As an infant I was stolen by a clan of dyslexic, gypsy Amway distributors, but after only a few hours of putting up with my peculiar odor and my disturbingly uncanny resemblance to a jaundiced Linda Hunt they tried to ditch me on the black market. When that failed they left me on the doorstep of a house where a brotherhood of lactose-intolerant, professional hopscotch players lived. There, I was locked in a small dark closet under the stairs where I had to survive on only discarded Christmas fruitcake and old tapes of INTO THE NIGHT with RICK DEES to keep me company. When I got big enough to escape I fled to the small German hamlet of Fartzenblaemzitonzedog. There, I pursued my lifelong dream of reviving the 8-track tape industry.

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