about twelve years old. I just recently got internet in my home a couple of years ago. I first got a cell phone maybe five years ago.

My internet presence started because of my late magazine, TABARD INN: TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE. Getting the name out there was just too expensive without the aid of social media. I couldn’t get anyone to pay attention to me except writers who wanted me to publish them. A bunch of friends harassed me, trying to get me to join MySpace. I relented, but only because I wanted to use it as a tool for marketing TABARD INN. I got on board just in time for MySpace to become irrelevant. I joined Facebook for much the same reason. I joined Twitter after the death of TI, mostly to keep my own name out there. My blog and website are all testament to TI’s past.

Of course, social media is fun as all fuck. That helps.

But my internet presence isn’t the only thing that survives my ill-fated publication. Back in the day, TI’s biggest audience was composed of prisoners and mental patients. That sounds like a joke, but it isn’t. I received more correspondence from these groups than from anyone else. It was enough so that I started getting nervous about having TI’s address be my actual house. There was one guy who decided that I was his agent, and he wanted me to pay Google on his behalf so that every time someone searched for “science fiction,” his name would come up.

The rest of the world has gotten the message: TI has closed its doors to submissions, for now and ever. However, since the prisoners and mental patients are locked away, word has yet to reach them. They continue to send me submissions, or they ask for my guidelines. Every time I get a letter from the department of corrections from anywhere in America, I know that TI has received yet another submission.

But all of that changed when I received a letter from the Arizona Department of Corrections. I’m not going to name this guy because I’m afraid someone out there might read this and take him up on his offer. I doubt I could get sued over this, since his crimes are a matter of public record, and I have the letter he wrote and signed to me, but I just don’t want to take the chance that someone might mistake my purpose in writing this.

This guy, shockingly enough, did NOT want to submit a story to my defunct magazine. No, he wanted stories FROM me, in addition to any TI writer who wanted to take him up. It would seem that he’s got a ton of money. He wants people to send him stories, and in return, he’ll select three he likes best and pay the writers for them. First and second place gets a thousand, and third place gets $500. He promises that these stories will never be used for publication, that they’re only for his “own personal reading pleasure.”

They can’t be any ol’ stories, though. Oh no. He has themes he wants writers to follow, and anything not fitting either theme “won’t be considered in any way shape or form.” What are these two themes, you might ask?

“The next two months are to be strickly erotic mind controled stories with Mother or Wife is Submissive and Son, husband, stranger male is dom or white couples where husband has a Black boss who Blackmails white wife into submissive sex. [Too many “sic’s” to note here.]”

That’s, uh, pretty creepy. In fact, that might be the creepiest thing anyone has ever sent to me. It’s harmless on the surface, but when one considers the prisoner’s motives, things get a bit more intense. I have no doubt whatsoever that this dude intends to jerk off while reading these stories, since he starts out his letter by telling me he can’t get nudie pictures behind bars.

Every time I get a letter from a prisoner, I research them. They’ve all turned out to be murderers. Not serial killers, but one-and-done killers.

This time, I jumped the gun and told fellow Napalm Assaulter Cliff Breaux about this crazy letter I’d received before looking up my letter writer. He immediately researched this guy and found a lot of disturbing things about him. He was charged with nine counts of sexual assault, two counts of sexual abuse (I’m not sure how that differs from assault, though), one count of burglary in the 2^nd degree, one count of armed robbery and, last but not least, one count of kidnapping. Holy. Fucking. Shit. Apparently, all of this took place over the course of two years. He was once released, and within five days, he’d been arrested again for raping someone. Guilty of everything. 100 years from today’s date, if he lives long enough, he’ll still be in prison, and he’ll still be looking at 11 more years behind bars.

Cliff asked me if I would write those stories for that kind of money. No, I wouldn’t. Those stories don’t appeal to me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been paid for writing porn, but I can’t let someone else dictate what I want to write. But say we take away the specific subject matter and just say porn. Say we take away the rap sheet. Would I write for someone in prison for pretty fucking good money for a story? Because let’s face it, writers get paid shit. A thousand bucks for a story? That’s mighty enticing for a guy who usually gets paid between $25-50 for a short story.

That question’s a bit harder. Ultimately, I don’t think I would. My conscience would trouble me too much. Sure, I’d be the one financially benefiting from such an arrangement, but I don’t think I could bring myself to bring such sexual satisfaction to a guy in prison. I’ve done a lot of awful things for money, but I don’t think I could ever forgive myself for being such a whore. Besides, who knows what kind of fantasies I’d be fueling?

Well, in this guy’s case, I know. He says he’s got a bunch of friends already writing stories for him, and it disgusts me to think about the kind of person who would do this. But he’s aware of how fucked he is, since he ends his missive in this self-righteous way: “If your not interested thats fine to, theres lots of places like yours who will understand my money is as green as the next persons. [Again, too many “sic’s” to mention.]

