I heard there’s a horrible rumor going around and I feel obligated to examine it and dismiss it. The rumor is that I am Wallace Shawn‘s secret love child from a forbidden romance he had while writing his play, “A Thought in Three Parts.”
But, of course, you remember him more like this:
Now, the suggestion that I’m the spawn of Shawn is absurd. For one thing, my voice is at least two octaves deeper and I’ve got at least three inches on him up and many more inches on him sideways. Moreover, I look absolutely nothing like him. Absolutely. Nothing. Like. Him.
So, please, whomever started this rumor, I beg you to stop. Wallace Shawn is not my father. The very notion is–in a word—I’ll let you say it, Wallace.