Born into a family of impoverished gypsies, my parents (sisters, they were... I have to say that same-sex, inscestuous marriages were all the rage in the 80s), Slobadan and Annacornacova, both simple of wit, with a kind of mysterious peasant beauty about them (suffice to say, their teeth were somewhat lacking and they only washed their oily hair once a month and scales had started to form around their rusty, parched lips typical of the gypsy lifestyle), left me in the trust of a rich and flamboyant Circus performer with the curious name, Luigi Scalamouche Scalamouche Will You Do the Fandango Watkins (his real name was Ted Watkins) as a repayment for a longstanding debt. I was raised until the age of 5 alongside various performing animalia and eventually found solace with Terry the Terrifying Tiger (named after Terry Nutkins from 'The Really Wild Show'), the tremendous bond lasted until Terry's unfortunate date with the butchers knife, at the behest of Luigi, now ailing and incontinent. I soon escaped and, by the tender age of 8 earned the job of shaddow Home Secretary, a role in which I took great pleasure and, as it proved would require the animallinguisic skille that I had aquired those many years beforehand. At 12, I had to resign over a longwinded, and at times, symphonic affair with a secretary of mine (the veluptuous Sandra, 58 from Essex, 19 stone and 5 ounces of sheer sexual drive and animation). It was at this time in my life that I realised that I needed a change. I moved to Milton Keynes and set up my very own Barbershop quartet, with 7 other gentlemen of great importance from the city. After a series of misadventures, which I will not go into now, we ended up in a famed Hungarian bath house in Budapest where an argument over goulash broke out with 5 of the members of the quartet. Eastern culinary delicacies went flying and eventually our friendly male guide, Boris said, "enough is enough" and pulled out a cleverly disguised gun from an obscure crevis around his midrift. I have no recollection of subsequent events, however, I woke up 2 years later in Hollywood Bowl in the Finchley Lido. To my great surprise, I discovered that in the fracas, I had lost the ability to speak with a normal English accent. Instead, I had adopted a strange dialect of computerised American, which required me to type onto a keyboard using my last remaining unparalysed finger in order to communicate with the God forsaken world that lay around me. Yes. I am STEPHEN HAWKING. dun dun duuuuun
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I am Fyedka!
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Your Daddy Is Patrick Stewart
What You Call Him: Daddy-o
Why You Love Him: He takes you to church
Who's Your Daddy?
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Doctor Unheimlich has diagnosed me with
Noel Edmunds' Disorder
Cause: poor dental hygiene
Symptoms: jaw dislocation, beeping, liver pain
Cure: acupuncture
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