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The Justin

How did the Justin master guitaidō? There are many stories.

Some say the knowledge was always within him, waiting for the blues to crack his soul and set it free.

Some say it was within the Martin, that it belonged to Nakayama himself; but these are fools.

Some say Jesse the Body taught him, on the long ride from Hennepin to Mendocino. But could they have practiced, with a single axe between them?

Some say the Justin watched a lot of Zatoichi movies.

Some say he is no master, just an onanistic honky with an effusive publicist.

But these are dead.


The Justin and his Martin are weathered, but they fit together now. Ptah is at his side.

“So,” growls Evil Special Interest Man, “you defeated my charcoalsuits. But I wield the power of the monotheism lobby!” He dials a number on his tiny phone. Ptah gasps and turns to dust.

“He’ll be back,” says the Justin. “That’s what Ptah does.

Evil Special Interest Man shrugs. “Regardless, the music industry lobby wants that guitar–”

He reaches out with slithy fingers. Justin grasps the action figure in his pocket and hopes.

“Not so fast!” roars the Body, bebooted and beboaed, springing to life.