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St. Jimmy's coming down, across the alleyway,
Upon the Boulevard, like a zip gun on parade,
Light of a silhouette, he's insubordinate,
Coming at you on the count of 1, 2, 3, 4...

St. Jimmy.

He's the guy that you party with on a Friday night, the loudest, brashest kid in the joint. The one that has the real-looking fake ID and brings the beer, and if you ask, he'll be able to get you the pot too. He'll play the guitar and sing and you’ll want to leap off the stage and party like your life doesn't exist. He's the fun, the song, the thing that reminds you that it's OK to be young and stupid.

King of the 40 Thieves, and I'm here to represent,
The needle in the vein of the establishment,
I'm the patron saint of the denial,
Angel face and a taste for suicidal...

He's the voice in the head of a million depressed teenagers, the one who tells you that it's OK to pick up a needle. He's the guy that sits with you when your parents scream at each other downstairs, the cigarette you light when the older kids pressure you, the black you wear because you know you'll never be one of the cool kids that wear colours and get noticed.

Cigarettes and ramen and a little bag of dope.
I am the son of a bitch and Edgar Allan Poe.
Raised in the city under a halo of lights,
The product of war and a fear that we've been victimized.

He's a true child of the twenty-first century, the lethargic, uncaring teenager that doesn't understand why war is important, where the world doesn't exist beyond the mall and the street corner and the arcade and the next party. He'll wear the coolest things and smoke and grin and be the life you always wanted. But he'll understand if you tell him about your parents divorce, and the way you self-destruct, and he knows what it's like to be an outsider. He knows why you don't care, because no one cares about you. He's the person you can talk to and he listens and at the end of it, when you're crying and listening to music alone in your room...well, then he'll hook you up and make it all go away. And you'll be grateful because he's something you can rely on.

ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?!

My name is Saint Jimmy, I'm a son of a gun,
I'm the one from way outside.
I'm a teenage assassin executing some fun,
In the cult of a life of crime.
I'd really hate to say it but I told you so,
So shut your mouth before I shoot you down...

He'll give you a gun if you want it, and point you to the liquor store with the frail old man that can't defend himself. He'll tell you where the best drugs are, or the cheap ones if you can't afford better. He'll hang with you at the mall, wearing your goth outfit and flipping off the squares that pretend they don't see you because you don't fit into the surburban ideal. And he'll be with you when you've had enough and scream into the void because he knows. He's been there. He's you.

Welcome to the club and give me some blood,
I'm the resident leader of the lost and found.
It's comedy and tragedy.
It's Saint Jimmy - and that's my name.

AND DON'T WEAR IT OUT!



OOC: On entry to the bar, Jimmy will be pretty much a regular young man, not quite cynical yet, not quite grown into the archetypal twenty first century hipster he'll become. Think of your most stereotypical MTV generation kid, and you’ll have him pretty much dead on. On a normal day, he’ll be hip and fun and loud and probably high. At other times he’ll be...well, emo. Because teenagers are, at times, and his home life growing up was never anything to be proud of. But he doesn’t care - because no one else does - so his down periods won’t be so frequent. It's nothing medication can't fix.

He can be violent but it takes a bit to rile him up that far, because most of the time he simply doesn’t care. He’s not adverse to crime because stealing provides an easy life and it’s better than fitting in with how everyone else thinks you should be. He’s got a smart mouth, he’s sarcastic and bitchy and fast-talking, though much of what he says will probably be trash talk. He knows more about music and video games and fashion than you do, because those are the things that are important. He’s clever but hyperactive, wasted talent and potential, a life that could have been so much more – but isn’t. His favourite film is Fight Club...says something doesn’t it?

He’s got dark hair - though it's highlighted at present - and blue eyes, handsome and thin. Not quite six feet tall. He’s in good shape from dancing in clubs almost every night of the week, but he doesn’t work out, he doesn’t take care of his body. He smokes constantly and takes drugs, he’ll carry a gun if he can get away with it. He has ADHD but sells his pills on street corners, or exchanges them for meth.

He is, in short, what every parent hopes their child grows up not to be.

Jimmy will not stay a regular young man forever - because he isn't one, though he doesn't exactly know that yet. He’s not a god but he is a concept more than a person, although that will not be apparent for a while. He knows there's something different about himself though - but he doesn't push it, and he doesn't search for why he's different. He doesn't care. It'll become apparent to him, over time - watch this space. You'll know when it happens.



[Saint Jimmy is from various songs on Greenday’s album American Idiot, and is the property of Billie Joe Armstrong, Greenday and Reprise Records. He appears here solely for the purpose of role-playing in milliways_bar, from which no profit whatsoever is being made.]

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