[hider=The Denihilist][center][img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/2d/98/5d/2d985d55c2b16d88c534cbd4b7339be9.jpg[/img][/center]

[indent][h2][color=black][i]PERSONAL INFORMATION[/i][/color][/h2][/indent]

[b][color=black]Name:[/color][/b] July Welch

[b][color=black]Gender:[/color][/b] Male

[b][color=black]Age:[/color][/b] 27

[b][color=black]Physical Description:[/color] [/b]July is a tall glass of water that upon being ordered to the table is revealed to be poured straight from a warm tap, served with no ice, and in a dirty plastic cup with a bug drowning just below the meniscus. His dark brown hair is trimmed down on the side but wavy and wild on the top, catching in the breeze when not shoved flat under a wool knit cap. His skin tone is reminiscent of mildew, and his smile is tightlipped for a reason. He has some scruff on his face, but it’s less of a five o’clock shadow and more of a midday shade. July dresses in snug, black clothing, regularly paints his fingernails black, and bristles when people call the eye makeup he wears “guyliner”. The only splash of color is the red Gas Way cashier vest he wears, often with the wrong name tag. Despite looking mostly like he has just been exhumed, July’s brown eyes are large, lively, and warm. Plus, there just seems to be a general air of chipperness around him. 

[b][color=black]Applied Position:[/color][/b] Cashier

[indent][h2][color=black][i]BUCKET LIST[/i][/color][/h2][/indent]

[b][color=black]REASON FOR EMPLOYMENT:[/color][/b] Why, society gave July so much that he felt like it was his time to give a little back. After all, who would be there for any other reason outside of altruism and a dream to peddle Pabst Blue Ribbons to teens with fake IDs and fight the spread of botulism in long-haul truckers by replacing the old hotdogs every other shift? Surely, July wouldn’t get a job just because his mom threatened to kick him out of the basement if he didn’t have one. Likewise, July most certainly would be able to get a job in a place more exciting than Nowhere with all of his past work experience that doesn’t exist. Yeah, believe him when he says that he just chose the spot because he liked looking out over the Expanse and its expansiveness.

[b][color=black]BUDGETING:[/color][/b] First he pays the government for the pleasure of working for the man, then he pays his mom for the pleasure of not being homeless because of the woman. Then there is his car loan for his sick, nasty, totally tricked out, forty mpg on the highway, broken six CD changer in the trunk, matte white 2006 Honda Civic. After that a majority of the rest is put into July’s avant-garde project that is very, very, very important to the future of music, film, art, and humanity itself. Whatever is left is broken down into American Spirits, Four Lokos, and McDoubles. 

[b][color=black]LIKES:[/color][/b]
[list][*] Artists (such as himself).
[*]Experimental music that is more challenging or interesting than actually enjoyable. 
[*]Thought provoking films that are either pointlessly meandering along and end abruptly or ruthlessly jump between unrelated segments of visual dread.
[*]Debating for the sake of debate, but really just to prove people wrong.
[*]Telling tall tales, spinning long yarns, general bullshitting.
[*]Being a voice of reason. [/list]

[b][color=black]DISLIKES:[/color][/b] [list]
[*]Posers (such as himself).
[*]His individualism and creativity slowly being crushed by the reality that neither might actually exist.
[*]Customers and coworkers who won’t engage him in meaningless hypotheticals.
[*]Being proven wrong, especially when he is wrong.
[*]Literally just about anything else anybody likes solely because they like it and therefore it must be lowest common denominator bullshit.
[*]Being the only voice of reason.[/list]

[b][color=black]TRINKETS:[/color][/b] July is armed with a weapon of mass destruction: the Polaroid Camera. One bad photo is all it takes to ruin someone’s perfectly good day. July claims his Polaroid doesn’t just print instant photos. In his hands, the Polaroid Camera can capture a moment so embarassing or a look so unflattering that it practically shreds the subject’s soul. Okay, really it just gets their dumb photo put up on July’s Wall of Shame in the breakroom where his muses will forever be subjugated to torture/light teasing until management takes them down.

July is defended by the most nano-y of iPods. The bitesize device is reinforced with nearly two whole gigabytes of music so obscure that he sometimes forgets that he had ever heard of them in the first place. The wall of sound that emits from his large, chunky headphones shields him from the terrifying sounds of things that go bump in the night. Unfortunately, July has recently invested in a speaker dock so he can subjugate his coworkers and customers to the terrifying sounds of his music taste, often bumping it throughout the night. 

[indent][h2][color=black][i]BACKGROUND CHECK[/i][/color][/h2][/indent]


July Welch's latest occupation is listed as an [b]A[/b]rtist and, yes, he did capitalize and bold it in his application. Technically he still is one since he is currently exhibiting a performance art piece titled [i]The Life of an Abject Failure[/i]. The piece was incubating inside of him for several years before fully becoming realized this fall. Before art, July was a [b]M[/b]usician. Fittingly enough, his music career died on his 27th birthday because he had to sell his guitar and his keyboard to pay his mom rent. The woman failed to realize that she had just cost her son his dream, much like his ex-bandmates failed to realize that the funeral doom genre was just too commercial and drone was where the music was at. After that, July has listed Independent Film Actor, Independent Filmmaker, Independent Film Critic, Essayist, Author, and Student (GED) in that order. 

[indent][h2][color=black][i]SKILLS AND QUALIFICATIONS[/i][/color][/h2][/indent]

[b]The Quickest Study in the Pacific Northwest ►[/b] Despite being an absolute utter failure of a human being, July isn’t useless. He’s actually rather fast on the pick up and easily learns almost anything after being shown it once. This can be something as utterly benign as how to properly wrap the microwaveable sandwiches or unjam the cash register with a Slim Jim to life (and more importantly, job) saving like properly using the AED paddles on someone who actually ate the personal pizza or remembering to burn sage at the start of every shift. 

[b]Actually, There is a River in Egypt Named Denial ►[/b] July claims to be a master of many things, but just about the only thing he is actually any good at is lying. The first part of being good at lying is to never get caught, and the easiest way to never get caught is to never admit it. It’s impossible to be certain when July crosses the point of speaking frankly and from the heart to joking and spouting out complete and utter bullshit. Convincing people to believe what he says can actually be quite powerful, although it’s also just as difficult to tell if July is telling the truth. Still, it’s probably for the best to believe him when he says tulpas do not exist.

[b]The Tempter of the Norns, or, Telling Dracula “Suck It, Vampires Aren’t Real” ► [/b]Look, it’s fun and all to pretend that Bigfoot ate out of the dumpster or that the drifter yelling at the moon is the Wolfman, but c’mon, [i]July isn’t an idiot[/i]. Everything, and he means everything, about the night shift at Gas Way can easily be debunked with logic. July intends to prove this to his coworkers, and so he’ll happily go tell the drunk guy shuffling around in the parking lot moaning to beat it or go check out whatever the hell was that noise coming from the Behind. 
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