When they offered me the gig, I said, “Sure, what’s the harm? Eat a few cookies, get a few laughs, then move on and do something real.” Now here it is 40 years later and I’ve gone nowhere. They don’t want to see what I can do with Ibsen. They don’t want to hear my album of tastefully arranged jazz standards. They don’t care about my all-puppet film adaptation of Tropic of Capricorn. No, they just want me to roll my eyes like some kind of idiot and gobble up a cookie or a letter or a telephone. Do you have any idea what I’ve done to my digestive system over the years? And for what? What am I? Just a clown, a freak – some even say a monster.

Wear this shirt: to your competitive-eating bouts.

Don’t wear this shirt: if cookie is not good enough for you.

This shirt tells the world: “I try to break free of my addictions, but I’m just a puppet.”

We call this color: Fuzzy ‘n’ Blue ‘n’ Depressed.

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