Don’t get excited here (it would only ruin everything), but I think it’s time I present a bit of my personality to those of you who have closely followed the Studio 8 website by sharing one of my recent developing tragedies. While Brock, Truston, and Chris T. do a lot of writing, the rest of us “silent types” just sweep the office, refill the pretzel dispenser in the bathroom, and keep a hefty stock of sunscreen for the picture story adventures that we periodically embark upon. Since they're entrusting me with this article, my first public address to the Studio 8 audience, I’d like to thank you for tasting our humor as we strive to sell our good material to the big-wigs of comedy in hopes to make the big bucks to buy big wigs for our own oddly-shaped big heads.

     You are the reason for our existence in therapy every Tuesday evening.

     So, on to my sad story: I've got a friend who's not doing so well right now. Only those who have been privy to select private Studio 8 gatherings have met this small talented man, and being the concerned individual that I am, I've been racking my befuddled brains for a way to introduce you people to my poor buddy Puddlewipes. Oops! That’s his name by the way.

     Uh, I guess I hereby introduce you to Mr. Curtis Puddlewipes, ladies and gentlemen! He was born and raised in the south and we grew up down the street from one another until Hurricane Katrina tossed us across the country together. But ever since our hasty move to California, he's just been sitting in the bed, barely moving. He won’t talk to me or any of the other guys. He won’t look at any of us. I figure he’s been sleeping from time to time, because he's got blistering bed sores on his ass and on the palm of his left hand. Every couple of days, I've had to pull Mr. Puddlewipes out of the toilet and remind him that he's an important part of our little manifest destiny out in the Wild West.

     I remember a time before the hurricane when Mr. Puddlewipes and I were doing so well! We were learning to have civilized arguments complete with healthy tones and mannerisms. You know, the usual friendly antics: He would try to make fun of my towering height (6’) and I would rip on him about being the world's first vegan who's allergic to vegetables. Curtis prepared some of his vegan specials for dinner on occasion and we both enjoyed throwing them in the nearest trashcan. Everyone knew Curtis and I were close because whenever someone talked down about him, I would defend Mr. Puddlewipes in an instant. Our bond was harmonious and full of color!