Some describe me as… “funny but not famous.”
Others… “that Ginger guy.”
I prefer… “a hundred Cindy Crawford moles in one mortal.”
I was born in a hayfield, educated in a swamp, and still have all my own teeth. Currently, I live in Toronto (a city I’ve desperately tried to escape since Y2K).
I’ve made a career by oversharing the sordid details of my life — everything is material. When not grazing the stage, winning award
s and garnering rage reviews, I’m writing works of neurotica and donating my semen to select lesbians.
But more about me…
I live in constant fear that I have food in my teeth, that my handwriting makes a grocery list look like a death threat, and that every day I leave the house dressed like a member of a women’s curling team.
(Almost weekly, my gender is openly questioned by some asshole stranger on the street.)
I’m living proof that dreams are like taste buds… they die after the age of 30, only to be sloughed away and replaced by diminished senses. That’s why I’m so mother-fucking salty. Now, my next big life goal is to create a celebrity fragrance that combines my two favourite scents: white vinegar and the Bulk Barn. Plus, I’m saving for retirement so that I can afford to have sex.
Buy my book! No, seriously… please buy my book! (See above plans for retirement^)