How do you picture your fellow PA members?

(The only thing worse than being laughed about, is NOT being laughed about.)

(Anyway, I only wear those "do me" heels to get Jimberly and Danblo to come to school -- they won't get far in life without their Grade 6!)

 

Re the above disturbing photo of the two scantily-clad oriental gents with the giant magnets in Jim's living room, there's got to be a story there!

 

 

Disturbing is uncovering your prior membership in the Blueman Group, Jimbo.

 

Peter Evil: The details of my life are quite inconsequential.
Therapist (Jim Garten): Oh no, please, please, let's hear about your childhood.
Peter Evil: Very well, Jim, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Some times he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy, the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical, summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum, it's breathtaking, I suggest you try it.