April Winchell

Who's Your Daddy?

I'm so impressed that people continue to find my secret question every week, and even more impressed that anyone replies.

But reply you do. And I am astounded at some of the answers you give me.

Here then, are my favorite answers to this week's question:

He’s a short little Greek guy, and were it not for my tall Irish mother, I would be a 5' 1", uni-browed, circle-dancing short order cook.

A compulsive gambler who blew his head off with a double-barreled shotgun when I was eight. Hey, thanks for bringing back that happy memory! I need a drink.

Anyone who leaves the money on the dresser on their way out.

Mamma says it's Uncle Buck, but I think I look more like the guy that cleans the out house.

If my mother doesn't know, how should I?

Lightning and thunder, primordial chaos and old night, hailstones and coals of fire from the raging epicenter of a screeching nuclear tornado that was the birth of the universe.

Thomas Jefferson, but good luck getting him to admit it.

Abraham. Call me Ishmael.

L Ron Hubbard. I'm too afraid not to call him my daddy. He's the most powerful pimp in Hollywood. I dream of the day they clone his head and they graft it on my shoulder.

A former CEO-alcoholic, turned carpenter/Mr. Fix-it, suffering from a pronounced break with reality.

It’s either Rip Taylor or Grey Davis.

I can't see much past this veil, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it's Michael Jackson.

Just please let it not be Howie Mandel.

He's the superfluous nipple on the ample bosom of material acquisition. Shallow, plastic, and undoubtedly low-voltage.

Steve Bing.

He's a sad, sad man.

Cthulhu, baby! Bow down before the almighty Cthulhu! Wooooo!

A macho horse-riding, spur jingling, badge carrying, hateful bigot who thinks I'm effeminate.

He's the leader of the free world, goddammit. Pour me another double.

Due to an apparent "mix up" in the hospital 39 years ago, my paternity has always been a bone of contention between my parents and some other people whom I don't know, but who look a lot like me and seem to show up every now and then with a court order claiming parental rights.

He's a little bit Topo Gigio, a little bit Mary Anne Mobley.

He's not who I wanted him to be.