The Bends pt.6 — Life In a Glasshouse


Note 2: Jacob is a very good, genuinely artistic photographer. He has a good aesthetic, and he’s vegan. He’s a nice guy. 


November 8th, 2016. The day Donald J. Trump became president of the United States of America.

D-Day, in Jacob’s eyes.

Watching the election results come in, Jacob’s heart sunk deeper and deeper. At 11 o clock, Jacob couldn’t bear it any longer. He shut off the TV and ran to his bathroom. He viciously vomited for 20 minutes, sickened by the results. He sat in fetal position, crying, wishing he wasn’t alive (not knowing the presidential election doesn’t matter, in fact politics in general don’t matter, the whole world is a lie, but Jacob is far too deceivingly simple to know that). Jacob dried his tears with the cloth he cleans his 1.4 zeiss 50 mm 34x sharp lens with and made a decision.

He’s gonna move to Japan.

Unlike all the silly celebrities that threatened to move away but were only bluffing, Jacob was determined. He bought his ticket that night and informed his parents. His parents pretended to care and make a show of it, “begging” him to stay (in reality his mom liked Nate better and his step-dad always thought Jacob was nothing compared to his own sons, who were actually useful). His parents’ pretend affection further encouraged Jacob to leave, as he thought he was being a super cool rebel guy. He packed his clothes and mentally prepared for his flight, which was the next day at 6:34 PM.

Jacob had no plan for Japan. He was gonna go, find a box, chill there, eat some sushi, take some A//E//S//T//H//E//T//I//C photos and just die because he’s a self-proclaimed enlightened nihilist and nothing matters.

Speaking of photos, Jacob thinks he’s the best photographer in the world. He really believes it. No, he KNOWS it. But no matter how many “sick shots” he takes, and no matter how many time he degrades someone else’s photography, Jacob always felt inferior to others who knew how to take photos and not be huge jerks about it. By going to Japan, Jacob could take photos and not be bothered by these plebs. Those plebs all shot on nikons or canons which are SO mainstream. Some of them even shot full auto, which made Jacob wholeheartedly cringe. Jacob shot on a Sony a6000, and only used vintage nikkor full metal lenses made pre-1950. He liked to attain that prehistoric A//E//S//T//H//E//T//I//C in all of his “sick shots”.

The reality is, Jacob is no special photographer. Taking pictures of liquor stores at night doesn’t make you an artist, it makes you an idiot. Deep down Jacob knew he was no better than his pleb friends, but he believed whatever made him comfortable.


Jacob went to school in America one final time, and said bye to all of his “friends”. He doesn’t like to show affection much, but he was gonna miss his friends (or whatever). They weren’t gonna miss him and his constant degradation, however. School ended, Jacob drove his banged up 1999 Toyota Camry home, and took an uber to the airport. It was happening. Jacob was leaving this country that voted to elect a “racist, misogynist, fascist, nazi, white, cis, straight, male, gorilla, animal, etc…” into office. Jacob was going to Japan, where apparently everything is perfect.

About 5 hours into the flight, things were going swell for Jacob. He was taking some “sick shots” of the sky contrasting with the wing of the plane, calling it art and desecrating anyone who doesn’t have the magnificent artistic vision he possesses. Suddenly, the plane begins to violently rock back and forth. The flight attendant came onto the loud speaker.

“This is your flight attendant speaking. The engines of the plane have gone out. You have every reason to panic, as you are all surely going to die. There are 6 parachutes left- I and the rest of the flight attendants are going to use them. We have already killed the pilot and the co-pilot. You may now begin to scream and cry and beg for mercy. Enjoy your flight!”

As everyone scrambled and screamed and sullied around him, Jacob stayed calm. Nothing mattered anyway. He was glad he was dying. At least he got those sick shots.

And then the plane smashed into the ground.


Jacob woke up in a gold plated throne. He was in skinny jeans imported straight from Portland (a place very near and dear to his basic hipster desires) and a ripped up wool sweater with the tag still on, which indicated the sweater cost around $3,000,000,000,000. He looked around and saw 14 neanderthals staring at him. They all carried Canons or Nikons, and despite being in broad daylight, had the flash on. Jacob was too shocked that he was even alive to process the plebishness. One of the plebs approached him with a soft, royal pillow. On that pillow was Jacob’s sony a6000, in perfect condition.

“Sir, we uncovered this from your body upon your descent from the heavens. We assume it was preserved by the angels that surely accompanied you on your way down. Please forgive us for being nosy, our lord and savior.”

