I was regularly performing in all of the major cultural centers: Carnegie Hall, the Kennedy Center, and Sven's Taproom. One day it all fell apart. The evening's performance started out fine and the audience was having a great time. As usual, the groupies rushed the stage, but the security guards were right on top of the situation. Then some joker several rows back in the middle section, started heckling. He stood up and cracked, "I thought clog dancing was supposed to be done with Drano!", and he tossed a can of the stuff up onto the stage.
I went berserk. I dove off of the stage and clambered over anyone in my way. When I reached him, I started throttling him. The security people stepped in to separate us. The headline in the morning paper screamed, "Dancer Becomes Unclogged!"
This incident resulted in my future engagements being cancelled with the next day's headline reading, "Clog dancer booted." Needless to say, I lost my endorsement contracts as well as a planned appearance in a Coca Cola commercial in which I was going to breakdance in clogs.
For a while I wandered around. I smuggled cold beer into England, warm beer into Germany, and Lite beer into Pittsburgh; I ran clandestine yak races in Nepal and sold fire ant jewelry in Brazil. I finally hit rock bottom and sold used cars in Jersey.
A short time later I met Roz, who today is my wife. She helped me pull my life back together. Together we moved to Israel where I was able to make a new life for myself. I bought a small patch of ground and took up lichen farming. Since no one here knows of me or my past, I no longer have to suffer the shame and embarrasment of being recognized when I go out.
Today I have a loving and patient wife, four beautiful kids, two mangy cats, a 14 year old station wagon, a large overdraft at the bank, and I wear sandals. Life is perfect.