Pics from the David McGhee photoshoot!

Andy Kaufmann

Up until I was about six
years-old, and
figured out I wasn't crazy
for not liking
it, my father
and I would wrestle.
We'd play on his
bed, and all
was fine and
dandy, but
it usually ended
with him
putting a pillow
over
my face and
pinning me down
so that I was
unable to
move or breathe.
And I would
scream and
panic and lose
breath from
screaming and
struggling, and would
be waiting
to die.
Then he'd pull the
pillow
away, laughing. But
seeing that I was
crying, would
get angry and
say, "I was just
playin' with you. You knew
I wouldn't hurt
you!"
Then he'd chase me away
disgusted.
I'd wander away feeling
confused.
Upset at myself for
being scared. For making
him so upset by
not getting the
joke.