As a little kid, Jimmy - or James now - was the cousin you could rely upon to draw you a picture of a mutant or an army guy getting blasted by a laser. He had 9,000 colored pencils. He had two dogs that looked like albino werewolves. He had Commando on tape. Also, he was the only kid relative who could drive, so that meant he was not only a gentle corrupter for my brother and me, he was literally the James Dean of the Japanese side of my family.
Now Jimmy is a deadly illustrator and holy smokes: He stills draws mutants and lasers! And other things too. Look.
Being that 107% of my relatives are frustrated artists doing other things, it's no stretch to say they all look at Jimmy and secretly think, "if only I'd kept at it." Except for my brother and I who are thinking "I am keeping at it. WTF."
Also, Jimmy is friends with the math teacher in the beginning of Rushmore and we ate tacos with him once.
Also, Jimmy made this.