(a little personal history)

I emerged from my sock when Saba was sitting in Agra gazing at the Taj Mahal. He took pictures of me, his left pfoot. I never had a plan, but Saba sent pfotos to friends and relatives from time to time, and they said that I am as much of a character as Saba is (and much funnier and more interesting). They began to ask about me, which I began to understand—talking to Saba about himself can be tedious and gives me bunions. Saba began pframing large-scale pfotos of me, and I must say the Mona Lisa holds no candle to my beauty, nor does any comedian eclipse my ability to invoke joy. 

One man’s story a pfoot at a time: Saba thought he could write a book without me, and though he made many attempts, they fell flat. He just couldn’t make sense out of those 7,000 sayings he brags about. Humbly, I showed him the path, as difficult as it is to work with a pontificating blowhard. (But if you think Saba is an ass, he’s a lightweight compared to the godzillas.)

Saba himself calls me “The Dalai Lama of Pfeet.” He also says, “Pfoot is enamored of raunchy absurdity.” Also, “Pfoot: Pfraud or Pfilosofer?” 

As much as I’d love to continue to praise my laurels, I must say my favorite role, and the one I believe will place me on the path to deserved immortality, is "Pfoot: The Resistance.”

I invite you all to raise a foot and join with Team Pfoot in resisting religious fascism.