David Misch was born in a humble log cabin in 1946, then again in a split-level thatched roof cottage in 1950. Growing a remarkable twelve inches a day (though, unfortunately, entirely in his shins), David was recruited by both the Boston Celtics and AAA Ceiling Repair before his fourth birthday, but opted instead for a career as a professional snitch. After ratting out literally dozen of ne’er-do-wells to the FIB, Mr. Misch realized he should have been dealing with the FBI, not Fellas In Basements, a special-interest group devoted to the study of La-Z-Boy armchairs. He then retired to an underwater colony of scuba gear scavengers who, unable to find scuba gear, drowned. He will be missed. Wait, he’s back!, this time with something roughly approximating the truth. And in the first-person yet. Quote… Though I’m now an internationally-recognized author (if you count one interview with Radio Ireland as international recognition), I began my career as a funny folksinger, back when such a description was accepted by the IRS. My big break was being clueless enough to think drunk college friends thinking I could write songs meant I could write songs. I sustained this delusion for five years before dropping…