Meet Gerry, the Morbidly Obese Hipster

My friend Gerry is 841 pounds, and knows the drummer from Vampire Weekend.

I first met Gerry in Silverlake, in front of the Elliott Smith memorial on Sunset. At the time, he was driving a handi-cart with a children’s red wagon fixed to the rear, and wearing a humongous ironic t-shirt (probably made out of a tent). Inside the wagon were old children’s Play Skool toy instruments the obese bohemian had obtained from a thrift shop, and planned to rewire in a circuit-bending project. The wagon also contained about 31 cheeseburgers from Mcdonalds and 4 cases of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

In the land of hip-threaded slim hips, Gerry manages to stand out by truly doing his own thing, and also by being too wide to enter most music venues. He was the first to accuse the hipster mecca Spaceland of “selling out,” once the club became popular, and also, started to deny him entrance for fear of violating fire codes.

You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but underneath those skin folds piled beneath his, soft, heavy head, Gerry has a really rad neck tattoo of an owl fighting a wolf. His waist size is 72, but he wears a size 69 because he likes his pants to fit skinny. He was the first to sport chunky sunglasses, and has gone through several pairs because the frames barely fit his face, and every time he sneezes, the glasses snap right in half.

Gerry is a mashup of Wes Anderson and the fat section of the Guinness Book of World Records. He is a cross between Beck and bagel bites. He is a hip heart attack wrapped in both fat, and a specially tailored purple hoody out of the American Apparel plus-sized catalog.

But most of all, Gerry is my friend.