John Fisher

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      Testimonials and Comments for John

      • Brian
      • Posted
      • Once upon a time there was a concert.
        There was a red umbrella.
        There was excitement. And anticipation.

        Then there was a sign.
        And dashed hopes.
        Fire in the forest.
        Rain in the sky.
        And a field of sewage.

        We never lost hope.
        And there were other concerts.

        Don't forget to play pearlly.

        (Oh... The cleverness of me...)
      • Alex
      • Posted
      • John is cool guy who looks just like a
        beloved television personality. The
        first time I saw him, I thought, "Holy
        crap...It's Shaggy from Scooby Doo."
        He was even wearing khaki pants and a
        green shirt. The resemblance was
        uncanny.
      • Warren
      • Posted
      • Thank god we made it the hell out of
        Kentucky. Who knew you would end up
        being a New Yorker all along, you
        grouchy, whiny, misanthropic, son-of-a-
        bitch! BTW, when someone says "hello"
        to you on the street, the correct
        response is "hello," not "get the hell
        out of my way."
      • Chili
      • Posted
      • John-John and I discovered each fifteen
        years ago in the Cinque Terre. We
        wandered aimlessly for an entire summer
        through dusty olive groves and
        languished in the midday Mediterranean
        heat while the sounds of an
        improvisational Perugian jazz quartet
        threaded their way between our yearning
        bodies. I remember bickering at each
        other like school children over
        senseless American politics and Chianti
        vintages. One day, a wayward German
        tourist interrupted him to inquire
        about highway directions back to the
        Riviera, and John promptly turned and
        spat in his big, flat face, telling him
        to "go fuck himself in his austere
        northern Romanian. One early morning,
        he proposed we swim naked in a secluded
        cove just south of Monterosso. As I
        slipped into the water, I detected his
        torrid gaze. His eyes, blistering my
        skin with the ferocity of his desire,
        sent my heart ricocheting against my
        chest where it rent my insides like the
        bullet of a discharged Kalashnikov. I
        was sure then that by August he would
        ask me to be his bride; he would take
        me to where he was stationed inside the
        USSR and that we could liver forever in
        the eternal throes of our own secret
        ecstasy. He disappeared one day...I
        searched for him in every Italian Villa
        along both the Mediterranean and
        Adriatic coasts. If you can hear me,
        John, I hate you for the mark you left
        on me...you fucking Communist, self-
        indulgent, loveless SHIT!

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