if i was going to lock jason turner in my basement, how long would i keep him there?

would I feed him food and water all the time, or would I wait for him to whimper from below the staircase?

I would like to throw things at jason turner while he was sleeping, so he knew there was no telling when I would come down to comb his hair, or put make-up on his face.

if jason turner ever escaped my basement, i would lose my mind.

jason turner will tell you he is an artist.

he will tell you he has a loft in soho, where he takes of his shirt, boldly splashing paint over canvases against the exposed wood beams, lit cigarette dangling out of his mouth; completely fucked up on heroin.

he will tell you he has beautiful parisian boys who stop by and model nude for him, usually deteriorating to debauch sex sessions.

he says this while pumping gas off the new jersey turnpike. turning tricks for cigarettes, and dreaming of being someone else.

you can't fool me jason turner.

jason turner closed his eyes and tried to not notice the soppy mound below him. Tried to picture himself in a happy place; on his knees in a circle of squirting dudes

"circle of squirting dudes" he whispered to himself, as his longtime fatty friend eased his tiny bean into her heaving mess of poon.

he threw up his dinner of ikea meatballs and lingonberry sauce all over her hot tits, before breaking down into a shuddering heap of baby bitchery on the floor.

it took years for jason turner to forget that afternoon in the chik-fil-a employee break lounge.

I often wonder how i will murder jason turner.

it isn't a matter of "if" because, I WILL. It is merely a matter of entertaining the various manners in which i would like to see jason turner expire.

i think i am going to sew his a-hole shut, and make him eat broccoli, until he fills up with so many farts. then when he lights one of his fags (cigarette) he will explode in a shit stinking firebomb. treated denim and bandanas everywhere.

see you in hell jason turner.

jason turner was perpetually grappling with his learning disability.

and when I say " grappling with his learning disability" i mean he had a hard time being a fucking idiot.

and when i say "grappling" i mean that jason turner would adorn a wrestling singlet from his wrestling days in highschool (0-36) and aimlessly wander about on a makeshift wrestling mat in his living room. As if "Fucking Idiot" was a tangible enemy that jason turner could defeat.

but fucking idiot was not a foe that jason turner could defeat.

that poor fucking idiot.