Jacob looked upon the plebs with wide, bewildered eyes.

“What is the meaning of this? Where am I? Why are you worshipping me?”

The pleb pulled out a small book from the back pocket from his own pair of Portland skinny jeans. On its brown leather jacket, the words “THE BOOK OF JACOB WINKLE” were transcribed in gold letters.

Jacob began to flip through the pages, and quickly realized what had happened. These clearly inferior photographers were so clueless about art that they had taken Jacob’s expensive overrated camera was some divine miracle. While Jacob was unconscious they started some sort of cult of Jacob; almost like a religion, with Jacob taking the role of the son of God.

Jacob had always been a staunch atheist, and almost started tearing up the ridiculous little book right in front of the uncultured plebs. Then, he thought about it a little.

“Don’t I deserve this?” Jacob thought to himself. After years of being ridiculed (rightfully) Jacob was finally treated the way he deserved to be. He decided to go along with this religion thing, happy to be around a bunch of idiots that adored every facet of his being. Besides, at least in this place he actually was the best photographer.

The island Jacob was stranded on was located about 50 miles off of the coast of Florida. It was called Nagevogaisanasibocaj, and only the 14 plebs and Jacob lived there. There was nothing there but Jacob’s throne room, a few tents, and asiago grilled chicken wraps. Quite frankly, Jacob was in heaven. He was finally in a place where people appreciated his art, and he was gonna take full advantage of it. Jacob has the Bends. He was finally ready to assume his rightful position as the greatest photographer in the world.

The years went by, and Jacob lived lavishly on Nagevogaisanasibocaj. These… neanderthals were insufferable, but they would do. He couldn’t advance them from their barbaric camera practices, but at least he was still getting “sick shots”. Jacob felt as powerful as anyone in the world. Any picture he took was adored by the neanderthals, feeding Jacob’s A//E//S//T//H//E//T//I//C. The Bends is in full force. Jacob could do no wrong, and humans had found their apex photographer, at least in his own eyes.

One day Jacob was lounging on his throne, staring at the hideously polluted ocean. Suddenly, a cosmic boom was heard all the way from Fountain Valley, California. This was Adam Mancini being pummeled into that giant vat of spaghetti sauce (which you can read about here). This didn’t unsettle Jacob, as he was too busy looking for a “sick shot”. All of a sudden, a meteor like object came hurtling toward his kingdom. A brilliant blonde burst of light, it crashed into the foliage, clearing half the forest. Jacob decided to go after it, and brought his neanderthalic plebs with him.

The meteor was actually a human being. Upon seeing him, Jacob’s eyes bulged and his knees quivered. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

The meteor was the greatest photographer Jacob could never admit to admire.

The meteor was the greatest photographer Jacob had always been jealous of.

The meteor was the greatest photographer Jacob hated, the only one better than him.

The meteor was the greatest photographer ever, Noah Carr.

The plebs gathered around him as he slowly rose to his feet. He looked around with the same bewilderment Jacob had a few years prior. In his right hand was his camera, which had been unscathed on his trip here.

The plebs snatched it from him, and looked at his pictures. Their undeveloped jaws dropped.

“You! You’re the chosen one!” the plebs chanted in unison at Noah.

Jacob realized that the plebs had no use for him anymore and tried to slowly sneak away. He tripped on a branch, and was quickly seized.

“Let go of me this instant! I am the one! Don’t need a ton! Don’t need a gun to get respect up on the street!”

“Silence!” The plebs demanded in unison. “It seems we were mistaken. The true lord is Noah Carr.”

Funny enough, Noah actually was a great photographer. He doesn’t have an A//E//S//T//H//E//T//I//C because he’s great at all photography. He takes excellent pictures, and generally has a supreme understanding of the art. He was everything Jacob wish he was.

Jacob was taken to the throne room and shoved to the ground. They smashed his throne, and beat him with the broken pieces. Jacob felt no pain however, as he was the ultimate nihilist. One of the plebs grabbed Jacob’s camera and threw it into the ocean. Then, and only then did Jacob feel pain. After that, he felt every blow.

After the beating, it was time for Jacob to be put out of his self-guided misery. He was put a cross-shaped piece of wood, and his wrists and ankles were nailed to the structure. Jacob died for his sins. Noah Carr was the new god of the plebs, never to be replaced, because he was actually a good photographer.




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