he didn't wanna be a human woman, but that must've been part of the job description.
the first skin grown he saw chilling in a radio size magazine. it was a worn by a xerox musician, and he ripped out the photo. he store and store and yelled "PLEASE GOD, SAVE ME OR REJECT ME!"
God ran to finland on a bengalese fone call and casted the transformation he took the first body with a snap and admired the continuous thread of his continuous busom, but not much else. he was recruited to party in a small town during a brutal winter-summer 2 and dared to snort coke off a mr bungle NFT before who he assumed to be his fellow caviar dreammind. but jeff still didn't have it, even after days. and nights passed 4-77 times in that skin, even after a boy "his" "age" groped his mounds all over, white shreiking in delite. it waen't enough for old jeff.
he derived no joy from living in the female form of his choosing, he forgot to specify the sex on his reincarnation form. the wanton lefty from the shack they all lived in collected enuf firearms to grow a house. and at this point, stress started to melt the first skin. another transformation was casted over the mama holes, fusing jeff with a 30 something mother to be with a ween tattoo. the men of the house, who have all integrated their fluids (all types) with jeff at this point, thought they all collectively fucked unto the point of no return. jeff bore no real children as his sex was only external and decorative, he contained no organs he was only solid flesh.jeff remembered the local theatrical shipping container, stumbling into a tin weaponry vending machine with its own mascot. the half impregnated half punk pushed every button, some ejected singular unsorted jellybeans, tumbling out with sand and cocaine. this dint mean a thing to the mechanics of the film. jeff found the only working button to be F2, which got him a spiffy loaded HK25.
after a practice round on one of his illusory boyfriends, jeff discovered the gun to be self reloading. jeff's daughter, GOD, noted "the pavement to hell is paved with wires" but knowing 6he would usually let him off the hook with a secondary disdain, jeff continued his work at the sun and then the bus stop. he wandered to a theater with a stained glass hole in the wall, mathematically populated with ivy league players. one cried and attested to music as a vice while jeff cried with wiry vocal chords, "NO IT'S NOT!" he blew holes in the vessel like there wasn't a hell, "SHUT UP. SHUT UP STUPID SHIT" jeff unleashed the silver tongue on the walls and even the walls, of the theater depot. a teen with a nostalgic glow avoided damage. jeff's mom avoided damage.he flashed a syracuse smile thru the damage. an italian jewish playwright screamed "LOOK OUT FOR THE 55 YEAR OLD MAN-GIRL WITH A MACHINE GUN!" but jeff locked his teeth and grabbed his tears while unloading again and again til all his skin melted and he was sent to the big rehab in the big sky. the boy with the grumbling tummies wept, not for jeff but from poverty sweats and getting clocked in hostels. only then was jeff's internal honor laced with fat and song, choreographed by brian wilsons 2 through 5.