Some of you no doubt saw this video, which marks the first time FPJEROME has been captured on video. Not the first time he's been captured, but, well... you get the idea.
We weren't going to ask him about this, but he has the keys to the website, so we couldn't stop him.

What got me into this project? What commandeered my sensibilities and steered my path in life down into that dark hole?

I think it was when Jim saw me screaming about cocks on the teevee. I was dressed as a midwestern football coach, because it was that kind of party, and a downright pornographic campaign ad - a fake ad, for a fake campaign, it was that kind of party - had just aired, and in that ad, a giant flopping penis featured heavily.

I remember screaming - well, I don’t remember what I screamed, because I was incredibly drunk, but I think it was something like “You can’t put cocks on the teevee like that!”

“You can’t put cocks on the teevee like that.” It’s a lie of course. You see, that’s acting. Because I know that you can put cocks on the teevee. Like that, or in any way you dream. This is America, after all. Jim must have known it too. He heard me scream that and he asked me to be in his greatest videographic undertaking to date: Jimsaw.

Even with my clearly jaded sensibilities, you must attempt to understand my misgivings as I began this job. My instructions were concise, if vague. I was to drive out of town, take a turn onto an unmarked road, and take a left when it dead-ended at the dump, and head two miles down a second unmarked dirt road.

I am from the country, I have spent more hours navigating by dint of water tower, fire tower, cell phone tower, and other assorted skyward landmarks than most people have spent listening to the soothing call of the GPS.

But even I got lost out there in the dust and dead pine trees. I called Jim, who is in my phone under “President of Video Games,” and got directions. Two men were out there on the road, waiting for me by a beat up mailbox and a 50 gallon plastic drum serving as a garbage can. A pair of trailers sat back, in something that could have been a farm or a dirt pit or a storage field for old land mines. There were, of course, yapping dogs, and skeletal remains mounted proudly near cared-for tools.

I had met all of these people less than once and didn’t recognize any of them on sight. They were gathered around a hole in the dirt, grinning and quiet and welcoming.

“Get into the murder hole.” someone said as I came up with a plan to kill as many of them as I could with the length of cut steel I saw lying across the lip of the hole.

The hole was deep, with a steel ladder leading down into darkness.

“It’s a nice murder hole.” They said, but I wasn’t moving toward it.

We all die someday. They were singing glorious songs down in the murder hole. They were filthing a box. They were putting on costumes. They were singing and testing their cameras.

We all die someday. Jim may well have handed me a wrench and asked “Would you kindly jump down in that there murder hole and make us some teevee?”

Because that’s what I did.

I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

I am not returning the wrench.