Jason Fetz is a connoisseur of dodge ball, this much is true. Once a week he gets suited up and steps into the hard world of team sports.
As soon as his toes hit the court, he is aware of everything, from the velocity of the ball to the earth beneath is feet. Instinctively he is no longer a man, but more animal, but even more like a machine. Jason Fetz becomes something like an electric puma wolf computer.
His hips twist as if he’s dancing the ballet, weaving between the quick movements of rubber fury. He throws with alarming precision, moving through the ranks of the team, one by one. He catches the ball and seconds later it is busy excavating the lower intestines of some poor child that expected nothing. At the end of the game the lights in his eyes twinkle with satisfaction, and he steps on, embracing the day.
He is like lightning, yet also like thunder. He is Thuntning.
Jason Fetz is a God.

jason turner once spent an entire evening trying to pick hiself up from a bar.

he took his usual stool, where he could be close to the mirror- behind the various bottles of booze. He took all night to compliment his reflections sense of style, laughing with himself at a variety of witticisms, even going so far as to attempt to reach out and touch the beautiful man before him. He drank until his reflection looked drunk enough to invite home with him, and it looked like he had it in the bag, but found that when he went outside, and the cool spring air brushed a wave of sobriety over him, that he was alone.

his tears broke my heart that night, as he crawled into bed beside me, and i got inside of his sweet, sweet hole.

The sweat dripped from his forehead, this was it, the moment Jason Fetz had been so carefully planning for months. He had schemed and calculated every moment and movement, carefully sketched diagrams and gently written each strategy with soft dark lead. And finally, he was ready. His preparation had come into fruition.

Jason Fetz stomach was full of nerve and butterflies as he stood high atop the roofs edge. His heart sank as he peered through the blanket of the warm nights sky. His palms were heavy with the weight of anxiety. Would he succeed or would he fail? He cleared his throat and his body became electric. Jason could feel each breeze as if it were the first and his arm hair stood on end. He stopped and with an exhale, he rubbed his eye as and peered deep into the telescopes lens.

It was a Tuesday. He knew that every Tuesday was their night. A night that rightfully belonged to Jason Fetz.

His hand shifted the lens into focus. He carefully removed objects from a bag, opening a container along the way in which he emptied into his hands. He watched as his parents removed their clothing and began to pee on one another, his hands violently rubbing his wiener. Jason Fetz is a pervert and likes watching his parents urinate on one another.

Tonight was his night, and his alone.

Jason Fetz was twelve years old when he stopped growing in height.


jk he was thirteen.

jason turner is not a fan of his own tastebuds.

after a pipe of opium, he would usually go on a half conscious tirade about how taste buds were merely a bugeoise tool to make the "upper class" feel self important.

i think he is just bitter about having lost his taste buds in the great bandana fire of 2003.

there was a sinister air that surrounded jason turner that night. he held his cloak tight as he disappeared into the forest, seeming to search for some refuge in that creaking darkness.

he moved like a cougar through the brambles and briars that attempted to obstruct his path, he reached the clearing with a light translucent stone in the center- illuminating the surrounded treeline with its ethereal glow.

jason turner shed his cloak to reveal the rippling body of a man who made a living with his hands. those raw straw hands that could break a heart. he walked to the stone and calmly swallowed it, the effects being seen visibly throughout his body as it's energy spread from his head to his toes. His skin glowed with his glory.

then he went to a gay club and fucked like, 1000 dudes.

Jason Fetz (at the loss of a bet) was once forced to write his name down twelve thousand times. It took him nearly five notebooks to complete the task, each filled to the brim with the loops and lines of his name.
It took Jason Fetz a really long time and he was noted as saying, “that took a really long time.” He also spoke of hand pain intimately and without burden, and I quote, “my hand kind of hurts.”
Jason Fetz is brave.

I wonder what it would be like to be jason turner. To look into a mirror and know that I wasn't seeing a human being, but rather the image of a living god.

