The end for Jeremy.

Jeremy, yet again, sat on that balcony, judging everything that walked by, from plastic bags to men dressed solely by Material Boi. Before he could even think about pondering and analysing who was a wanker, and who was not, his life flashed before his eyes. The reason for this was uncertain, but soon became relevant. Jeremy was dead. He had been killed by a man, dressed solely by Material Boi, mind, who had made use of the most beautiful plastic bag he had ever seen to strangle him. Jeremy's last thought was about nothing, as he was pondering, because, as many had picked up on, Jeremy was a wafty character with a rubbishy name, and deserved death.


Noone cared. People were relieved to know that Jeremy had nothing to do with James Ross-Edwards, a great man, who just happened to share the same balcony in a parallel universe with a fictitious wanker whose rapid shoot to prominence was matched equally with his demise.