I thought my past was dead and buried! Where did that picture of me come from?

Yes, it's me. Back in my college days, when I was so poor I had to eke out my tuition by working in...in...yes, I'll Tell All!

During my college days I was a professional wrestler. And that picture must be the only thing left to remind the public of "The Bashful Basher Booker" (I was also working in the college library). My job was to be defeated, and I was very, very good at it. And then one day one of my opponents bent one of my ears and I became angry.

In my anger I picked him up and threw him into the audience. Blind with rage, I next picked up the audience and threw it through the wall of seedy gymnasium where I was performing. Twenty-seven cops couldn't control me, and I fled through town, knocking down buildings and throwing cars at helicopters, until, wandering lonely through the bucolic countryside, I met a little girl who was picking flowers for her dolly. I was so taken by this exhibition of childish innocence that I helped her, and in her innocence she showed me that my actions had been impolite, even rude, and that I shouldn't have acted as I did. Instead of losing my temper I should have simply ripped my opponent's head off and thrown that to the crowd.

My anger spent, I entered a Zen monastery where for ten years I studied grains of sand.

And the rest, as they say, is history.