Meet the Jones

The Jones

The Talent, “Christ!” was raised by timberwolves in a cave. His eating habits forced the wolves to drive him away. Once at the carnival, he quickly found his place polishing knives. His favorites are Plinko, Dark Meat, Evil Magic, and Fitting His Whole Fist In A Jar. At nightfall, he plays lute until his people emerge from the woodland. The rest… is terrible.

“The Talent,” Brandon “Our Hero” Gretter summons the willpower to not eat a razor blade salad every morning. Professionally, he has held positions such as: oaf, over-paid stooge, Tex-Mex dino wrangler, bon vivant, high-wattage spectrograph cleaner, and door-to-door hot tub enthusiast. In his free time, he enjoys being gently strangled by his loved ones and being made to slurp Polish sausage leftovers out of the garbage disposal in lieu of real dinner. If you don’t like him, so fucking what? People didn’t like Einstein, the English Monarchy, or the guy who invented interracial shrimping porn, and look how they turned out.

Behind the Jones

The Artist, “Padre” Marie Stern is very easily bribed with sweet-talk and promises of cherry flavored drinks, which is how it came to be that she became a Jones. I guess she draws sometimes, but mostly she spends her days battling restless spirits of the dead that dwell in her bathtub. She tries her best to stay clean, but the tears of the damned tend to cause split ends. You can find more of her work at

The Webmistress, Kris “King Kristen Karl” Koczarski brings diversity to The Jones like that old Burger King character, “Wheels” — except the rest of the gang aren’t friends with her just because she’s all crippled-like and her presence attracts a wider audience. At least she hopes not. If that’s the case, some peoples are about the be beaten with her purple cane. She is a long standing member of the guinea pig mafia, eats wind for breakfast, and has a tendency to headbutt when cornered.

The Producer, Benjamin “Lightning Comet” Cardoza was shot onto this Earth in the form of a bagel-eating Jew-man-baby in a state that is commonly mistaken for an island. For the record, it’s not, and if you think it is then you’re just being a jackass. He has experience walking on his hands, farting and yelling “Jopa!” and being the professional backing for the Jones. What a fucking joke.