My IMDB Biography

If you saw me on the street, you’d probably think, “That is one of the most intriguing men of our time.” Or perhaps you’d think, “I didn’t know they still made spandex rollerblading bodysuits.” Well, to address both impressions: Yes, I am. And no, they don’t. I bought this suit when I was 8, and thanks to the magic of spandex, I’ve been wearing it ever since. Spandex may come in and out of style, but it’s always sure to leave an impression. And like my father always said, “Don’t worry if everyone hates you. Make them hate you. Then they’ll know who you are.” Wise words. Or so I thought. Until my father was clubbed to death by a swarm of angry marathon runners, at whom he had honked one too many times.

It was always difficult to know what I should make of life, because I didn’t have much in the way of guidance. As you may have gathered, my father was a complicated man—just when you thought he was a Republican, he’d vote Democrat. Just when you thought he was a Fascist, he’d publish a work urging the workers of the world to unite and overthrow their bourgeois oppressors. Just when you thought he was a woman, he’d take off his wig and underwear, and there were no two ways about it, Pop was one of the boys.

And Mom wasn’t any clearer. As Dad’s personal secretary, she’d pretty much just transcribe whatever speech he was making at any given moment. The few times I heard her talk, she was reading Dad a line he wanted to re-work or remember. And then when Dad met his premature demise, well, Mom fled to Borneo for a miracle teeth-whitening procedure. I have no idea where Mom is now or what she was running from, but I wish her and her teeth all the best. Sometimes teeth miracles really do happen.

Ever since my father was clubbed to death and my mother went on her wild goose chase, I’ve become something of a reactionary. To put it another way, I’ve gone ahead and done the exact opposite of everything my parents have ever advised. Go to college, they advised. I set out for the open road, hitching rides all over the continental U.S., like Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady. Getting to know the real people and places of our great country. Get a respectable job where you will grow to become a pillar of the community, they urged; I opted for a life on the amateur ventriloquism circuit. Meet a nice girl, settle down and have a family or you’ll end up alone, they pleaded; in brave defiance, I wore my spandex bodysuit daily.

Of course, as anyone will tell you, a life in ventriloquism is notoriously difficult and makes one prone to widespread ridicule. So after three years on the childrens’ birthday circuit in Poughkeepsie, I’d had it. When I went literally laughing all the way to the bank one morning only to discover that my manager had ripped me off for every cent I’d ever made, I ended up literally crying all the way from the bank. Of course, I should have known better. Spider was an ex-con with a tattoo of a spider across his entire face. But he was exactly the sort of frothy-mouthed incoherent psychopath my parents would have politely ignored. When I first met him, I knew for sure he was the star to which I should hitch my wagon of dreams. But then my wagon of dreams ended up at the bottom of a very deep cliff, and exploded there. And at the top of the cliff, my star was laughing at me, a Newport dangling off his lower lip.

When my ventriloquism career didn’t work out, I asked myself, “What else do you know?” The answer was television. I watched an episode of Mama’s Family, figured, “Hey, I could write that!” packed all my things in my fanny pack, and rollerbladed for Hollywood to make it big as a television writer. And here I am!