Johnny Strykes
Most mornings, Jonny Strykes wakes up in Vegas, married again to another gentle beauty, captivated by his trance-inducing 80s grooves and sonorous vocals. He buys the young woman, perhaps an influencer, maybe an accountant on a girls weekend, a designer coffee on the way to the circuit court for the annulment, picking up an extra for Wanda, the clerk who has come to know him by name. Wanda is especially proud of the language she finally landed on to describe the unusual “mental state” of the women who find themselves sipping matcha lattes or oat milk macchiatos in the waiting room, grateful to be hidden behind a pair of oversized sunglasses Johnny keeps in a bowl next to the front door for just such occasions. It’s not that they’re insane, they’re just temporarily under the undue influence of an “irresistible manforce delivered through song” that now, after dozens of such accidental nuptials, has become its own proof of concept.