Twenty-five years ago, David Raether was a successful comedy writer -- a member of the writing staff of Roseanne. Five years ago, he was homeless. This is his story.
Not much is know about Bobby Gaylor, aside from what can be gleaned from his "songs," actually spoken word pieces set to music worlds apart from either Henry Rollins or King Missile. His official webpage now redirects to Google, and he has no wikipedia entry. His sole album, Fuzzatonic Scream (2000), was a buried treasure for anyone who could find it, with good music backing a born storytelling everyman from Massachusetts giving sometimes gentle, sometimes harsh, insights into life through the details of his own. Now, the only songs you may find video for are "One Moment," which discusses his first kiss, and "Suicide," the closest thing he had to a "hit," but his full (sadly bleeped) work may be found here. Personally, I recommend "Smelt," "I Hit a Guy With My Car," "Masturbation," and "Business End of a Gun."
It's finally happened. Playboy has finally exhausted the supply of beautiful women, and is having to dip into the "second tier" as it were. (This link may not stay current, so I'll explain. Roseanne Barr is gonna pose nude for Playboy. If that's not one of the signs of the apocalypse, it damned well ought to be.)