Tray

I am the greatest. No, really, I am. I know this because my ex-wife compared my prowess in the bedroom favorably to Jesus himself. I am a religious man, a cradle-to-grave Christian. I was born in North Carolina, where I learned to turn water into wine at age five and make fish out of bread for thousands at thirteen. It's true, I was born to be a caterer. When my wife left me, she put a "Dear John" letter on my door. Naturally, I started attending meetings for the newly-divorced at a nearby one-room studio (the cheap bastards couldn't even spring for a nice set!). I was a bit tentative at first, but since I'm used to playing the irritatingly sensitive New Man of the Nineties, I got involved in all of my fellow meetings-junkies' personal lives, ate lots of cake and even managed to smooth out the rough edges of that obnoxious swinger, Kirk. I still think my wife is a focking bilch and would run over her with a steamroller if I happened to see her while riding one. She didn't leave me for anyone. She just wanted to return to her native Russia. I got my refund back, though, so at least I have that going for me. I am looking into Thai brides, especially since they're cheaper than Russians. Must be that whole AIDS scare. I haven't dated anyone since my wife left me two years ago and have gotten really into porn as a result. My left hand now calls me "Money Shot." I go to lots of strip clubs and know the strippers in NoVa so well that I have joined their book club; we discuss the relative merits of Baudrillard and Descartes. I don't like peas. They look like very small shriveled testes and I feel gay whenever I eat them. I have been known by many names throughout my life: Man of La Mancha, Odin, Dickweed, Zeus, Gabriel, Jupiter, Gandalf and The Chick With the Dick (but only on cable). A lot of people ask me what I do for a living. They say, "Tray, what do you do for a living" or "Tray, what line of work are you in" or "Tray, what do you do during the day" or "Tray, how do you make your money" or "Tray, can you get me some fries with that?" Sometimes the question makes me cackle so uncontrollably that I freeze up and spill the contents of my colostomy bag. I've found that's a good way to end an inquisition, even if it's not intentional.