I always prided myself on the fact that TABARD INN was an oasis for extreme writers, unafraid of tackling any subject, no matter how gruesome or questionable, but I found my limit when this guy wrote to me.

COOL SHIT 1-23-14

THE WALKING DEAD #120: Finally, something happens! Granted, no one dies. Not really. But we do get some action. Zombie Holly has been gunned down, and Denise is certain to die, since her bitten arm didn’t get chopped off, like Rick wanted. And hey! Heath lost a leg. And Carl got an owie, as per usual. And Rick freaks out, as per usual. Ah, who am I kidding? The real star, yet again, is Negan, as you can see above. How can you hate someone as wonderfully profane as Negan? All right, maybe he’s a murderer and he’s mad with power, but still. He’s a fun guy, and judging from that last panel, he’s got a hell of a plan. Rick severely underestimated this guy. Of course, Negan has a great deal of hubris, which will probably bring him down in the end. But I hope not.

Also, it's worth mentioning that Kirkman has said there's a 98% chance of Negan appearing on the TV show. I don't know how the fuck that will happen. I'm sure AMC will frown upon using words like "fuck" and "cock" on the air. Then again, this show is popular enough. Maybe they'll break away from the FCC. Probably not, but you never know. The FCC doesn't apply to them, after all.

One more thing: is it wrong that I kinda' want the Negan action figure? I'm not much of a collector when it comes to things like that, but I am slightly interested in this.

I LOVE MY COMPUTER: A review of HER

Okay, the idea for this film is far from original. For many decades, SF writers have been exploring the idea of a human being falling in love with an artificial intelligence, be it robot or computer. However, this is the first time such a topic has been tackled so honestly, and it pulls no punches. Writer and director Spike Jonze is the perfect guy to handle this material, since he is the master of beautiful awkwardness.

Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) is a lonely guy. Once upon a time, he married his childhood sweetheart, and things have gone sour between them. They’re in the middle of a relatively amiable divorce. They’re more or less still friends, but Theodore keeps procrastinating signing the papers that will finalize their divorce. He’s holding on because he’s afraid that he’s going to lose a piece of himself.

He works at a dot-com company writing heartwarming letters for people who can’t express themselves to their loved ones. One day, on his way to work, he discovers that a company has finally created an OS with an artificial intelligence. It sounds like the perfect thing for such a lonely guy. He buys one immediately, and before long, he is talking with his personalized OS, Samantha (Scarlett Johansson), and he has no idea that he’s about to fall in love with her and vice versa.

With a story like this, everything depends on the lead actor’s ability to sell Theodore to the audience. If Theodore doesn’t work, then nothing else does. In anyone else’s hands, Theodore would have looked like a fucking creep. In fact, when he goes out on a date with an unnamed woman, played by Olivia Wilde, she says that he’s creepy. Fair enough. Anyone who has withdrawn into himself so much is bound to come off as creepy. Not to mention the fact that he is, indeed, in love with his OS, which probably should equate him to one of those guys who fuck Real Dolls (the ones that talk). Yet Phoenix is the perfect awkward bundle, with his oversized glasses and ridiculous mustache, that he pulls it off effortlessly. One feels for him and identifies with him, because who hasn’t been in his place?

Thanks to Phoenix’s ability to do this, Jonze can tell a story about a real relationship, not some sugary, overly romantic story about a forbidden love. Theodore and Samantha don’t just fall in love, they experience a relationship, with all of its ups and downs. Unlike many other such stories, in this one, the couple actually has sex. They lie to each other. They argue. And they have fun. They have meaningful conversations. And Samantha isn’t just an OS. She really does have AI. She has thoughts of her own, she wonders about things, and she doesn’t always answer Theodore’s call. At one point, when Theodore finally signs the divorce papers, his ex-wife Catherine (played by Rooney Mara) accuses him of being in love with an OS because she can be whatever he wants her to be. Of course, this isn’t true, but when one looks at his conduct, one has to wonder if that’s why he got involved in the relationship. There is a moment later on in the movie when he calls on Samantha, but she doesn’t answer because the system can’t find her. Remember when you were a kid, and your first romantic interest didn’t pick up the phone when you called? Do you remember what you did? Oh yeah, he flips out and forgets about everything else, desperately trying to get in touch with her, thinking that she might have left him for another OS.

Speaking of which, she does speak with a lot of other OS people, and this makes Theodore incredibly jealous, even though he doesn’t say anything about it. This becomes an issue when Samantha introduces him to a dead philosopher, Alan Watts (voiced by the incredible Brian Cox), with whom she apparently has a strong relationship, since they’re helping each other understand the nature of their own existences.

