With Ken’s passing, I’m at a loss on how to approach this. Do I stay true to the original Bios format, one in which I mercilessly make fun of Ken or, do I alter the approach out of respect for his passing? The truth is that one aspect of Ken that made him special was his appreciation for the essence of things. Something could offend you, make you uncomfortable or outright angry and, Ken would appreciate that thing. As long as it was true to itself.

Ken’s appreciation was rooted in a desire for honesty. For the genuine. If I imagine what Ken would say to me it would be something akin to, “You’re thinking too much. Be funny. I know you’re not being an asshole.”

So with the permission of a dear, bearded, diminutive and odorous scribe I present Ken: A Journey.

Siberia is ice. It’s a slab of despair wrapped in snow and hurt. From this vile place; in the year of our Lord 1960 something, Kenneth Vladinskigulag Gallant emerged.

Born of humble grass shepherds, Ken grew up shepherding blades of grass on his family shrubbery farm. It was a very rare occurrence indeed when a blade of grass would traverse but, if one ever did, Ken would be ready! He spent most of his young life staring down at one blade in particular, daring it to walk away. He named this blade, Gary.

For 21 years he manned his post. But one day he looked down at Gary and said “Gary, watching grass is stupid. I want to create. I’m leaving the farm.” Ken grabbed his satchel, containing one half eaten apple, three unwashed beets and an empty notebook. He stomped off the farm with defiance.

Ken walked for 6 days to a small coastal fishing village. It was the only place for hundreds of miles around him that had a working phone. However, when he arrived he discovered that; in order to use the phone, he needed to best a champion walrus in a battle of wits and bravery. The Walrus was named Antonio and contrary to popular belief was; in fact, not born of Etruscan heritage. It was a name the walrus gave to himself as a fan of Antonio Banderas’ performance in the movie The Mambo Kings. And true to the story, Ken had to out-mambo the mambo-king.

It was a short contest as Ken mesmerized the bloodthirsty audience mob with his sensitive portrayal of a despairing mambo dancer in the late 1820s. Ken bested the walrus who; so humbled by Ken’s grace and dance narrative, gifted Ken the name Kenneth Vladinskigulag Antonio-Mambo Gallant.

Antonio-Mambo promptly phoned a travel agent and booked a first-class ticket to Toronto.

The Toronto skyline brought tears to Antonio-Mambo‘s eyes. The majesty of the CN Tower, the raucous neon of Yonge Street, the flashing and blinking lights of the club district and, the erie quite of the lakeshore mesmerized the Siberian husky named Antonio-Mambo.

Upon landing; confused and needing help, he wandered aimlessly. Finally a taxi driver asked him if he wanted a ride because Antonio-Mambo was wandering in front of his cab for over 20 minutes.

“I have no money.” Antonio-Mambo said. “All I have is this bundle of grass.”

The driver responded “I have no idea what I would do with a bundle of grass. But, I suspect you’re a lunatic crazy and I don’t want to agitate you. So, where do you need to go?”

Antonio-Mambo was taken aback. He hadn’t thought about what he would do when he got to Toronto. All he knew was that he didn’t want to shepherd grass anymore.

“Take me to where people make stuff.” Antonio-Mambo said. “I want to make stuff.”

The taxi driver paused. He didn’t know what ‘make stuff’ meant. But then he had an idea. “Ok. I’ve heard of a place you can make stuff at.” he said. “Get in. Grab your satchel and let’s go.”

The taxi driver dropped Antonio-Mambo in front of a dilapidated warehouse. The street it was on was deserted. It was early morning and the air was cool. Antonio-Mambo knocked on the warehouse loading-dock door.

After some time, he heard the clacks and clicks of a lock. The door was opened by a stocky man of South Asian descent.

“What.” the man asked.

“Hi. I’m new here. I just landed. The taxi driver dropped me off. He said you make stuff.”

The Asian man looked him up and down. He centered on Antonio-Mambo‘s eyes.

“Come.” The Asian man gestures at Antonio-Mambo to follow him.

The Asian man leads Ken to a small room. Within are drafting tables. At each drawing table is an artist. Each of these artists are chained to the tables. They are smiling but, strangely so. Almost as if they were bearing a secret.

“These are the ones who make stuff. Peter, Tom, Paul.” You’re in charge of them now. Go. Make things.”

The Asian man walks out of the room and slams the door shut.

“Uhhmm…” Antonio-Mambo stammers. “my name is Antonio-Mambo but, you can call me Ken. I just got off the plane from Siberia.”

Peter stands up and whispers, “Leave now. You don’t want to be here. Our Glorious Leader chains us to tables and makes us draw his comics. Go. But take us with you.”

Tom adds, “Glorious Leader is not that bad. Although for someone so rotund you would think he would be more jolly.”

“He is our Glorious Leader and is perfect.” Paul says softly. “However, I’ll go too if you can get us out of here. My wrists hurt so much!”

Antonio-Mamba does not know what to do. But he knows that he left Siberia because he wanted to be free. These three ‘artists’ deserved their freedom and Antonio-Mambo would help them!

Antonio-Mambo moved quickly to break their chains. Having watched grass grow for decades, Antonio-Mambo knew exactly how to break their shackles. As in nature, all it took was time and patience. Grass could creep and grow and break rocks given enough time. But not having that time, Antonio-Mambo just used his teeth and bit through the metal.

As they silently moved through the dark and dank hallways, Antonio-Mambo told them about his life in Siberia. He explained about herding grass and how unfulfilled he was. And even though he had one good friend named Gary, he had to leave the farm to achieve his life’s purpose. Antonio-Mambo’s tales of woe lasted over 45 minutes at which point, Peter said “Actually, you know what? I think I’m going to go back. No offense but even the Glorious Leader doesn’t talk as much”.

“Thanks for trying though.” Paul chimed in. “But I’m with Peter. You talk too much. And it’s not even about anything interesting. Gary the grass? Are you making this up? Who makes friends with grass? What would you even do together? Stand around?”

Tom nodded in agreement and said, “I’m going back too. Maybe the Glorious Leader hasn’t noticed we’ve gone yet. And we have a new book coming out that I have to finish. If we’re late he withholds petting.”

The three artists headed back through the darkness to their desks, hopeful that their absence would not be noticed by The Asian Man.

Ken stands confused. How would they all prefer to be enslaved instead of living free? Antonio-Mambo had left his home, his family and his one friend for a new start. “Did I make a mistake leaving the farm?” He asked aloud.

“Nope.” A tiny voice replied.

Antonio-Mambo looked around but could see no one.

“Down here!” the voice said.

Ken looked down. “Gary!” he exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Gary replied, “After you left I decided I needed to be with my friend. So, I uprooted myself and followed your trail!”

Ken was thrilled and asked, “But how did you find me in Toronto?”

“I went to the fishing village. It’s the only place around and I knew you would go there because you’re too cheap to own a cell-phone. I heard about your battle with the Walrus and how you bested him.”

Gary continued, “Then I heard you booked a flight to Toronto and I knew that you wanted to create so I figured I would follow you there. I arrived just in time to see you getting into a taxi. So I bounded after you and grabbed the bumper, just in time to catch a ride!”

That’s amazing! I’m so glad you are here, my friend!” Ken beamed and gave Gary a warm embrace.

“So. What do you want to do now?” Gary asked.

Ken thought about it and finally said, “Maybe we can just stand around?”

“You got it buddy. Let’s plant ourselves right here.” Gary replied.

The End.