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Hodgepodge
Society Member Bios |
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Member Name: Lord Provost Everett McNewton
McCalkins of Brigadoon
Hodgepodge Society Codename: Dog Balls...hehehehe. Hodgepodge Chapter: Not Affiliated with the Hodgepodge Society. Official Treaty Sanctioned MishMash Brotherhood Liason. Distinguishing Marks: Has the exact same birthmark that Angela Lansbury does...which is in the shape of Bob Balaban slaying a hydra. Various catapult injuries. Tries to ride a broom. Year of Hodgepodge Society Induction: N/A Bio: My mother was a tavern girl who inexplicably broke into song during everyday conversation. Thinking that this was the way of speech, I spent most of my childhood communicating via a series of statements loosely connected through a verse, chorus, verse. I grew up around very few children because of the sorcerous nature of my hometown. My mother wouldn't allow me to befriend strange kids because, "Oh no, little one. We'll just disappear tonight and it'll break your poor heart." The few friends I had always went away eventually. My mother told me it was dangerous to wander outside of the city, for you'd be trapped in a strange land forever and ever. That's where my friends went, she told me. They were trapped in a strange land, growing old and dying. I matured into a young man, though people continued to come and go into and out of my life. The only constant was my mother. The night of my 15th birthday, heady with the scent of fresh clover and absinthe, I fell asleep in a dell on the outskirts of Brigadoon. When I awoke the next day, my mother and everyone I'd ever known were gone. Brigadoon had disappeared in the night, just as the songs had warned so many times. I would grow old and die while my mother lived on in that magical city. And then I wandered into a pizza joint in a small town outside of Buffalo, New York. Apparently "some queer scottish pride group" had been touring Western New York for years with a production of "some stupid gay musical." I was alarmed to find my own gaellic accent strangely shaded with their Buffalonian tongue. Upon viewing a map, I discovered that Scotland was actually a country in Europe, not "a state of mind", as my mother had always said. The general populace didn't talk in rhyming couplets set to instrumentation. It was a revelation of the most soul-crushing variety. When I caught up with the festival ten miles down the road, I stabbed my crazy, musical-worshipping whore of a mother in the face with an authentic Highlander replica sword. Cristopher Lambert Highlander, not that retarded Adrian Paul nonsense. It was years before my high school AV Club would show me a copy of the Highlander movie. The irony caused my one and only laughing fit. I vowed that from that day forward, liars would be stabbed in the face with replica swords. And humor is the worst lie of all, Hodgepodge Society jerks. |
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