Kevin Garbee

I am a pleasant person, often found tutoring government employees on more efficient ways to be less efficient. Between noon and one on Tuesdays, I waive the right to remain silent. I always swim on a full stomach.

I put my pants on one leg at a time, but I prefer to jump into my shorts. For the past eight years, I have been allergic to people who are allergic to peanuts. I leap toy buildings in a single bound.

I was kidnapped once, but thwarted my captors using nothing but a handful of cashews and the wrapper from a pack of Pall Malls. On several occasions, I have scaled the highest peak in the District of Columbia without the aid of supplemental oxygen. Pets love me.

I can read music, but only do so on long plane rides. Twelve years ago, I was kicked out of a televangelical church in Texas, being told I looked too smart. I only run when holding scissors.

I was drafted by the Yankees out of high school, but fled to Canada to dodge a lucrative contract. In college, I penned an award-winning epic poem detailing the proper way to make toast — I'm now working on the sequel. I have never gotten out of the kitchen because of the heat.

I'm Pro-Choice, but Anti-Diarrheal. As a young man, I played with the New York Philharmonic — they're not very good at Duck Duck Goose. I always procrastinate on time.

I find it hard being a perfectionist because I'm a perfectionist. At inopportune times, I over enunciate, but I always lisp when convenient. I only whistle while I'm unemployed.

I dance to my own drummer — his name is Neil. I've never hit anyone, but I think about it a lot. Nearly 2 people have deemed me remarkable.