Michael J. Rumpf

I was born in the Mojave Desert, "untimely ripped from my mother's womb." Nothing out of the ordinary there. Two years later, I awoke in Philadelphia, confused but potty trained, and surrounded by a mother, a father, two brothers and a younger sister. There were also a Grandmother and an Aunt on the premises, so you can see why I potty trained fast. The only place I could get a moment to myself was in the bathroom.

My upbringing was totally unremarkable, although I do remember my first visit to a nearby library being somewhat special. My mother took out Peter Rabbit for me. A book that I instantly grew bored with. The subsequent memories from there are a blur, a sort of amalgamation of Warner Brothers cartoons, the Three Stooges and Catholic School. Anyway, there was a lot of hitting going on. Somewhere in there Mad Magazine put the zap on my head--to paraphrase Martin Sheen from "Apocalypse Now"--and I was never to view the world the same again.