Ask A Romantic, Artistic Poor Guy Who Drowned

We here at Metropolitan raked up the blue, stiff corpse of Jack, former artist and spitter extraordinaire.

Jack, Where do you find all these one-legged whores you keep drawing?

Well, they’re generally London beauties. I’d like you all to know that I hadn’t "hired" them for the usual purposes; I am an artist. Never forget my gentle side.

Jack, Should I be using acrylics or oils in my paintings?

Well, since I died in 1912, I never really got to see acrylics hit the art world. Poor, poor me. I died for love, you know.

Jack, I’m thinking of going on a cruise. Should I be okay? What should I bring?

Well, you’ll probably be okay because now there are legal obligations to have enough lifeboats for all the passengers. What a novel idea. I died for that idea, I’ll have you know.

Jack, Are you bitter?

Yeah, I’m feeling stupid for not climbing up on the wood with that airhead slut. There was plenty of room for two there. What was I thinking? Stupid. Stupid.

Jack, I’m thinking of dying my hair red. Thoughts?

Hey, who cares if the curtains don’t match the carpets? As long as you continue to uphold the redhead reputation (being feisty and easy), I’m okay with it.

Jack, I love you. You are sooooooooooooo hot.

Good, maybe you can cryogenically un-freeze me.