Our dear friend and contributor, Jumpman, has gone missing. He's not returning any of my texts/calls/facebooks/pigeons, and I'm at quite a loss for how to go about contacting him. I might blast the album Mustache (Half A Scissor) by Mr. Oizo off of my balcony in an attempt to lure him similar to when he showed up at my school without any batteries in his cell phone. It's also very possible that he's opened up his own barber shop in Cuba where he designs customizable facial hair to order. Or, maybe Bowser's finally gotten the poor sucker. Well, if you're out there, dear Jumpman, give your droogies a ring and let us know that you still kickin' it with your maskie on. Try to meet us as Union Station, otherwise we'll be waiting at Coney. Until then, here's a hit with you in mind.
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