Timmy, the bad-backed bird-man.
Trumpeting his percentage of Cherokee blood.
I'll miss the parade of cops, bosses, and put-upon husbands you played.
Those times you were inappropriately Asian or mentally impaired.
Your mugging, your thirst for the audiences laughter.
You taught me a lot about crowd control. And response.
About going for broke.
About over-the-top.
About yelling to get myself heard.
Sometimes a scene calls for steamrolling force.
You were always game to bear the brunt of my Nagging Wife.
Or receive the tirades from my Bad Cop.
Always loudly denouncing your guilt or sexual inadequacy.
You fired me countless times.
Played my principal even more.
And had Bitchy Friend down to a science.
But always and forever a tried and true collaborator.
Generous, kind, and challenging.
Goodbye my friend.
May the sun filled slopes and valleys of that dreamscape called LA
Never mar your sickly and translucent skin.
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