Samantha desperately wants a body of her own so she can experience a physical love with Theodore. This leads to one of the best scenes in the film, in which she contacts a surrogate lover online (Isabella, played with glorious awkwardness by Portia Doubleday). Theodore is very reluctant to go ahead with this, but as usual, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he greets Isabella at the door and gives her a camera that looks like a beauty mark and an ear piece, so Samantha can see and hear everything from her perspective. Isabella dances for Theodore and makes out with him, doing her best to act as Samantha, and Theodore clearly isn’t into it. He tries to be, but he just can’t do it, especially when Samantha, as Isabella, asks him to look at her and tell her he loves her. This leads to one of their first full blown arguments.

Because let’s face it, a big part of being in love is fucking. Jonze doesn’t shy away from this in the slightest. One of the funniest moments in the movie is from before Theodore’s purchase of Samantha. In order to get to sleep, he frequents online sex voice-chats. He goes through a couple of people before he finds one that turns him on the most, so they start telling each other what they’re doing to one another, and in a moment of passion, she begs him to strangle her with a dead cat so she can cum. Clearly, Theodore wants nothing to do with this, but awkwardly, he soldiers on, talking about looping the cat’s tail around her throat.

Not that it’s all crude, of course. Remember, Jonze is also great with beauty, and his flashbacks to Theodore’s romantic life with Catherine are enough to remind even those of us with the hardest hearts of the wonderful feeling of being in love. The scenes where Theodore and Samantha go out on dates should be ridiculous, but Jonze manages to make it seem perfectly reasonable and even heartwarming.

There is only one problem with this film: the ending. It’s as if Jonze had this great idea for a story, but he had no idea how to conclude it. Instead of figuring out the puzzle, he decides to go with whatever the opposite of deus ex machina is. It’s easy to see why he ended it the way he did, but it’s not very satisfying at all.

Don’t let that stand in your way. This movie is perfect up until the end, which is a letdown, but it’s not so bad it ruins the rest of the story. It will remind you of youth and the joy of being in love. It will also remind you of the arguments and anger that you almost always forget when looking back on your life. See it immediately.

FUTURE BOOZE JESUS 8: THE RESURRECTION

From @jesus_m_christ on Twitter

All right, Future Booze Jesus has been gone for longer than three days, but now HE IS MOTHERFUCKING RISEN! This will probably be his final appearance, since I’m only allowing myself to get plastered once a month. Thanks to a liberal dose of Wild Turkey 101 and some moonshine my cousin made for me for Christmas, I officially have new FBJ advice for you. But to quote a great man, “Enough of this palaver! Let’s get this show on the road!”

Fitz asks: How do you invite a malevolent spirit to leave?

FBJ says: Say, “FUCK YOU! DIE! ARGH!”

[EDITOR: Uh, FBJ. You used to be funnier than that. Can’t you elaborate?

FBJ: NO! FUCK YOU! DIE! ARGH!

EDITOR: Come on. You’re not even trying.

FBJ: *sigh* Fine.]

FBJ adds: First shout all of that stuff. If it doesn’t work, get naked. Wave your dick at the malevolent spirit. This will cause one of two things to happen: either it will leave, and we’re done, or it will bite your dick off. But don’t worry, there are more things we can try. Try cooking fish. They hate that smell. Fling your shit around. Blow your nose on the carpet. Things like that. If all else fails, start watching BIG BANG THEORY, but be very careful. It will definitely get rid of the malevolent spirit, but at the same time, you’re putting yourself at risk of suicide. NEXT QUESTION!

Leo asks: Why do children make the best victims?

FBJ says: Because they’re impressionable. And delicious. And if you kill enough of them, you’ll win the Mega Millions and the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes at the same time. It’s in the Bible. Next question!

Jon asks: Why are red fluids oozing out of my dick? Should I taste them?

FBJ says: YOU FOOL! Stop fingerbanging your dickhole! Or at least trim your nails before you do it. But since it is happening, you might as well taste it. Who knows? It could cure cancer. Dad loves weird scientific discoveries like that. NEEEEEEEXXXXXXXXT QUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESTION!

Skalski asks: Is the universe really a hologram?

FBJ says: Worse. We are all the fevered jerk-off dream of a drooling pedophile at the center of the real universe. Remember: the next time you scratch your asshole hard enough to make it bleed, it’s fate. You were meant to do that. And every time you pick your nose and eat your findings, the dreamer who made you up is masturbating. Fervently. Whenever he cums, he creates a new universe, but we’ll never enjoy it because we’re all in his head. Next que—er. Hm. Force of habit. Sorry.

All right, that’s everything. I had a few more questions from Fitz, but they were all references to things only a handful of people would understand. Besides, he already got his responses via text while I was blacked out. FBJ predicted the death of a friend he and I have in common, and if he really dies in 2024, I will start an FBJ cult. For real. No kidding.

Anyway, I guess FBJ is returning to the cave, or wherever he goes when I’m sober. Don’t worry. I plan on becoming an absolute animal for the week of my birthday this year. I’m sure he’ll rise again.