Yes, I’ve just uncovered official proof of the cause of my brain damage.
The above photo shows how, way back in the sartorially challenged ’70s — at a college-graduation party thrown for me in a Brooklyn catering hall — I shamelessly flaunted a white leisure suit made of life-threatening polyester.
My momentary dementia would also explain the fluffy yet immobile hair, the large, tinted lenses, and the shirt collars that could take off at JFK.
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This prized piece of photographic evidence is also proof that my mother is the esteemed … you guessed it … Dame Edna Everage!
I am basically Kenny! I was born in a sea of gladioli!
But don’t be put off by my disturbed look.
I was partly jealous that Edna was upstaging me at my own party and even more anxiety-ridden about the fact that I had no idea what the fuck I was gonna do with my life!
Thank God I eventually figured that out. No, really, I did.