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Issue 18.6: militant
Posted: February 10, 2003

Perfect Strangers: The Bond That Ties

Andrew Leo Farrell

Certain events like our first kiss (for me, Jenny Tompson after the first 5th grade dance) or our first sexual encounter with multiple partners and a goat simultaneously (Jenny Tompson, her older sister, and Bad Bad Billy, the Tompson's she-goat, during the first 5th grade dance) are carefully and lovingly preserved like the richest treasure in the annals of our memory. Reminiscing and probing deep into those annals, I find that one memory stands out as the most vivid and powerful. It was a lonely Friday night and I had just lost my girlfriend and my Pog collection to Bad Bad Billy in a high-stakes Go Fish game.

However, in this, my darkest hour, I was rescued by two men who would prove to be my best friends for the next six years. During the 30 minutes these "perfect strangers" entered my house that night, I realized the meaning of true friendship and love. Sure, I was frightened by the homoerotic and incestuous undertones, but the cockamamie shenanigans of Balki (Bronson Pinchot) and the sour but lovable demeanor of Cousin Larry (Mark Linn-Baker) would make even John Ashcroft overlook kissing cousins.

With surprising alacrity, my affinity for the duo grew from an innocent fondness to a level of militant dedication most people reserve only for a religion, nationalist cause, or fetish involving Ted Koppel and dead pandas (you know who you are. ). In 1991, just seven months after first viewing the show, I launched an ambitious project to mold my body into a flesh statue of Bronson Pinchot through plastic surgery and eyeliner. By 1993, I was living in a dumpster across from Bron's home so I could better communicate with his cat, Miss Priss, who had been telepathically sending me the scripts of future episodes. In 1994, Miss Priss informed me that the Haitians had been after Mark and Bron since Mark offed one of their coke mules in an airport toilet stall.

With the Mark Linn-Baker Fan Club ignoring my demands to pre-emptively strike the Haitians, I spearheaded a hard-line splinter faction. We took to the streets of South Jersey and I pushed dope and Perfect Strangers bootlegs to buy the 50 cal M2 Browning Automatics from the Russians that we needed to keep Mark and Bron safe.

The cancellation of Perfect Strangers only 4 months later snapped my already tenuous hold on reality. My last memory is clear: looking into the mirror and seeing the finely chiseled features of the dream muffin replica I had made my face. Then, wham! Everybody is screaming, the federal marshals are yelling at me to calm down and tell them where I put Mark Linn-Baker's head and put the axe down, but the blood and Miss Priss just keep yelling "KILL KILL KILL."

The forceful withdrawal from my very raison d'être, Perfect Strangers, during my ensuing stay at a state mental institution has been emotionally and mentally exacting. I fight the mental demons constantly, but one therapy has helped more than all the counseling, electroconclusive shocks, and anti-psychotics: KNOTTING! It's cheap, safe and more fun than you can legally have in the United States with your underwear on (except Delaware). I am having such a great time that I am hoping to start a club when the state releases me and I return to school. I already even have my uncle lined up as a speaker. He is a sailor who will show both a sheepshank he tied, and scarring from STD's he contracted during a brief but eventful stay in the Philippines. Reply if you are interested...but I understand if you can't join Miss Priss and me because you are ALL TIED UP!