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.
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.