Predator Press
[Cobe]
It turns out the story of the “real” Mister Insanity reads like a Shakespearian tragedy.
Born to a small rural community in Kentucky, Mister Insanity –or “Knickers” as he was known then—had a rather unspectacular childhood. He wasn’t particularly good in school, probably due to the long hours on the farm.
But could he ever
run.
It didn’t take long for friends and colleagues to take notice of his blossoming talent; despite mediocre grades and poor attendance, Knickers was granted a scholarship to Notre Dame.
It was there that Knickers would earn his now-famous moniker “Mister Insanity”, due mostly to his adolescent fondness for campus streaking, avocado dip, and Fuzzy Navels. But now a star on the rise, the inertia of his career was superceding even the lightest of disciplines; endorsement deals soon followed, clouding his adolescent judgment ... among the most notably controversial of which, the 2.2 million dollar “Crazy Glue” commercials.
After graduating with honors, Mister Insanity married track star Gertrude Stewart, his high school sweetheart. Gertrude was an athletic, pretty, and reclusive girl from Louisville that was anxious to start a family. Friends would often comment that these were the happiest days of her life, and she was rarely seen without an effusive, sloppy grin on her face.
But despite the outward appearances, all was not well for our beloved Knickers; the road and stardom were taking their toll. Soon he was going to parties with the likes of Paris Hilton and Winona Ryder, and snorting heroic amounts of cocaine both on and off the field. At the recommendation of his coach, Knickers was ushered secretly away to the Betty Ford clinic, where the long and arduous recovery process had begun. There, Knickers spent months shuffling around in pajamas, shooting pool and playing pinball between therapy sessions.
Hard work paying off, all appeared to finally working out for Knickers, and a year later he was back in the gymnasium preparing for a comeback. It was then that misfortune struck yet once again: during the course of a routine physical, it was discovered that so much damage was done to his knees over the course of his young career he would never run professionally again. Only deepening his situation, multiple knee surgeries in the vain hope of restoring his damaged tissue left him virtually hobbled; vulnerable to medical con-artists and quack science, he soon invested his image and entire life savings on a product called Knee-Grow Medical Ointment that was ill-received by the public in general.
Always the fighter, he made efforts to reinvent himself … but he was wholly unprepared emotionally for the disappointment of flunking out of astronaut training school; Knickers entered another downward spiral. His hygiene suffered, and his diet consisted solely of fistfuls of sugar cubes for weeks on end. This triggered diabetic seizures, and simultaneous rampant gonorrhea. Two days later, an alert cop, suspicious of the Fuzzy Navel smell on the car interior, gave Knickers his first DUI.
While never directly implicated in the Sweet'N Low shootings, Knickers had dropped from the public eye completely; little is known up until his recent indictment for Tax Fraud and Money Laundering. Always a fan of art, he now sits in Federal Prison, riddled with hepatitis and syphilis, tattooing his fellow inmates while awaiting his inevitable execution.
Gertrude since left him for a successful and svelte young greyhound racer, and they now live in Twenty-Nine Palms, California.
Understandably, she doesn’t have that big, sloppy grin anymore.
But she’s comfortable.
[LOBO] 
