The Jester is just an average person. The same as you and me. Except different.

The Jester was raised in a dank basement surrounded by jars of preserved dead animals. Which explains his allergic reaction to formaldehyde and lutefisk. Also, in said basement, he had access to an old-time chemistry set – not the politically correct type you can get on Amazon, but a real 1950’s horror movie chemistry set with elemental mercury and the stuff to make cool explosives. Especially when augmented with minimally radioactive laboratory discards from the MIT nuclear engineering program provided by his older, and arguably smarter – and The Jester does like to argue it – brother-in-law.

Many people, including his shrink, ask how The Jester develop his pointed sense of humor. Or, as Wife #1 would ask, “Why are you such an asshole?” While tempted to blame his parents, The Jester points to the tragic accident he had as a middle-aged child.  Going in for a simple tonsillectomy, the veterinary accidently cut into The Jester’s Superego*. While The Jester got a free puppy in compensation, his life has never been the same. After that a bunch of stuff happened, and here we are today.

* In ironies of ironies, the Superego is not Trump’s self-image of himself but rather “the part of a person’s mind that acts as a self-critical conscience, reflecting social standards learned from parents and teachers.”