In 1950, I was born under the Brooklyn Bridge to a Black disciple of Marcus Garvey and a bald Jew of the Ashkenazi strain. My parents were simultaneously addicted to welfare money, fried chicken, and Talmud studies. My skin is not a creamy cappuchino or a choclatey swirl, but rather the color (and consistency) of pruney old grapes.

I was mistaken for a man in my twenties and drafted to fight in Vietnam. There I lost my left arm and my abilitee to spel.

Upon returning home, I came out as a lesbian and enrolled in The New School in New York City where I majored in Feminist Studies and Mushrooms (a “create-a-major” geared towards the understanding of fungi in Central Park).

In 1982, I published my first novel, “Fuck the Church: a Seminar on Sex in Pews Across America.” The publication of my sequel novel, “Screw a Jew in a Pew,” indirectly threw me in jail after it allegedly inspired a young Ukrainian immigrant to copulate with his girlfriend in the front row of the Vatican, causing immense shock for Pope Benedict XVI.

After emerging from prison, I moved into a Manhattan flat with my lover Janine, with whom I adopted a Chinese baby.

I seek employment at Wesleyan University for the obvious reasons: I know a shitload about diversity, spacingmywords, spelung, being disabled (and Black and Jewish and gay), and helping a variety of post-pubescent fools to appreciate their academic experience more than their children will. If you don’t choose me to be the next Maria Cruz-Saco, then affirmative action will.