Noroom F. Thumbo was born (more accurately “gang-coalesced”) one night after his now-deceased mother confused her douche bottle with the bottle of collected semen left over from the holidays. To add insult to injury, later on in his preteen years he was further scarred after finding pornographic photos of his beloved mother double-stuffing herself with dildos in addition to a stack of returned letters to Prince Charles declaring her undying love and desire. These are just two of Noroom’s colorful yarns of whimsy, which he will gladly tell for the purchase of a single pint. He also enjoys painting.
One thing he will never be able to tell you is why, despite being a 16th-generation Missourian, that he speaks with what some people have described as an “acutely-racist Albanian accent.” Everyone in the small village he hails from (a mountain community deep in the Ozarks) is named Thumbo. It’s hardest on the girls.
When asked about why he writes for The Haddock, Thumbo will emphatically deny that it has anything to do with an ongoing investigation by state and federal agents into his infamous time spent with Bob Mozer’s Laffy-Time Circus.