Dead Stars by Bruce Wagner Page B

Chosen One. Make no mistake, I have not had a hand in this.
God
has chosen you to
memorialize
all the cunning Lady Fanning cunts.” He bounced in his chair & sang; he burst into song all day.
All the single ladies! All the single ladies . . . All the single ladies! All the single ladies. Now put your hands UP—
”
    Sometimes he sang the whole deal, every verse, and you just had to sit there.
Well let him.
Jerzy was shocked. Hired just 10 minutes into the interview. Never happened. Like, ever.
    His birthname was Jerry, Jerry
Jr.
to make things worse, from Jerome, his dead dad. Their mom gave them shitty names, Jerilynn sounded supertrash (which Jerzy thought was supersick, in that
Jerilynn
was yet
another
nod to dead dad, only problem being, his ½sister’s dad’s name was
Ronny
) and
Jerry
just sounded Jewy & forgettable, a name that should fucking be suppressed, like J.D. (Jerry) Salinger suppressed
his
. Even more fucked up and insidious of the mom was that
Jerilynn
&
Jerry
were sort of the
same.
Victor/Victoria
——— . . . growing up, his assmates at school idiot-brilliantly called him
Jerry’s Deli
, the local place families went on the weekends so
fuck
that loser name. When he was a senior he read
The Painted Bird
by Jerzy Kosinski & dug the name. So he did a little reinventing, tweaked an
r
to a
z
& called it a night. He wouldn’t respond to anything but Jerzy, not to his teachers or bitch mother or
anyone
& if friends fucked around and called him Jerry or Jerome he’d just slap their fucking faces till they got it right. Which they did soon enough.
    Jerzy Kosinski was a rich & famous author who made up everything about his own life. Jerzy the Second wiki’d the shit out of the guy & there was like
nothing
about him that was real, it was such fucking genius! He had college kids writing his novels and
still
won all the awards. The guy was married to some sort of heiress, he played polo & acted in movies, & was handsome too. You’d think life was perfect but he killed himself—took a bunch of dope, got in the tub & put a bag over his head. Jerzy the Sequel took his hat off to anyone with that kind of schweddy balls, really admired them, he’d wanted to die so many times in life but was too gaping a pussy to do anything about it. He was kind of fascinated too by the
way
people offed themselves: gun, dope, gas, jumping, hanging, drowning . . . occasionally there’d be a fucked up one on the internet, like that chick stabbing herself over and over or the bullied fagteen who chugged Drano.
    In contrast, the man interviewing him—owner of http://www.TheHoneyshot!.com/ —veritable duke of his
domain
—THE HONEYSHOT!, proudly serving horndogs online since 2003—in
contrast
, you could call
him
whatever the fuck you wanted to and he probably wouldn’t mind, probably wouldn’t even
notice
. Plus nobody cared enough to even hang a bogus, brilliantly retarded nickname on his perved, grody ass. His name was Harry, Harry Middleton, & Jerzy nicknamed him Harry around the Middleton but kept that to himself. Come to think of it, J2 didn’t know which was worse, Jerry or Harry. If you had em both, you might just have to commit Jerry-Harry
hahahahaha.
    THE HONEYSHOT! paid cash money for their niche-market specialty, celebskin flashes, of which the
genus
he trafficked in Harry cannily estimated to be 95% accidental (the remaining 5 percent being exhibitionistic/PR-ploy dross), all submissions welcome but only nipple slips & xxxtreme wardrobe malfunctions need apply. Harry called his boys the Smarmy Sidewalk Army—but his happiest coinage & contribution to the skinternet was and would remain
papsmearazzi
, perforce THE HONEYSHOT!s distinct, some may call it obsessive, emphasis on the mossy, shrouded nether regions. You clicked on the homepage & the 1st thing heard was the Stones singing “
It’s just a shot away!”
—THE