Today, we gather here to express our mutual appreciation for a stanch and longstanding Danger Couch subscriber. This man needs no introduction but shall receive one anyway, due to a little know stipulation of the North American Free Typing Agreement which states that as long as this is my blog, I can do pretty much what I please.

Having established that point, I will boldly blather on about the great and disquieting attributes of this giant among leprechauns, this paragon amidst pixies, this stud-muffin in a world of apricot pancakes; the man, the myth, the Canadian: Tim.

Raised in the desolate tundra-infested wastelands of northern Manitoba, Tim was determined at a young age to carve an existence out of his bleak surroundings. Equipped with only ice tongs, warm headwear and oatmeal, Tim set out to find his fortune; despite that fact that he had never lost, much less ever possessed a fortune to find. I suppose it would be fair to say that the original ownership of the fortune in question would not have been very critical as long as it was at some point found (unguarded) by Tim.

Which is why Tim wandered the Great White North in a journey of frosty self discovery.

Traveling from province to province he eventually joined a sasquatch enclave in western British Columbia only to introduce an epidemic of Chronic Hair Loss Syndrome, leaving those once majestic creatures bald and broken, so thoroughly self-conscious that they stopped reproducing and eventually faded into extinction.

Crushed by this tragic turn of events, Tim dedicated himself to science, making great achievements in many fields and several important discoveries. He eventually cured CHLS by discovering the hidden link between Chronic Hair Loss and exposure to second hand oatmeal. And, in a secret laboratory in the Yukon Territory, he discovered the anti-humoron, the bio-electrical particle responsible for sense-of-humor deficiency and general surliness. Also know as the moron, the anti-humoron particle was immediately declared a State Secret of Utmost Secrecy and locked away in an ancient subterranean vat of tapioca pudding. In fact, I am risking a visit from the death-dealing government Tupperware Agents of Peril-Infliction just for mentioning it.

Heartbroken, he left science, and for a time took up yak juggling, until he suffered the inevitable herniated clavicle which has robbed the world of so many promising jugglers.

Eventually, he worked up the courage to again enter the stage of world affairs, taking employment at a baby-powder factory in Quebec. Starting out as a lowly powder sweeper, he quickly worked his way up to assistant-manger-of-powder-production. Then, just as everything was look up, he made a fateful misstep. Feeling secure in his skill and tenure as an assistant-manager, he inquired into the raw ingredients and source material of baby powder, and within 45 minutes he was naked, unemployed, and strapped to the grille of a Greyhound bus headed for Ottawa.
Things got worse from there.

In Ottawa, Tim spent several years in deep meditation, focusing himself ever more inward until he suffered a transcendental implosion, leaving only a single ear stranded on the physical plane.

But that ear was still fully functional, and when news of Danger Couch’s return registered in that auditory organ, a dramatic change overcame Tim. From the instant the ninja-gram arrived bearing news of the Couchmen’s return from exile, Tim reassumed fully-human form. (Extra-human form, some would say, but I’m not here to spread rumors.)

Tim is now completely rehabilitated and has been recently awarded employee of the month at the local Cup-O-Mead beverage house, despite the fact that he is currently employed across the street at the International Hut of Spamworks.

Yes, life is good.

Yet another heart-warming tale of success inspired by your heroes and mine, Danger Couch.