When I look in the mirror at myself, I usually cry, and throw it on the ground, and call jason turner up and say "come over here and look in my mirrors so they are pretty again"

Jason Fetz called me thirty six times last night. I can prove it.
I woke up this morning and checked my phone (as one typically does), it said clearly, " missed calls. Jason Fetz (36)". The text messages were worse. Though i only got 8 of those.
here's a preview...

jason, hello, its me jason fetz

why wont you pick up ur phone?

all i want to do is to doo doo on your chest,

and then eat all the doo doo off of your

chest, and then doo doo that doo doo that

i ate back on to the chest that i doo doo-ed

on earlier. k. call me back.

When i called him back this morning to ask "what the fuck" Jason Fetz simply replied.

"i love ca ca all over my boner

i am a pretty girl that is also a

man liker. i like men and ca ca.

im a big homosexual with an

intense ca ca addiction."

to which i can only say "fair enough."

his words. not mine.

When jason turner turns the pages of his favorite book of poems, he closes his eyes after a poignant thought, taking a deep breath as if he was inhaling the essence of the poems meaning.

what makes watching this so special is that he can't read.

Jason Fetz is a disappointment to us all.

When i think of Jason Fetz having a dream home, I often imagine it placed upon two fluffy clouds. He would ascend the stairs on the back of a beautiful butterfly and wash his hair in rainbows and morning dew. I picture a sofa made of living kittens that purred as he would curl up for a rest. He would watch the sunset from his large floor-to-ceiling bay windows overlooking a garden of gumdrops and shoe string pasta. Jason Fetz would live, love, and die in this home. It would be a jewel to carry in his chest for eternity.

watching jason turner have sex with women through the crack of the door in his closet i am hiding in, is a surreal experience.

I wish he would hear me masturbating, but his ears have been damaged by the time he spent working at a chimpanzee refuge, and two chimps simultaneously bit both his ears because of his strong, musky scented pheramones.

i wish his cats hadn't pissed in the closet

usually if anyone in the room says "I have an idea", jason turner usually replies with "I already had that idea".

It is his confidence that makes him so lovably horny.

Jason Fetz likes Mr. Softy ice cream. He is lactose intolerant but eats it anyway.
I think that’s pretty cool. I like him for that.

It started with an explosion. The sound alone whispered to me that i was going to die. The hot breath, the nauseously sweet smell, that great noise crackling against my ears. It was like a dark shadow forming over by face like the cold clammy hands of a killer. It engulfs me, it consumes me. It goes on like that for hours, eventually draining me of all hope and will.

Jason Fetz was no hero, this much is true.
But this is how i feel every time he walks into the room.

jason turner has soft lips. he took my head in his hands and gently placed his mouth to mine, letting the bristles from his unshaven face run rough against my cheek. I was ready to let him have me, but the bristles were like my penis being slapped in the face, and i had to turn away.

i remember his lips like it was a dinner with ecstasy.

Jason Fetz has a soft and gentle voice. He speaks with a smile and an almost commanding disposition. One is instantly drawn to him, nurturing the words that float from his mouth like a leaf in an autumn breeze. His kindness and warmth wraps around you as a blanket would. His eyes shine like a disco ball.

The first time I met Jason Fetz I thought he was an asshole.

Jason Turner has difficulty breast feeding. He claims it is due to the lack of any milk ducts, but more than likely it is due to him being a man that wishes he was a woman. He folds in his weiner between his legs, and sticks out his stomach to try and recreate the majesty of pregnancy, a gift he will never be able to truly enjoy. In the meantime he can be seen staring covetously at other mothers and their babies in various parks throughout the city. Whilst also courting gentleman to put a baby inside of him.

newsflash jason turner- babies don't get made in assholes

Jason Turner is one of the most gentle men to ever comb my hair. He parts it and brushes slowly, making sure he doesn't scratch the scalp. He holds my hand for a moment when I ask him too, and we look in the bureau mirror together while he makes me pretty.

He is a gentle man.

Jason Fetz was a large man, both in height and weight. His massive shoulders supporting a neck that somehow was seemingly larger than his actual head. This is not to say that Jason had a proportionately small head, just that he had quite a substantial neck. This was to the extent that Jason often had trouble moving his head to look left, right, up, or down, not to mention a sharp stinging pain that accompanied it. It put quite a damper on the amount of oral sex that Jason Fetz desired to give on any given day. The amount was typically two. Jason Fetz liked to give at least two blowjobs a day. Jason Fetz likes to give blowjobs. Jason Fetz loves blowjobs.