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Bio: Despite his
tender age of 27, Jason Gibbs is the most popular unknown writer in the
world. The fact that he is still able to keep his identity a secret while
constantly dodging the paparazzi is considered by many experts to be the 8.6th
wonder of the world. Feeling threatened to his publishing dominion, Jason has
even received numerous phone calls from Stephen King to “cut it out.”
His first novel, "The East End of Heaven", is expected to revolutionize the
world of physics, despite the fact that it is purely fictitious. It has been
confiscated by the U.S. government three times as well as by left over
remnants from the former Soviet Union twice, only to be later recovered by
Jason’s trusty spy sidekick/wife, Mimi. Together they form the most dynamic
duo since you-know-who and his fellow companion what’s-his-face. Jason has
since taken measures to encrypt his book by typing it only with his left pinky
finger.
For his
hobbies, Jason likes to take spontaneous trips through various wormholes
throughout the universe. He is also on the verge of developing “lukewarm”
fusion. He knows three people named Mike, and he likes to fish.
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The Cries' Demise
by Jason Gibbs
“Dad.”
. . . It’s fourth down and
two. They need a stop. . . .
“Come on, you bastards. You
have to stop them. Don’t let them score.”
“Dad.”
. . . There’s the pitch to
Smith. He swings it to the left. They got him in the backfield…He breaks a
tackle! Thirty-five, thirty, twenty-five, twenty, he’s gonna score. . . .
“DAMN IT ALL TO HELL! How can
you miss that tackle? That’s what they’re paying you to do, and you miss it, you
piece of crap! Jesus Christ!”
“Dad.”
“God forbid, you tackle
someone!”
“Dad.”
“Where’s the remote? I can’t
watch anymore of this crap.”
“Dad. I have to tell you
something.”
“There is nothing on . . . and
this remote sucks!”
“Dad. Look at me. I have to
tell you something.”
. . . You put the fish in
the oven for . . . can he even run if his campaign . . . then you add blue and mix
it . . . get in the car, he’s coming . . . Bond. James Bond . . . he took the two.
Now he wants the . . . where we’re expecting temperatures in the . . . and the male
cheetah devours the zebra before. . . .
“Is it too much to ask for
something good to be on TV? Jesus Christ! Where do they get these crappy shows?”
. . . Tonight, our lead
story. A mother of two is arrested, after her three-year-old and two-year-old both
drowned when she left them alone outside by the pool, as she was smoking pot inside
with her boyfriend. . . .
“Nice! You dumbass. Nice
parenting. What the hell’s the world coming to?”
“Jack! I could barely hear
Cindy on the phone because of your idiotic yelling!”
“Well, close the door then!”
“It was closed! By the way,
Cindy says “hi.” I guess they lost. . . . I’ll take that as a yes. Where’s
Jimmy anyway?”
“How the hell am I supposed to
know?”
“I don’t know, maybe because
he’s your son, Jack. That’s why.”
“Well, he’s your son, too.
Besides, he’s probably over at that dorky kid’s house.”
“You mean Mitchell?”
“Sure. How the hell am I
supposed to know what the kid’s name is? I don’t know all of his friends’ names. I
just know that that kid’s the goofy one.”
“Jack, you should be ashamed of
yourself.”
“Don’t say you haven’t ever
thought it, Irene. You know you. . . . What the hell was that?”
“It sounded like it came from
upstairs.”
“It sounded like a gunshot . . . Jimmy? Jimmy, are you
home? Don’t be getting into any shit upstairs! Jimmy? Whatever. Like I said,
he’s probably over at that kid’s house.”
©Jason Gibbs
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