|
|
|
Name: Brad Kingsley "I can't give full details right now," Brad says mumbling through a mouthful of cotton candy. "The fair will only be in town for a day or two and I have to complete my experiments before the popcorn machines leave the area and the, well, uhm..." He pauses and readjusts the oil lenses of his goggles. "Let's just say space won't be the same."
"Basics? Ok, I was raised by some of the straightest people you will ever meet. I'm not talking uptight, I mean KKK. I am not kidding. I was to be initiated into the clan the night I ran away. That I ended up in the prescence of Felix (a hermetic) was nothing less than a super funky boon... At the time.
"Little did I know that I was getting into far more than I had ever not really even bargained for. Sure they erased my records and all, and my parents won't find me but... There are some people out there worse than my parents.
"I don't like talking about what the technocrats do to people like me. It makes me too lucid. Suficed to say I was in a gray place and was more than on my way to dead on all levels." Brad seems to think very hard for a moment, dismay and painful memories furrow his brow. Suddenly he whips out a red vine, and grinning insanely begins to beat the interviewere with them.
"Don't you ever mention telephone flavored enveloppes to me again!" A few minutes and a slurpee later Brad continues.
"So I got out. And I eneded up in northern California where some guys were having trouble keeping the dead in the ground. I know some dead people and they're not all bad. So I investigate and find out that I can make a lot of friends by semi awakening them and wreaking havoc. Then I meet this really suczzy dead-beat (Really, he was dead.) and he invites me to join the LGGVCA and I say "Neato, have some raspberry flavored nerds," and then he says "Fuck you I got a beer." Ya gotta love Jhonny.
Brad Kingsley
P.S. I have an evil clone roaming the streets of San Fran somewhere. If you see me without a mowhawk, please kill me.
|
