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Today's Featured Biography

 
Keegan Marshall

After high school, my life went in a downward spiral without the constant reaffirmation of pep rallies to keep my spirits up. I ended up running becoming a carney (I specialized in animal poo maintenance) and traveling to obscure parts of the country like Beardsville, Wisconsin, where the local townsfolk made it confusing to tell just who was actually on display. I met up with a man named Dr. J. No not THE Dr. J, this Dr. J was a 5' 7" white man with a huge red afro and 2" thick glasses and smelled like two day old cabbage. His luster, zeal, and overall fabric of his being convinced me to be the guinea pig for his new prototype aircraft that he had just invented called the Shelley Long, which was fueled entirely on two day old meatloaf. I was to fly Shelley around in a small circle for the first flight trial. However, as both Dr. J and I found out once I was in the air, the craft had not been equipped with a steering wheel thus making a circular pattern impossible. With no choice, I continued my course straight as an arrow southwest until Shelley had exhausted all meatloaf onboard. The craft immediately went into a tailspin and I lost all the control that I never had. My plummeting course had me heading straight down into a local neighborhood and lucky enough for me, I ended up smashing directly into the center of a giant trampoline. The trampoline then catapulted me back up into the air where I then finally crashed on top of what looked like a small army of little people. Apparently my journey lead me all the way down to Phoenix, AZ and I had crashed into the yard of none other than Danny Corbin. He had made quite a name for himself in the knickknack industry and was the leading distributor of garden gnomes, which for convenience, were all stored in his back yard. A sight that had all the neighborhood children frightened and was the sole reason, unbeknownst to Danny, why no children would visit his door to receive candy on Halloween. The trampoline in Danny’s back yard, which saved my life, was for practicing his life's passion. He was training for the 2000 Summer Olympics as a trampolinist. Danny was working on perfecting a signature move that would more than assure a gold medal for the U.S. of A. He was secretive of the exact details, but I do know that to execute it properly required a rodeo clown, red-arsed baboon, hula-hoop, flaming baton, and a donkey with arthritis. Since my fateful flight had destroyed both Danny's personal and profession careers, I recommended that we come up with another business model together. And thus the Midget Wrestling Farm was born. People of all ages can come down to the MWF, pay $5/hour and get their aggressions out on some wee little people. But watch out, those little guys have some big chompers on 'em, so I would recommend renting the optional shin guards. Once we started to turn a small profit from this venture, I bought Danny a replacement trampoline. Danny is currently training for the 2008 Olympics and hopes to parlay his talents into the opening act for the American Idol All Stars Tour. I guess you could say things are working out quite swimmingly. And I can now afford all of the pudding I want. I often wonder what happened to Dr. J though. I like to think that he is hard at work perfecting a hovercar that runs entirely on fruitcake. Although he probably became a carney and filled the void I left behind as the animal poo maintenance man.

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