Date: October 26, in the Year of Our Lord 1995
Location: A parlor of great disarray, likely New York or perhaps the moon.
Dearest Journal,
I have found this moving-picture-still—or "snapshot," as the youths scream—in my breeches today. It chronicles the evening I spent with the most peculiar gentleman, Master Jameson Carrey.
I was informed by the locals that Master Jameson is a "celebrity," which I assume means he is a blacksmith of high repute. However, upon meeting him, I found him to be possessed by a delightful madness. His face! By Jove, the man’s countenance possesses the malleability of warm taffy. I feared he had caught the St. Vitus' Dance, but he assured me he was merely being "jiggy with it."
As you can see in this daguerreotype, I (clothed in the checkered garb of a lumberjack, for reasons that escape me) am seated next to him. We were engaged in a fierce battle of wits using small, grey bricks attached to wires. Master Jameson claimed we were "playing Nintendo," which I believe is Latin for "controlling tiny goblins inside a glass cage."
Observe the intensity!
- The Sorcery: We pressed buttons on the grey bricks to make a small, blue hedgehog run fast within the glowing box. It was totally tubular, yet frightening. I kept waiting for the hedgehog to escape the glass and devour our ankles.
- The Sustenance: Upon the table sits a cardboard coffer containing a "Pizza." It is a flat, hot disc of dough covered in melted cow curd and red slop. I ate four slices, believing it to be a cure for scurvy. It was, as the town crier says, "the bomb."
- The Black Bricks: Surrounding us are piles of plastic rectangles (visible on the left). Master Jameson called them "VHS Tapes." I believe they are bricks used to build very small houses for mice.
Master Jameson was losing the duel with the electric goblins. He shouted "All righty then!" with such vigor that I nearly dropped my controller. I laughed heartily, though mostly out of fear that he might bite me.
It was a most bodacious evening, although I still do not understand why we were indoors wearing denim trousers—workwear for gold miners!—whilst sitting on a sofa made of clouds.
Yours in confusion and extreme attitude,
Nathaniel D. Fizzywater III
