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I was raised by GE engineers in their BioPhorm lab, but when my telekewhatsis powers set Sr. Genetic Engineer Ted Bagley's head on fire, there was talk of "recycling" me. After a harrowing escape through the surrounding AutoTurret testing facility, I hitchhiked between small airports, making my way to LA Cessna by Cessna. After a failed attempt to launch a legitimate acting career, I ended up doing a few films I'm not proud of. After freeing myself from a vicious crack habit, I left LA for the back country of British Columbia. Feasting on salmon in the summer and occasionally boiling my clothing in winter, I pondered my place in the world. Finally, I found my inspiration: making tiny figures of New Gingrich out of twigs and fecal matter. Fortunately I had befriended a spinster in the village to which I made a semi-annual trek for Poutine-flavored dental floss (hygiene should never be neglected, even in the wild). She helped me list my tiny statues of the great man, along with printouts of the Contract with America. As you might guess, they sold at a high price, and soon I had moved to my manse in central Detroit, where i still reside.

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