An interview with “Bad Year Jay”—the manifestation of everything that went wrong for you this calendar cycle.
It’s not often you get to confront all your poor decisions in the form of a human being, sitting right in front of you. But that’s exactly what we got to do when we conjured “Bad Year Jay,” a legendary character in the same league as the Easter Bunny, Santa, and Kris Krohn. If you don’t believe in him, he doesn’t exist, but if you open your heart, he will find you and tell you all the dumb shit you did all year. Why haven’t more people heard of him? We asked him that very question…
INTERVIEWER: I’d never heard of you, but some of the guys in the office told me I could summon you if I wanted to reflect on my mistakes in the past year. Is that how it works and is that why you’re here now?
BAD YEAR JAY: Pretty much. A lot of people just go through the year doing absolutely stupid, embarrassing shit and have no recollection of it. Sometimes, they know they did it but they just don’t care. But other people stay up at night second-guessing everything and asking themselves why the fuck they passed up that job, called their teacher mom, or went on a cruise with that dude who said he had an extra ticket, but it really meant you had to sleep with him, and you did, and the drinks weren’t even free.
INTERVIEWER: How did you know about that?
BAD YEAR JAY: I’m Bad Year Jay.
INTERVIEWER: O.K. So you know every shitty thing that happened to me this past year?
BAD YEAR JAY: Oh yeah. And I even know some good things you did that are going to turn shitty.
INTERVIEWER: Like what?
BAD YEAR JAY: Like the raise you got. It’s going to be paid in confederate money.
INTERVIEWER: My twenty-percent raise?
BAD YEAR JAY: Yeah. They just gave it to you so you wouldn’t take that other job. When you ask why it isn’t reflected in your paycheck, they’re going to bring you into a room and open this crappy looking briefcase where’s there’s all this confederate money inside.
INTERVIEWER: But that’s worthless.
BAD YEAR JAY: So was your entire year, pretty much.
INTERVIEWER: I’m starting to see your whole thing.
BAD YEAR JAY: It’s brutal.
INTERVIEWER: What’s with the clown outfit?
BAD YEAR JAY: I dress like a clown to present a mirror image of what you are.
INTERVIEWER: I’m a clown?
BAD YEAR JAY: Would a clown bet on Florida State against Georgia?
BAD YEAR JAY: And you did that right before the year ended. I mean, you had a shot of getting out with a few STDs, a bad career decision, that thing you said to that girl in the bar, the Instagram post where you look mentally ill, and, of course, that solar panel you bought from the door-to-door sales kid.
INTERVIEWER: Did you say STDs?
BAD YEAR JAY: None of the bad ones. Just syphilis, I think.
INTERVIEWER: That’s not bad?
BAD YEAR JAY: It won’t do as much physical harm to you as the mayonnaise in that sandwich.
INTERVIEWER: This sandwich?
BAD YEAR JAY: Yup. You almost finished the whole thing but then you started feeling sick, right?
INTERVIEWER: What the fuck is wrong with the mayonnaise?
BAD YEAR JAY: That dude over there jizzed in it.
INTERVIEWER: What dude?
BAD YEAR JAY: I guess I meant me.
INTERVIEWER: You jizzed in my sandwich?
BAD YEAR JAY: You summoned me.
INTERVIEWER: I thought you just recapped everything bad from the last year—not did shit to people?
BAD YEAR JAY: How do you think half the bad shit happens to you?
INTERVIEWER: Are you like a demon or something?
BAD YEAR JAY: Are you gonna finish your sandwich?
INTERVIEWER: The one you jizzed in?
BAD YEAR JAY: I guess if you don’t have anything else.
INTERVIEWER: Sure. Here.
The rest of the interview was some uncomfortable glances from Bad Year Jay as he ate the sandwich. Then he asked to borrow money even though we weren't sure what he’d do with it and then he said we could pay him in confederate currency and that turned into a whole thing. Bottom line—don’t summon Bad Year Jay on New Year’s Eve. Or do. Maybe don’t eat a sandwich near him.
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