Andrew McFing

Andrew McFing (???? - ????), born Angus McCloud. According to my dollar bill, Andrew McFing don't know SHIT!

Biography

(taken from "The Hyperwiki Papers")

"He felt deeply ashamed of being named after beef and he rebelled on his eighteenth birthday and he became Andrew McFing. His new name had a new profession to go with it, a writer. The downside to this new name was that it came with a really small penis. Andrew had to put his first typewriter together using broken model train set parts and various bits from watches, broken down cars, and a ran over pager. On this rickety literature craft he set sail only to have the ship capsize shortly into the first paragraph. A crushing defeat for Young McFing. He gave up writing for the first time then, he tried his hand at bass guitar instead. He fashioned a bass out of card board and he used odd electrical wires for strings. The wires where frayed and the whole instrument folded awkwardly while played. He hooked up with the symphony of putrid puppets for about six weeks. This rat infested band played vary loose temple punk rock to already passed out guests in the early bloodshot mornings of dozens of local parties. McFing made lots of beer runs and pocketed much bonus cash from the obvious drunken teens. Life was descent back then, sometimes it was even swell. Sadly it turned out that his band, Symphony of putrid puppets was a suicide cult. They did themselves in while watching Jerry Springer and they didn't invite McFing.

"Sometimes shortly after this McFing wrote SEX AND DEATH IN HIGH SCHOOL and Sleepwaking.

"Next phase found McFing trying his Visible hand at stand-up comedy. He also discovered powdered cocaine and the two brought him into comedy dives just this side of hell. His whole act was a humourless bit of spite and hatred. Members of the audience where his targets and oh how he hated them. This gig paid seven dollars a night, and McFing was badly beaten after-hours on the way to his car by angry drunks on a regular basis.

"At this point he came to the conclusion that art was sucking the life out of him and he needed to watch more football and television in general to take up those empty hours left dormant after he had purged art from his life. Things went downhill rapidly from there...He could only watch the art suppressing sports channel when he was drunk. The strong oblivion buzz kept the art away, and he would wake up in the morning with bloody hands from punching something perhaps, wake up in strange places. Months of black-outs, of lost weekends. Working for the Brush store and drinking nearly all of his pay check. One grey Monday morning when he woke up in a ditch laying on his own vomit, he found a notebook that he had written in during his drunken evening black out adventure. This became his first published series of articles for PORNFUCKER GAZETTE called "the BLACKOUT PAPERS". All these stories where from similar papers he had found searching the general area around his home. He was paid a buck fifty for each monthly instalment and he was on the writing path again. He stopped drinking except for the weekend black outs, and he began smoking reefers and sipping coffee non stop. He wrote a lot of stuff during this period. It was hard to get a armpit into the publishing business at the time because everyone spent all they're time working, watching TV, and doing yard work. So even though he is straight, McFing began writing homo-erotic novels under the pen-name of Kinky FreakBone.

"Now came McFing's summer of rock gathering. He would do walkabouts in the rural countryside around him gathering small rocks that he found it be important. He would stack them onto themselves making houses, roads, even cities. Small rock cities that would would collapse and partly wash away during storms. He got this idea from his one third Native American grandmother, who did the same when Andrew was a little boy. No Photographs, film, or sketches where ever made of this form of art, so none of it survives into the present.

"Next came the long three months of blindness after being splashed in the face with a broken glow stick. The glow chemicals ate away his corneas and he was blinded for several weeks. The girl who he had been blinded by took off because guilt brings her down, so Andrew was left to wander the rave blindly. No ride home, nobody there he knew . He didn't know anybody, he was tripping, it was miserable. He did a lot of blind writing on his pedal powered typewriter during this time, but none of it was translatable, even by McFing himself. It remains a clutter of gibberish in a bottom drawer somewhere. Maybe the aliens can work out what he had tried in blindness to type, but the aliens probably don't even care.

"Next came the overtime months. This small series of months McFing worked ten to twelve hour shifts and he produced very little art."

With his back pressed hard against the oily grindstone the misery flowed over McFing like rusty tears from a sullen rain. He worked and worked, overtime all the time, and all the money went to over-due bills and auto-repair, and of course booze and dope.

Writing

(taken from "The Hyperwiki Papers")

"McFing has self published three books that have all sold out. He also wrote for various magazines,whoever would have him. Later he was published by foolish publishing houses. Each volume was limited to a printing of three thousand copies. McFing had the misfortune of being the token nut scientist of the day. The poster boy for the ridicule of science itself. Alas, McFing's choice of subject matters did not help to bring him any better respect among the mainstream."