I KNOW HIM. We’re, like, buds. I once saved him from choking on a whole lobster claw. At Red Lobster. So there’s irony there. Yeah.
I’m lying, by the way. Not about knowing him. But about saving him from choking. Yeah, he’s dead now. He died in a Red Lobster. Last Tuesday.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Stop looking at me like that. I’m lying again. He didn’t die at a Red Lobster! It was a Ruby Tuesday’s. On Tuesday.
Jesus. I’m kidding, people. He’s not dead. He’s just in a coma. At Ruby Tuesday. Where he lies encased in a large styrofoam take-home box, surrounded by cheddar fries. Awaiting only the kiss of a major label A&R man to bring him back to life.
What a sweet day that will be. For all of us. But especially for Jonathan Coulton. Until then, sleep well, you prince of nerd rock, you king of geeks.
(Also, Happy Birthday, Jonathan (yesterday). I don’t doubt it was the best Birthday in a Coma ever!)
(Also, you should write a song called “Birthday in a Coma.” After you get out of your coma, that is. Because if you write it while you’re in your coma, well. That won’t do any of us any good, now, will it.)
(Also, folks, he’s not really in a coma. He’s just refusing to move until there’s justice. Or until the waitress comes with his check. Seriously, what the hell is up with the waitress? We’ve been waiting here since Tuesday. Next time, we’re going to Red Lobster.)