Despite his life of hardship, he doesn't want your sympathy. Just buy him some booze & go away while we tell the tale of God's angriest son..

After being left on the steps of a Pagan monastary, I grew up hard. As a young boy, I witnessed many horrible animal & human sacrifices, and I became the "clean up" boy for my evil mentors. Having grown weary of mopping up the feathery messes they often left behind, not to mention having to eat their bland cooking, I decided to get the hell outta there & hit the road, leaving behind only a pair of soiled shorts & a used rubber, symbollic of the thanks I felt they deserved. I headed to the docks to board a ship to Palookaville, when I was discovered by an essentric french fisherman who took me under his wing. His name was Jacque Cousteau. He taught me the many wonders of the deep, and the beauty that is the ocean floor. It wasn't long before I was his right-hand man, joining him on his many deep-sea expeditions. He paid me well for my duties, but more important than my salary was the happiness I found in the water. It was a thing of beauty- no stupid people to deal with, just the rich shades of aqua & the graceful movements of the sea creatures. I fell in love with the bite of a great white shark on my calves. And how I adored the startling nip of an electric eel, the tender caress of an octopus' tentacles, and the welcoming grip of a blowfish! I felt at home beneath the water's surface and planned to spend the rest of my life as a diver, eventually becoming an "Ol' Salt", reliving my many tales of fish caught & lost, overturned vessels & sunken treasure. Alas, my dream of aquatic utopia was not to be, as Cousteau was sentenced to life in prison for the killing of a rare Mermaid. They say he snapped, but I knew it was the heroin. I found myself reduced to being a lowly "Landlubber" once again. Depressed, I shined up one of my few possesions- my pogo stick- and bounced off into the sunset. I wound up in Memphis, Tenessee & found a job as Elvis's bodyguard, along with Sonny, Red, & Elvis's little known sidekick- "Satchmo". After an illustrious career with the king, ending with his his death, I spent most of my time drowning my sorrows in a local watering hole named "The Inbred Rebel." It was there that I got my big break in adult films. A local XXX movie producer witnessed me fend off a drunk with a broken heineken bottle, using nothing but my mighty 'sac. Impressed by feat of testicular prowess, he implored me to do a few films for him. I agreed, & appeared in 2 feature-length films-"Caucasian ass master" & "Please swing from my rod, Vol.1", which went on to become cult classics. It was during the filming of my 3rd film- "My testicle, Your gumdrop" - that I had my unfortunate run-in with the law. Evidentally, we broke some sort of decency laws by filming on the steps of the Govenor's mansion (who knew?), & I was sentenced to 13 years for "Gratuitous penis flaunting". I served out my sentence brimming with hatred & anger, and the worst part is, I had become addicted to flashing my genitals, often causing havoc in the mess hall & recreation area. My only friend was my cellmate, a quiet guy named Lee Harvey Oswald who was doin' a bid for robbin' a book store, or somethin' like that. Unfortunately, his term was cut short when he was assassinated by the CIA. Pissed because they replaced him with an inmate named Chuck Manson, who kept me up all night ranting about some dumb Beatles song, I broke out of jail.

I made my way West, where I single-handedly began the "streaking" craze of the 60's. I got sloppy one day & was arrested for "Gratuitous testicle exposure" in front of Hollywood's famed "Brown Derby" restaurant. Being an escaped felon, I was now facing some serious prison time. Luckily, I was pardoned by then-president Gerald Ford, for reminding him of a guy who saved his life in WW 2. Desperate to avoid any future trouble due to my flashing fetish, I decided to move to sin city- Las Vegas! I got a job as a bouncer at a prominent casino, frequently throwing back-room beatings to card counters & crap table hustlers. No one here seemed to mind my occasional tendency to shake my naked groin at them, they were too caught up with bells & whistles & the lights of the strip. One night while guarding the entrance to the casino theater, I met the love(s) of my life. The country sensation known as "The Judds". I quit my job as bouncer & went on tour with my 2 love buns, seeing the entire country in 8 weeks time. Life was going swell until I grew tired of their nagging over my tendency to flash my ass to their fans while in the middle of their concerts, so I packed my stuff & hit the road once again. In a whirlwind pogo ride of pills n' booze, I found myself in New York, not really caring too much about life & where I would end up. I made my way to Brooklyn, where I discovered Sheepshead Bay. It brought back memories of the docks where I met Cousteau & the joy I had in my diving years. I was so melancholy over my lost happiness, I decided to do redeem my broken soul by doing something useful with my life & jumped into the bay, in an attempt to end my life, which would provide nutrients to the sea creatures who had given me so much enjoyment in the past.

Unfortunately, my enormous testicles acted as a flotation device, & I bobbed helplesly in the water, cursing the heavens for my miserable situation. Damned in my final attempt at happiness, I ranted out loud for 15 days as I floated in the bay, refusing to grab the ropes & lifesavers the do-gooders of Brooklyn threw at me. I was determined to starve to death in the water, just for spite. It was at that moment my life took a bizarre turn. I was caught in a crabbing net and dragged 30 miles out to the open ocean by 2 angry fishermen. When they pulled me up on deck, I cursed the 2 degenerates who ruined my shit. "YOUR SHIT? YOU RUINED OUR SHIT!" the enraged sea cap'ns' who I would come to know Sheer Terror & Negative Creep, replied. A brief fist fight ensued, ending when NC pulled his deep-sea spear & put it to my head. Figuring I had nothing to live for anyway, I grabbed the spear between my teeth & dared him to pull the trigger! Well, they were so impressed by my moxie & my blatant disregard for life, they invited me below deck to partake in some Mad Dog and Bass Ale. Within a few hours of drunken ranting, the weather started getting rough & the tiny ship was tossed. Since no one was sober enough to steer the ship to safety, we got beached on a small island in the South Pacific. When we got off the boat, we were greeted by a fat guy in a blue shirt who announced himself as "Skipper", and a scrawny guy in a red shirt who called himself "Gilligan." By the way they were all touchy-feely and extremely excited to see us, we could tell they were gay, and quite frankly- we weren't interested, so we beat them within an inch of their lives, & hit the water. We swam the long, hard miles back to Brooklyn, united in our fury. As we washed up on land, we realized that this was no chance meeting. And the rest.. well, the rest is history!